The Science of Deduction


The name's Sherlock Holmes.

I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world.

John insisted I get one of these blogs--even held my violin hostage--so here I am. Now it just keeps me going. It's become a place to express my torments rather than to discuss my cases.

((Part of the Private Lives and Public Drama RP-fic. Story is NSFW, this blog is sometimes NSFW.))



thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

Unbeknownst to John, Sherlock had switched out in the middle of this monologue and had seen most of it.  ”I’m…”  Sherlock genuinely couldn’t think of anything to say.  He’d suspected something like that for a long time, but for him, love was uncomfortable, sex had always been rather neutral, and he knew he couldn’t provide for John the way he clearly needed and wanted.  ”I’m sorry, John.  Thank you for telling me, though, I feel much better informed and…attached.”

John froze, realizing he’d just spilled everything to Sherlock.  Then again, he had no idea if Herron was an open book like Liam or a closed one like Avery, so he may as well have been talking to Sherlock the whole time.  ”Er,” he said with an awkward clearing of the throat.  ”Better attached how, exactly?”

"I know you better," Sherlock replied.  "I’ve always known the facts, obviously, but the emotions are always another matter."  He frowned a little and sighed.  "My head hurts, John," he said, clearly strained.  "Emotionally, not physically, it…it’s like I said all that time ago, I need you.  That, to me, is deeper than love.  Love is chemicals.  Symbiosis is necessary for life." He shut his eyes and relaxed into bed again, despite having been there for months.  "We’ve both demonstrated on numerous occasions that we are entirely dependent on one another, not like a junkie needs his fix but like a man needs sleep. We’ll go mad without one another.  We allow ourselves to be vulnerable for one another.  We feel safe with one another, at least I hope you feel safe, though in all honesty, I don’t think I’d feel safe with me."  He frowned and shut his eyes.  "I think I’m…drifting off again…don’t go, John…happ…y…birth…"

"Sherlock?"  John sat forward in his chair.  He couldn’t lose Sherlock again, even if it was only to sleep, not now, not right when he’d gotten him back.  "Sherlock, wake up, please, okay?"  He got a noncommital grunt and a sigh as a response, and John decided he’d just have to wait.  Again.

*

John was back the next day, of course, having had no sign of Sherlock waking up and having been ordered to return to his own bed that night by Mycroft.  Sherlock had still been out, the doctors having said that he’d worn himself out the day before, and John plopped himself in the visitor’s chair, taking Sherlock’s hand while he read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for the fifth time.

It was eighteen hours before Sherlock—or rather, Liam—opened his sleepy eyes.  ”Woah,” he said in the voice of a child.  ”I slept a lot.”  Liam yawned and stretched before looking at his atrophied arms.  ”My arms got all little.  I don’t like it, they feel wobbly.”  Then he saw John and burst into tears of joy.  ”Hello, angel,” he said, reaching an arm out to him.  ”I knew you’d be watching over me when I woke up.”



thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

Unbeknownst to John, Sherlock had switched out in the middle of this monologue and had seen most of it.  ”I’m…”  Sherlock genuinely couldn’t think of anything to say.  He’d suspected something like that for a long time, but for him, love was uncomfortable, sex had always been rather neutral, and he knew he couldn’t provide for John the way he clearly needed and wanted.  ”I’m sorry, John.  Thank you for telling me, though, I feel much better informed and…attached.”

John froze, realizing he’d just spilled everything to Sherlock.  Then again, he had no idea if Herron was an open book like Liam or a closed one like Avery, so he may as well have been talking to Sherlock the whole time.  ”Er,” he said with an awkward clearing of the throat.  ”Better attached how, exactly?”

