Chapter Text
Who leaves a wedding early? SH
I do SH
John seems happy. SH
I'm happy for him SH
Or I thought I was SH
Why can't I be happy? SH
Sherlock walked down the streets of London, alone, feeling quite sad for himself, repeatedly texting a number he knew he would get no response from.
The detective was happy for John, he wished his best friend luck with his new life. Mrs.Hudson and Mycroft's words pinged in his mind.
End of an era.
John said he would visit, they would still solve crimes, he said he would, John would come, wouldn't he?
I wanted to dance SH
London felt lonelier then ever for the detective as he walked down the street, nothing in sight, not a single man or woman. It was as if the whole world had moved on from the great hat detective and to something new, something more interesting, something, not boring.
Come back SH
I need you SH
It was one night, one night that should of never happened, but a night that stayed in his mind since, even after that day when everything went wrong, and relationships were broken. He longed for another night like that.
Walking down Baker street felt so different, knowing that John wouldn't be there, that he wouldn't be there anytime soon. Mrs.Hudson wouldn't be there, she was at the party as well. Sherlock was completly and utterly alone.
Please SH
I need you SH
I wanted to dance with you tonight SH
221 was in view now, Sherlock was mostly looking at the ground, living in a memory, trying to forget the night, trying to forget that John, his partner, best friend would no longer be around.
His mind was a drift, so when his phone beeped it shocked him. What he read was even more shocking.
I would love to dance JM
"Dance with me."
That's not real, it's all in the mind, it can't be real.
Sherlock raised his eyes from his phone, and looked at 221, standing in front of the door was a short man he once knew, a man he wanted to know forever, a man he had a bad falling out with that couldn't be fixed.
"Jim..?" Sherlock breathed, he stood on the road, not daring to move any closer to Moriarty, he could be a hallucination from stress, or PTSD, he couldn't be real. James Moriarty put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
James Moriarty was dead.
"Hi Sherlock." Moriarty murmured, he slid his hands out of his pants pockets and stepped towards Sherlock. He was wearing a suit, usual Westwood, something that would be worn to a wedding. Sherlock stepped back, Moriarty didn't take another step.
"I'm real Sherlock." He raised his hands in innocence as he took a few more steps towards Sherlock, who looked frozen in spot. The criminal placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's face, rubbing his cheeks gently with his thumbs.
"This is real, I'm here." Jim's voice was soft, tender, welcoming to Sherlock.
"How?" The detective whispered.
"Same as you, faked my death."
Sherlock leaned down, pressing his forehead against Moriarty's. He wasn't sure how to react for once. It was all so much, he couldn't believe that Jim was alive, that he was there with him. All he could think about was Jim, he connected his lips with Jim's, kissing him powerfully, snaking his hands around the shorter mans waist.
Moriarty pressed himself flush against Sherlock, kissing him back instantly.
It was a reunion for the books.
The pair walked up the stairs to 221b together, no words were spoken, Sherlock for once was speechless and Moriarty was content saying nothing, his actions speaking louder then words.
Sherlock had a vice grip, he was to afraid to let go, if he let go, Jim could leave, he wouldn't have it, not for a second. He put some slow music on, and took the criminal to the center of the living room, pulling him closer. Moriarty set one hand on Sherlock's shoulder, the other holding his hand, Sherlock rested his free hand on Jim's waist.
They danced the waltz, not saying a thing, they just stared into each other's eyes, smiling, not having a care in the world, focusing on the moment at hand.
Time flew by, they danced for hours, progressively getting closer. Now the criminals head rested on the detective's chest, his arms around his waist. Sherlock had rested his head against Jim's, his arms around his back.
It was the best moment he had, had in two years, it made being lonely in the flat okay, because he wasn't lonely anymore, Jim would stay..wouldn't he?
It wasn't the time to think about that. he didn't want to think about that, he wouldn't think about that.
Jim leaned his head up, kissing Sherlock, the detective smiled against the kiss, kissing back while his hands trailed up and down the shorter mans back.
Slowly, they began undressing each other, Moriarty staring with Sherlock's jacket, sliding it off and tossing it aside, Sherlock did the same. Shoes were kicked off, ties pulled away, pant's released without a break in the kiss.
Sherlock was getting more aggressive, needing Jim so much now, he need to feel the man's naked flesh against his. He rolled his hips needingly. Moriarty responded, undoing the taller man's shirt, once it was open, he placed small kisses all over his chest, licking tenderly over his pecks.
He backed the detective into the bedroom and onto the bed, laying over top of him. Jim kissed up Sherlock's chest, making his way to his neck, and then connecting there lips. Sherlock worked the criminal's shirt, pulling it off as quick as possible.
Moriarty praised Sherlock's body, pleasuring him in every way he knew how, Sherlock was on cloud nine the whole time, in total and utter bliss.
At the end of the night, the crumbled into each other's arms, Jim nuzzled Sherlock's side, arms tight around him. The detective wouldn't let him go, not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever again, he loved Moriarty to much.
"I love you." Sherlock whispered.
"I love you to Sherlock." Jim responded.
For the first time in two years, both feel asleep with ease, feeling safe again, loved again.