Chapter Text
While the shadows crossed the city buildings and the eyes of all were falling shut with sleep, a pair of feet scuttled through the dark streets, cast in the light of dim lit lamps, coat drawn up to his face. His heartbeat was the only thing he could hear and his shadow was the only thing that walked beside him. Or at least that’s what he tried to convince himself.
“You can’t ignore me, John.”
“You’re not real.”
“Yet here I am.”
John turned hesitantly to his right where the tall man was staring at him with keen eyes. It almost looked like he was actually there, not buried in the cemetery.
“You still don’t believe me?” Sherlock sneered. “Those doctors have been lying to you, John, for goodness sake. I thought you were smarter than those other imbeciles I’m surrounded with. I’m right here! Those so called doctors were hired by Moriarty. I’m not dead. It was all a trick.”
A magic trick. John thought bitterly as he remembered Sherlock’s last words.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” John choked as he briskly tried to walk away from him. Tears burned at the edge of his eyes and he wrapped his coat tighter around him as if he could guard himself from Sherlock that way.
“I’m not dead, John.” Sherlock hissed.
“Then why can’t anyone else see you?!” John screamed. A couple walking across the street paused in alarm and turned to John
who gave them a wary look as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“John.”
“You aren’t real, Sherlock. You’re...”Dead. John couldn’t bring himself to say it, because maybe he wasn’t... But this version of him
wasn’t the real one.
“What’s it like inside your small little brain, John? You know it, don’t you. I’m right in front of you. I’m alive; I’m real.”
John opened his mouth but was interrupted by a black car pulling up in front of him as he was about to cross the street.
“Mycroft.” Sherlock said darkly. “Come, John. We can go back to Baker Street and have a nice cup of tea.”
The door opened and Mycroft stepped out, quickly assessing the situation.
“He’s not there, John.”
“ I know.” the soldier said as he moved to go with Mycroft.
“John, you aren’t seriously going to go with him. He was the one who told Moriarty all about me. Do you honestly think he is doing this out of the goodness of his heart? He’s with Moriarty. He wants to kill you too.” Sherlock angrily shouted, and John took a step away from Mycroft as panic filled him.
What was he thinking gong with Mycroft? Moriarty had him in his hands. They were probably being watched right now. Just as he was about to run, Sherlock already reaching for his hand, Mycroft shook him by the shoulders and gently slapped him in the face.
“I need you to listen to me, John. I’m not your enemy. You need to breathe.”
“Let go of me!” John screamed, clawing at the hands holding him. He had to escape.
“JOHN!” Mycroft doubled over as he was punched in the stomach. Without wasting a second, John slipped from Mycroft’s grasp and ran. To where, he didn’t know, but he was getting there fast. He dodged past streets and jumped over a few fences
As he skidded down a back alley, his foot twisted and he fell, barely catching himself against the wall only to find himself looking at a gun barrel trained on him.
“Johnnie boy, what a pleasure to see you!”
John tensed, scrambling up against the wall to find Jim Moriarty being pinned to the wall by a man in all black. There were three more pointing their guns to Moriarty and five more surrounding them.
“You with him?” one of the men asked pointing to Moriarty. John vehemently shook his head, his heart beating out of control already stressed from escaping Mycroft.
“John, the man in front of you has a wound on his wrist.” Sherlock whispered next to him and John’s head swivelled over to find the detective’s eyes skimming the situation. “The man holding Moriarty is the boss. The rest are just amateur paid by the hour men. Ask why Moriarty is here and while the man in front of you, his name is Tim by the way, and has a lovely wife, is distracted, swing up on his wrist and take his gun when he drops it and shoot the man to the farthest right and the boss. The others will disperse once their leaders are taken out.”
All this was said in seconds, and John was so deep in his panic, he didn’t bother trying to refuse.
“Why is he here?” John asked, jutting his chin out in the direction of Moriarty, and the criminal mastermind raised an eyebrow.
Like Sherlock said, the man in front of him turned his head to the boss, and John knocked the gun out of his grasp and shot the boss and the one to the farthest right. One of the men closest to John turned to shoot him, but John knocked his gun out of the way and barrelled into him, causing the man to knock himself unconscious with the wall behind him.
The other men ran off and John turned to Sherlock who was laughing.
“That was brilliant, John!”
“I didn’t think that would actually work.” John laughed as Sherlock rolled his eyes. They were interrupted by a slow clapping and
John cursed as he realized he had forgotten all about Moriarty.
“Johnnie boy, that was quite the thinking.” Jim smirked as he stepped closer to John. The soldier raised his gun, eyes wide with fear. “Or should I see Sherlock’s?”
“What- How?”
Jim giggled as he took another step towards John and John looked to where Sherlock had been standing last but found empty space. The prick only came when he wanted to.
“I was told that you were going crazy, but I think the correct phrase would be,” He licked his lips, “mentally enhanced. Just look at you. Thinking like a true genius, but you don’t think it’s you, do you? You think it’s Sherlock, and it is but isn’t.”
“Shut up.” John shouted, closing his eyes as a headache started coming on.
The next second he was being pinned to a wall by a slim figure, gun knocked from his hand and his mouth covered by a hand.
“Tsk. Tsk, John.” Jim scolded playfully. “Can’t have the neighbours thinking something’s wrong can we?” He smiled and leaned closer until their lips were mere inches apart, breath mingling with John’s ragged one. His fingers caressed John’s cheek.
“I think I like you better this way. You’re almost on Sherlock’s and my level, not quite, but close enough. You’re fun.”
With that, the criminal mastermind swirled around and opened the door of the black car that had pulled up at some point. He paused halfway to the door.
“Schizophrenia can be amusing sometimes.” Jim winked. “The game’s afoot.”
With that, the car zoomed off, leaving John leaning against the alley wall, pale faced and with a card Moriarty had slid into his hand.