"I know you better," Sherlock replied.  "I’ve always known the facts, obviously, but the emotions are always another matter."  He frowned a little and sighed.  "My head hurts, John," he said, clearly strained.  "Emotionally, not physically, it…it’s like I said all that time ago, I need you.  That, to me, is deeper than love.  Love is chemicals.  Symbiosis is necessary for life." He shut his eyes and relaxed into bed again, despite having been there for months.  "We’ve both demonstrated on numerous occasions that we are entirely dependent on one another, not like a junkie needs his fix but like a man needs sleep. We’ll go mad without one another.  We allow ourselves to be vulnerable for one another.  We feel safe with one another, at least I hope you feel safe, though in all honesty, I don’t think I’d feel safe with me."  He frowned and shut his eyes.  "I think I’m…drifting off again…don’t go, John…happ…y…birth…"


thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

"You haven’t," Sherlock croaked.  "And I don’t…plan on changing…that."  Sherlock flashed a weak smile a little more slowly than usual and massaged John’s hand in his own.  "Hey, don’t cry," he said, in a voice entirely unlike any of Sherlock’s three known personalities.  "Baby, you should never cry if you want to make the world a brighter place.  The sun needs to shine."

"Did you just—?"  John looked at him confused, even amused, as he’d never been called baby before, not even by Avery.  It was weird and not unwelcome, though he did feel a little embarrassed that Sherlock—or whoever—had said it in front of Mycroft.  "Okay, that was weird."

"Sorry," the new alter smiled.  "I got you to grin now, though, and that’s the best feeling in the world." He weakly stuck out his hand again, as if to shake it.  "I think I’m called Herron.  Like the bird but with two rs.  I don’t know why."  Herron smiled again and took a deep breath.  "I can’t wait to go out to a nice dinner with you.  Avery’s got it in his pants, but I’m a little more…I want to woo you."

"Woo me?  Like romance me?"  This surprisingly hurt.  Because if that was true, if what Herron was saying was what John thought he was saying, then it meant Sherlock was wrong, that he did have the capacity for romantic love, and that John wasn’t the one who would be getting it from the grand detective.  "Um," he said, throat catching.  "I…I’ll have to think about it," he choked out.  "And there’s Avery to consider."

Herron’s face fell.  ”Alright, I don’t want to force anything.  I’ve got time, anyway, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”  He lifted John’s hand and kissed it gently, respectfully, and leaned back.  ”For the first time in a long time, I want someone to love.  Not just to have.  It’s weird and Sherlock doesn’t like it, he thinks it’s too alien, but between Avery and I, you got a whole hunk of atrophied Holmes to love you.”

"I don’t want you and Avery!  I want Sherlock!"  John’s outburst was uncalled for and he rubbed his face.  "I’m sorry, that…I didn’t mean it like that, I do love Avery and I’ll probably love you, too, but…it’s Sherlock I’ve always…it’s hard, I was straight, I thought I was, well, I thought being bi was a phase since I stopped liking men once I got to year seven, and then Sherlock came along and I started questioning that.  It changed everything.  All those women just sort of faded the instant I chased a bloody cab with him, and I knew he was the one for me."  John was trying not to cry now, he was trying to hold it in and quite literally soldier on.  "And I thought that maybe he loved me too, when he kissed me that day after the pool with Moriarty, but then there was nothing.  And it was always just an experiment to him, I know it was, when he started dating me and we became official, and he never once told me he loved me back. That hurts like hell, just the same as the gunshot in Afghanistan, to have the one person you’d be willing to spend the rest of your life with not return the feelings that you have.  And then…I thought I lost him.  I—sorry," he said as he burst into tears, pausing for a good few moments before going on.  "I thought if he wasn’t going to be with me when I was old and grey, then I didn’t want to get old and grey.  I’d do anything just to be with you—him.  And yes, I do love Avery, he’s amazing and all of that, but he’s still not the man I fell in total love with.  Avery’s the clouds but Sherlock’s the moon, both are amazing, but the moon is just…so much higher.”

Unbeknownst to John, Sherlock had switched out in the middle of this monologue and had seen most of it.  ”I’m…”  Sherlock genuinely couldn’t think of anything to say.  He’d suspected something like that for a long time, but for him, love was uncomfortable, sex had always been rather neutral, and he knew he couldn’t provide for John the way he clearly needed and wanted.  ”I’m sorry, John.  Thank you for telling me, though, I feel much better informed and…attached.”


thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

"You haven’t," Sherlock croaked.  "And I don’t…plan on changing…that."  Sherlock flashed a weak smile a little more slowly than usual and massaged John’s hand in his own.  "Hey, don’t cry," he said, in a voice entirely unlike any of Sherlock’s three known personalities.  "Baby, you should never cry if you want to make the world a brighter place.  The sun needs to shine."

"Did you just—?"  John looked at him confused, even amused, as he’d never been called baby before, not even by Avery.  It was weird and not unwelcome, though he did feel a little embarrassed that Sherlock—or whoever—had said it in front of Mycroft.  "Okay, that was weird."

"Sorry," the new alter smiled.  "I got you to grin now, though, and that’s the best feeling in the world." He weakly stuck out his hand again, as if to shake it.  "I think I’m called Herron.  Like the bird but with two rs.  I don’t know why."  Herron smiled again and took a deep breath.  "I can’t wait to go out to a nice dinner with you.  Avery’s got it in his pants, but I’m a little more…I want to woo you."

"Woo me?  Like romance me?"  This surprisingly hurt.  Because if that was true, if what Herron was saying was what John thought he was saying, then it meant Sherlock was wrong, that he did have the capacity for romantic love, and that John wasn’t the one who would be getting it from the grand detective.  "Um," he said, throat catching.  "I…I’ll have to think about it," he choked out.  "And there’s Avery to consider."

Herron’s face fell.  ”Alright, I don’t want to force anything.  I’ve got time, anyway, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”  He lifted John’s hand and kissed it gently, respectfully, and leaned back.  ”For the first time in a long time, I want someone to love.  Not just to have.  It’s weird and Sherlock doesn’t like it, he thinks it’s too alien, but between Avery and I, you got a whole hunk of atrophied Holmes to love you.”


thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

"You haven’t," Sherlock croaked.  "And I don’t…plan on changing…that."  Sherlock flashed a weak smile a little more slowly than usual and massaged John’s hand in his own.  "Hey, don’t cry," he said, in a voice entirely unlike any of Sherlock’s three known personalities.  "Baby, you should never cry if you want to make the world a brighter place.  The sun needs to shine."

"Did you just—?"  John looked at him confused, even amused, as he’d never been called baby before, not even by Avery.  It was weird and not unwelcome, though he did feel a little embarrassed that Sherlock—or whoever—had said it in front of Mycroft.  "Okay, that was weird."

"Sorry," the new alter smiled.  "I got you to grin now, though, and that’s the best feeling in the world." He weakly stuck out his hand again, as if to shake it.  "I think I’m called Herron.  Like the bird but with two rs.  I don’t know why."  Herron smiled again and took a deep breath.  "I can’t wait to go out to a nice dinner with you.  Avery’s got it in his pants, but I’m a little more…I want to woo you."


thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

It had been a long six months for the Holmeses and Watsons, Sherlock having remained in his coma without the slightest sign of recovery, withering away physically and unreactive in anyway.  They’d rotated every day; at first, John insisted on having every other day, but after a while, it became a steady rhythm—John, Mycroft, Zap, Mrs. Hudson, Natalia, Lestrade, Molly, repeat.  They’d all fallen into a blackness, John worst of all, as bad as he had before meeting Sherlock, but then Tuesday would come around and he could see Sherlock again.

They’d missed his and Avery’s anniversary, but John had gotten him a present anyway, a sketchbook and fancy pencils.  They’d missed so many things, so many opportunities, and John was starting to think that even living wasn’t worth it if he wasn’t going to have Sherlock, Avery, or Liam beside him.  But today was John’s birthday, and he’d taken over for Lestrade who had to work anyway.  They were even having a small celebration in Sherlock’s hospital room, a box of cupcakes and the rest of Sherlock’s vigil there, sombre but making the best of it.  Someone called for John to make a wish—Mrs. Hudson probably—and John shut his eyes and blew out the candle on his enormous cupcake.  Please, Sherlock, if there’s one thing I want for my birthday, it’s you.

As the smoke swirled upwards toward the ceiling, John quickly pulled out the candle and stuck it wick-down in a cup of water so it wouldn’t set off the smoke alarm.  That was when John heard something, something he only thought he imagined, and looked up to see Sherlock’s eyes moving beneath the lids.  ”Sherlock?”

Everyone watched and waited with baited breath as Sherlock’s eyes weakly opened and he looked around.  ”Whhhh,” he managed, feeding tube and months of atrophy interfering with his ability to speak.

"Sherlock, you are in hospital and have been in a coma for nearly six months," Mycroft informed him calmly, getting a confused look that roughly equated to a scratch of the head from the younger brother.  "We have all been extremely concerned and are immesurably pleased to have you with us again."

"You are Sherlock, right?"  Zap was unsure, but thought it would be a good idea to ask, and Sherlock confirmed by nodding his hand weakly.  "Just checking."

My wish came true.  It actually came true.  John reached over and kissed Sherlock gently, accidentally crying onto him a little.  ”God, I just…you’re awake, I…”  He stood up and turned to the others.  ”Can I…can we have a moment?  Please?”

Everyone but Mycroft left, and John was okay with that, he decided.  Not happy about it, but not too upset, either.  He rubbed Sherlock’s hand gently and sighed repeatedly, not sure what to say after six months of silence.  ”Hey.  Um…it’s…it’s good to see you again, awake.  How are you feeling?”

Sherlock glared at John slightly, knowing it would be difficult to speak, and knowing John knew it.  But he understood his reasons.  ”I…six…months?  I rem..ember…Scotland…gunfire…”  He blinked and looked at John confusedly, frowning.  ”I was…shot?  You kissed me, I…thought…I was going…to…”

"I thought so too," John admitted in a very small voice.  "It scared the shit out of me, Sherlock.  I know it wasn’t your fault, but I kept…the war and all that, it was like losing my men over and over.  But it was different, too, because it was you."  John realized there were tears welling up in his eyes again and he cleared his throat.  "I just…"  He took a deep breath.  "I thought I was going to lose you." 

"You haven’t," Sherlock croaked.  "And I don’t…plan on changing…that."  Sherlock flashed a weak smile a little more slowly than usual and massaged John’s hand in his own.  "Hey, don’t cry," he said, in a voice entirely unlike any of Sherlock’s three known personalities.  "Baby, you should never cry if you want to make the world a brighter place.  The sun needs to shine."


thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

It had been a long six months for the Holmeses and Watsons, Sherlock having remained in his coma without the slightest sign of recovery, withering away physically and unreactive in anyway.  They’d rotated every day; at first, John insisted on having every other day, but after a while, it became a steady rhythm—John, Mycroft, Zap, Mrs. Hudson, Natalia, Lestrade, Molly, repeat.  They’d all fallen into a blackness, John worst of all, as bad as he had before meeting Sherlock, but then Tuesday would come around and he could see Sherlock again.

They’d missed his and Avery’s anniversary, but John had gotten him a present anyway, a sketchbook and fancy pencils.  They’d missed so many things, so many opportunities, and John was starting to think that even living wasn’t worth it if he wasn’t going to have Sherlock, Avery, or Liam beside him.  But today was John’s birthday, and he’d taken over for Lestrade who had to work anyway.  They were even having a small celebration in Sherlock’s hospital room, a box of cupcakes and the rest of Sherlock’s vigil there, sombre but making the best of it.  Someone called for John to make a wish—Mrs. Hudson probably—and John shut his eyes and blew out the candle on his enormous cupcake.  Please, Sherlock, if there’s one thing I want for my birthday, it’s you.

As the smoke swirled upwards toward the ceiling, John quickly pulled out the candle and stuck it wick-down in a cup of water so it wouldn’t set off the smoke alarm.  That was when John heard something, something he only thought he imagined, and looked up to see Sherlock’s eyes moving beneath the lids.  ”Sherlock?”

Everyone watched and waited with baited breath as Sherlock’s eyes weakly opened and he looked around.  ”Whhhh,” he managed, feeding tube and months of atrophy interfering with his ability to speak.

"Sherlock, you are in hospital and have been in a coma for nearly six months," Mycroft informed him calmly, getting a confused look that roughly equated to a scratch of the head from the younger brother.  "We have all been extremely concerned and are immesurably pleased to have you with us again."

"You are Sherlock, right?"  Zap was unsure, but thought it would be a good idea to ask, and Sherlock confirmed by nodding his hand weakly.  "Just checking."

My wish came true.  It actually came true.  John reached over and kissed Sherlock gently, accidentally crying onto him a little.  ”God, I just…you’re awake, I…”  He stood up and turned to the others.  ”Can I…can we have a moment?  Please?”

Everyone but Mycroft left, and John was okay with that, he decided.  Not happy about it, but not too upset, either.  He rubbed Sherlock’s hand gently and sighed repeatedly, not sure what to say after six months of silence.  ”Hey.  Um…it’s…it’s good to see you again, awake.  How are you feeling?”

Sherlock glared at John slightly, knowing it would be difficult to speak, and knowing John knew it.  But he understood his reasons.  ”I…six…months?  I rem..ember…Scotland…gunfire…”  He blinked and looked at John confusedly, frowning.  ”I was…shot?  You kissed me, I…thought…I was going…to…”


thearmydoctorin221b:

It had been a long six months for the Holmeses and Watsons, Sherlock having remained in his coma without the slightest sign of recovery, withering away physically and unreactive in anyway.  They’d rotated every day; at first, John insisted on having every other day, but after a while, it became a steady rhythm—John, Mycroft, Zap, Mrs. Hudson, Natalia, Lestrade, Molly, repeat.  They’d all fallen into a blackness, John worst of all, as bad as he had before meeting Sherlock, but then Tuesday would come around and he could see Sherlock again.

They’d missed his and Avery’s anniversary, but John had gotten him a present anyway, a sketchbook and fancy pencils.  They’d missed so many things, so many opportunities, and John was starting to think that even living wasn’t worth it if he wasn’t going to have Sherlock, Avery, or Liam beside him.  But today was John’s birthday, and he’d taken over for Lestrade who had to work anyway.  They were even having a small celebration in Sherlock’s hospital room, a box of cupcakes and the rest of Sherlock’s vigil there, sombre but making the best of it.  Someone called for John to make a wish—Mrs. Hudson probably—and John shut his eyes and blew out the candle on his enormous cupcake.  Please, Sherlock, if there’s one thing I want for my birthday, it’s you.

As the smoke swirled upwards toward the ceiling, John quickly pulled out the candle and stuck it wick-down in a cup of water so it wouldn’t set off the smoke alarm.  That was when John heard something, something he only thought he imagined, and looked up to see Sherlock’s eyes moving beneath the lids.  ”Sherlock?”

Everyone watched and waited with baited breath as Sherlock’s eyes weakly opened and he looked around.  ”Whhhh,” he managed, feeding tube and months of atrophy interfering with his ability to speak.

"Sherlock, you are in hospital and have been in a coma for nearly six months," Mycroft informed him calmly, getting a confused look that roughly equated to a scratch of the head from the younger brother.  "We have all been extremely concerned and are immesurably pleased to have you with us again."

"You are Sherlock, right?"  Zap was unsure, but thought it would be a good idea to ask, and Sherlock confirmed by nodding his hand weakly.  "Just checking."


((*casually explains the time-skip with a coma*)) 


  

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

"I suppose, but there’s no point in ignoring the obvious facts that Moriarty plays games.  He always has, fatal ones."  Sherlock bounced his leg up and down nervously, looking out the window, trying to make sense of his thoughts and the facts.  "The only logical explanation is that he wanted to be caught for some reason, not sure why, but there’s nothing else that could explain why he let himself be taken into police custody."  Sherlock rubbed his face.  "Maybe when we see him, we’ll have a better understanding."

The cab pulled up in front of New Scotland Yard, and the two got out, almost instantly greeted by Lestrade.  ”I’ll let you see him on one condition,” he said.  ”You stay on the other side of the glass from him.  If you say you can handle it, I trust you, but I’d rather not take any risks, and anyway, victims aren’t supposed to meet the perpetrators for obvious reasons.”  He looked Sherlock up and down.  ”You think you’re okay for this?”

Sherlock nodded, looking to John for support and almost comfort and followed Lestrade into the interrogation rooms.  Moriarty was sitting on the other side of the glass, looking quite pleased with himself, smirking but not grinning.  Sherlock watched him very carefully as he stayed silent, Lestrade asking and sometimes demanding answers.  Moriarty clearly wanted a lawyer present or didn’t think he had anything to worry about, so Lestrade finished up and left the room with a “We’ve got enough to convict for life anyway, this was just a formality.”  But then his dark eyes looked straight at the mirror—through it, and right at Sherlock, who tensed up involuntarily.

John shuddered, feeling the unpleasant feeling, too, and looked at Sherlock.  ”You okay?”  He certainly didn’t look it, but then, neither did John, really.  Sherlock nodded, but seemed neither distant nor too upset, instead just cautious, but John’s instincts told him to get out of there.  ”Okay, we’ve done what we came for, let’s just get out of here.”  He pulled Sherlock with him out of the room and back into the main area, once again looking over his friend to make sure he didn’t seem too poorly, and swiftly moved to the water cooler to get a little bit of water for himself and Sherlock.  His hands were shaking, he noted angrily as he brought them back.  ”I’m fine,” he reassured the cautious detectives.  ”I’ll be fine, just give us a mo.”

Sherlock drank the water thirstily and looked at John as if he were confused.  ”Liam shut like a clam, hard to feel him at all,” he whispered so that no one else could overhear.  ”And the other is boiling with rage.”  He looked back towards the interrogation room and shook his head.  ”He knew we’d come,” Sherlock said worriedly.  ”There was a plan, something he—”

Sherlock was cut off by the sound of bullets ripping through glass and people screaming to get down.  It all happened so quickly, his first instinct—and Avery’s—to protect John, who was barking orders with the best of them.  It seemed there was more than one gunman, but all the bullets seemed centered on the desk Sherlock and John had been seated at, and Sherlock realized with some horror that he and John were the intended targets.  ”John,” he managed to get out before a fresh spray started coming, and he threw himself forward onto the shorter if stockier ex-solder just as something sharp ripped through his chest.  ”J—”  The gunfire stopped, or at least Sherlock thought it did, but he was going cold and numb and John looked absolutely terrified.

No.  No.  This can’t be happening, John thought desperately as bright red started dripping through Sherlock’s shirt and onto his hands.  No.  No.  No.  No.  Sherlock’s silver eyes had that look that John knew too well from the military, the look of someone dying and in denial, and it took a few seconds for John to register that the gunfire had stopped.  ”Sh…Sherlock,” he pleaded as the detective flopped over and leaned with his back to the desk.  ”Sherlock, hang on, please, just stay with me, I’m scared, Sherlock, I need you…”

"Medic," shouted Lestrade as he rushed over.  "I need a medic over here now!"  Lestrade looked horrified as Sherlock was starting to grow cold, trying to comfort him in any way possible, and decided logic and reasoning was going to be the best way.  "We’ve got an ambulance on the way, Sherlock, just try to stay conscious."

I am, idiot, Sherlock’s mind screamed, registering that the pain was starting to fade.  A very, very bad sign.  Liam started crying through him and bloody hands reached for John, pleading for help, but all John could do was hold his hand and cry, too, watching the life slip away from the best and wisest man he had ever known.  Sherlock’s vision went before his sense of touch did, and then when that went, the last thing he felt was John’s lips on his before he went cold and everything went dark.


princess-kurloz:

fiduspawner:

gothiccharmschool:

I think today needs an adorable baby bat wiggling its ears at us. Yes. 

PEOPLE??? ARE AFRAID OF BATS???? FOR SOME REASON????

asdfjkl;;;; I am dead

princess-kurloz:

fiduspawner:

gothiccharmschool:

I think today needs an adorable baby bat wiggling its ears at us. Yes. 

PEOPLE??? ARE AFRAID OF BATS???? FOR SOME REASON????

asdfjkl;;;; I am dead


posted 1 year ago with 305,745 notes
via themerrywolf (originally zombiemarshmallow)
tags: #like

  

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

"I suppose, but there’s no point in ignoring the obvious facts that Moriarty plays games.  He always has, fatal ones."  Sherlock bounced his leg up and down nervously, looking out the window, trying to make sense of his thoughts and the facts.  "The only logical explanation is that he wanted to be caught for some reason, not sure why, but there’s nothing else that could explain why he let himself be taken into police custody."  Sherlock rubbed his face.  "Maybe when we see him, we’ll have a better understanding."

The cab pulled up in front of New Scotland Yard, and the two got out, almost instantly greeted by Lestrade.  ”I’ll let you see him on one condition,” he said.  ”You stay on the other side of the glass from him.  If you say you can handle it, I trust you, but I’d rather not take any risks, and anyway, victims aren’t supposed to meet the perpetrators for obvious reasons.”  He looked Sherlock up and down.  ”You think you’re okay for this?”

Sherlock nodded, looking to John for support and almost comfort and followed Lestrade into the interrogation rooms.  Moriarty was sitting on the other side of the glass, looking quite pleased with himself, smirking but not grinning.  Sherlock watched him very carefully as he stayed silent, Lestrade asking and sometimes demanding answers.  Moriarty clearly wanted a lawyer present or didn’t think he had anything to worry about, so Lestrade finished up and left the room with a “We’ve got enough to convict for life anyway, this was just a formality.”  But then his dark eyes looked straight at the mirror—through it, and right at Sherlock, who tensed up involuntarily.

John shuddered, feeling the unpleasant feeling, too, and looked at Sherlock.  ”You okay?”  He certainly didn’t look it, but then, neither did John, really.  Sherlock nodded, but seemed neither distant nor too upset, instead just cautious, but John’s instincts told him to get out of there.  ”Okay, we’ve done what we came for, let’s just get out of here.”  He pulled Sherlock with him out of the room and back into the main area, once again looking over his friend to make sure he didn’t seem too poorly, and swiftly moved to the water cooler to get a little bit of water for himself and Sherlock.  His hands were shaking, he noted angrily as he brought them back.  ”I’m fine,” he reassured the cautious detectives.  ”I’ll be fine, just give us a mo.”

Sherlock drank the water thirstily and looked at John as if he were confused.  ”Liam shut like a clam, hard to feel him at all,” he whispered so that no one else could overhear.  ”And the other is boiling with rage.”  He looked back towards the interrogation room and shook his head.  ”He knew we’d come,” Sherlock said worriedly.  ”There was a plan, something he—”

Sherlock was cut off by the sound of bullets ripping through glass and people screaming to get down.  It all happened so quickly, his first instinct—and Avery’s—to protect John, who was barking orders with the best of them.  It seemed there was more than one gunman, but all the bullets seemed centered on the desk Sherlock and John had been seated at, and Sherlock realized with some horror that he and John were the intended targets.  ”John,” he managed to get out before a fresh spray started coming, and he threw himself forward onto the shorter if stockier ex-solder just as something sharp ripped through his chest.  ”J—”  The gunfire stopped, or at least Sherlock thought it did, but he was going cold and numb and John looked absolutely terrified.


  

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

Liam rubbed his eyes sleepily, a little bit of Sherlock waking up, too, relaxed and almost happy as he listened to John talk on the phone.  What could possibly need an hour to come in for?  If it was Lestrade, it was probably urgent, but if it wasn’t urgent, then why did he call?  ”Where are we going?”  He sat up out of bed, watching John start to pull himself out of bed, too.  ”Did Greg have a present?”

"Sort of," John said, an awkward smile coming over his face.  He wanted to wait until Liam was subdominant before he broke the news, since it could quite easily freak him out.  "Er, I need to tell Sherlock something, I don’t want to worry you."  He kissed the top of Liam’s head and hugged him, happy beyond belief at the news.  "It’s good news, though, really, really good news."  He let out a little sob of happiness and decided to tell him anyway.  "Sorry, they, uh, they caught him.  Moriarty, I mean.  He’s in custody."  John realized there were tears streaming down his face and let out a laugh.  "They have him, Liam, Sherlock, Avery, they’ve got the bloody bastard in custody!"

Liam smiled and through him, Avery let out a laugh, swooping over and placing a very intimate kiss on John’s mouth.  ”Ooh,” Liam burbled at the motion, taking a few deep breaths, heady from the contact.  ”Does that mean we don’t have to be scared of him anymore?  I’d like to not be scared.”

But then he paused, swooned slightly, and Sherlock was the one who spoke the most.  ”No, this…it’s too easy.  We have to go see him, we have to see if we can figure out the catch.”  He shook his head.  ”There’s no reason for him to suddenly let himself be captured.”  Standing up, he got dressed quickly and threw on his scarf.  ”Let’s go.”

John followed him down to the cab and slid in beside him, equally nervous.  Sherlock was right, after all, there was no good reason why Jim should let himself be captured, not when there were witnesses and evidence and all sorts of damning other stuff that could send him to prison for the rest of his life, even with a spooked jury.  So there had to be some trick.  ”I’m worried, Sherlock,” he admitted.  ”But we’ve got to look up about it.  I mean, maybe Lestrade and that lot have just got things together for once, maybe they actually did catch him and make the right precautions.”  Sherlock’s look told him he didn’t agree, but John shrugged.  ”Look, we’ve got to hope, right?”

"I suppose, but there’s no point in ignoring the obvious facts that Moriarty plays games.  He always has, fatal ones."  Sherlock bounced his leg up and down nervously, looking out the window, trying to make sense of his thoughts and the facts.  "The only logical explanation is that he wanted to be caught for some reason, not sure why, but there’s nothing else that could explain why he let himself be taken into police custody."  Sherlock rubbed his face.  "Maybe when we see him, we’ll have a better understanding."

The cab pulled up in front of New Scotland Yard, and the two got out, almost instantly greeted by Lestrade.  ”I’ll let you see him on one condition,” he said.  ”You stay on the other side of the glass from him.  If you say you can handle it, I trust you, but I’d rather not take any risks, and anyway, victims aren’t supposed to meet the perpetrators for obvious reasons.”  He looked Sherlock up and down.  ”You think you’re okay for this?”

Sherlock nodded, looking to John for support and almost comfort and followed Lestrade into the interrogation rooms.  Moriarty was sitting on the other side of the glass, looking quite pleased with himself, smirking but not grinning.  Sherlock watched him very carefully as he stayed silent, Lestrade asking and sometimes demanding answers.  Moriarty clearly wanted a lawyer present or didn’t think he had anything to worry about, so Lestrade finished up and left the room with a “We’ve got enough to convict for life anyway, this was just a formality.”  But then his dark eyes looked straight at the mirror—through it, and right at Sherlock, who tensed up involuntarily.



posted 1 year ago with 4,585 notes
via deastrumquodvicis (originally estherlune)
tags: #public posts