Work Text:
"Why are you doing all of this? You don't want money or power - not really."
Jim drives the point of his penknife into the apple.
"What is it all for?" Sherlock asks.
Jim leans forward and speaks softly. "I want to solve the problem - our problem. The final problem." He lowers his head. "It's going to start very soon, Sherlock: the fall." Jim whistles a slowly descending note as he tracks his eyes down to the floor. "But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying except there's a more permanent destination." He finishes with a thudding sound.
Sherlock meets Jim's gaze and bears his teeth. He stands and buttons his jacket. "Never liked riddles."
Jim stands as well and straightens his suit. He stares at Sherlock. "Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I... owe... you."
They hold the gaze for a few long seconds before Jim turns slowly and walks out of the flat. Sherlock remains standing - silent, still. After a moment he moves to pick up the apple that Jim has left on the arm of his chair with the penknife still stuck in it. He picks it up by the handle and looks at it. Jim has carved the letters 'I O U' into the flesh of the fruit. A smile twitches at the corner of Sherlock's lips.
It's already started. He's already falling for Jim Moriarty.
#
TWO MONTHS LATER
There's been a kidnapping at St. Aldate's School. Sherlock attends the crime scene and sees everything that he's meant to see. It's beginning, the transformation. There's been no planning, no communication. He's just expected to understand the game and play his part. And he does. He will. It's a love letter that's been lost in the mail. Sherlock is giddy with anticipation.
At St. Bart's Molly tells him and John about how she wasn't really Jim's girlfriend. "Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it."
"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly," Sherlock responds. It's only after the words escape his lips that he realizes how reverent and possessive that may have sounded. He safely assumes that no one else will notice.
He spends the rest of the afternoon buried in his analysis. It doesn't feel like any time has passed when Molly starts speaking to him again.
"What did you mean, 'I owe you'?"
Sherlock watches John walk across the lab until he's out of earshot.
"You said, 'I owe you'. You were muttering it while you were working," Molly explains.
"Nothing. Mental note," Sherlock says. Shit, has he been saying it out loud this entire time? He can't get Jim out of his head.
"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead." Molly pauses for a moment. "No, sorry."
"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's not really your area." Sherlock wonders why she won't just leave him alone with his work. He watches out of the side of his vision as she tries to recover.
"When he was... dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely - except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."
"Molly..." Sherlock cautions.
"You look sad," she says, motioning towards John, "when you think he can't see you."
Sherlock looks up from his microscope to glance at John. He's looking through papers on the other side of the lab, unable to hear the conversation. Sherlock turns to regard Molly.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
Sherlock thinks about the question for a moment. He's more okay than he has been in years. But there is a sadness, below the surface, that she's somehow picked up on. He will miss John a great deal. He's been a incredibly loyal friend, able to cull the loneliness that has always licked at Sherlock heels. But Sherlock has outgrown him. He needs to move on. To seek out sharper minds and permanent companionship. And that possibility is worth leaving John Watson behind. Sherlock opens his mouth, trying to think of something in response to Molly's question.
"And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."
"You can see me," Sherlock concedes.
"I don't count," Molly replies.
Sherlock is taken aback. He blinks. He never anticipated that Molly could possibly be so observant. Maybe he had been wrong about her all this time. Maybe she did have useful qualities outside of her access to the morgue. Maybe she was the piece missing from the final problem - the one part that Sherlock had been unable to solve.
"What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me." Molly flinches, her mouth speaking words truer than her mind meant to communicate. "No, I just mean... I mean if there's anything you need-" She shakes her head. "It's fine."
Molly turns away. Sherlock doesn't want to miss his opportunity. Plans are forming in his mind - thoughts are firing at the speed of light. Stop her, he thinks. She can help you.
"What-what-what could I need from you?" he asks.
Molly turns back to him. "Nothing," she replies, shrugging, "I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually." She nods firmly, but there's a nervousness just below the service.
The corner of Sherlock's mouth turns up. Molly has surprised him twice in under 10 minutes. He's almost beside himself. "...Thank you." He frowns, it doesn't seem like quite enough for what he plans to ask her for later.
"I'm just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?"
Sherlock opens his mouth to tell her that's he fine - he doesn't want to inconvenience her.
"It's okay, I know you don't," she says before he can get the words out.
Sherlock finds this oddly presumptuous and feels as though he's somehow lost the upper hand in their relationship for a moment. "Well, actually, maybe I'll..."
"I know you don't," Molly repeats, ending the conversation. She leaves the lab.
Sherlock smiles. She's perfect. His plan is perfect. Who would have guessed that Molly Hooper would be the missing piece?
#
The police find the children with Sherlock's help and Sherlock finds Jim's message in the office building across the street. He doesn't let his face betray the fact that he's seen the clandestine message. It was meant for him and him alone.
When they leave the Yard, Sherlock makes John take a separate cab. It's been harder to pull away from him than he anticipated. If they sat together in a darkened cab on the way home, it would remind him of the first cab ride they ever took together. How impressed John was by Sherlock's abilities. It would remind him of the cab ride home from Buckingham. Of the crystal ashtray that now lives on their shared coffee table. Of their happy life together. Sherlock swallows a lump in his throat. He wishes he could tell John, of course, that he could carry his friendship with him into the next chapter.
But he can't. He has to leave John Watson behind. And that's the most difficult trade-off of all. Before he can question it any further, the screen in the back of the cab switches on. It's Jim. Sherlock's heart stutters in his chest. Brilliant. He listens to the tale of Sir Boast-a-lot with a quiet awe.
Elsewhere, Lestrade hears a similar tale.
#
Sherlock has just discovered the camera when Lestrade appears in their flat. Sherlock refuses to go back to the Yard because there are things that require his attention - parts he needs to play before the next act. Morarity is smart, but Sherlock needs more time. He knows they'll return with a warrant, but it will be long enough before they get back.
"Should have gone with him. People'll think-" John begins.
"I don't care what people think," Sherlock replies before he can finish.
"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong," he continues, regardless.
"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong." Sherlock fiddles with the camera that he's now attached to his computer.
"Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're..." John responds, anger evident in his voice. Sherlock wasn't expecting that - he looks up from his work and they lock eyes for a long moment.
"That I am what?" Sherlock asks
"A fraud."
Of course. Everything clicks into place and it's all perfectly clear for Sherlock in that moment. John will be his lighthouse. Glorious, solid, unfaltering John will be what makes the final problem into the ultimate solution. But Sherlock mustn't let on. He rolls his eyes and leans back.
"You're worried they're right."
"What?"
"You're worried they're right about me," Sherlock explains.
"No."
"That's why you're so upset," Sherlock continues. But as he explains it, a part of his chest feels hollow - the void John Watson will leave inside him is one that perhaps no one will ever be able to fill again. "You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."
John turns to look out of the window and Sherlock knows that he will not fail him. His loyalty is unending.
"No I'm not," he says.
Sherlock leans forward. "Moriarty is playing with your mind too." He slams his hand onto the table. "Can you see what's going on?"
John looks at him for a moment, then looks back out the window. "No, I know you're for real."
Sherlock can barely breathe. He does not deserve the love that John has bestowed upon him. For a fleeting second he questions his decision and wonders if he could make a life with an injured army doctor. No. He might want it, but John can't give him what he needs. Challenge. Danger. Intellect.
"A hundred percent?" Sherlock asks.
"Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time."
Goddamnit, John, Sherlock thinks, with a smile playing across his lips. I will miss you so much.
#
They return to arrest Sherlock, like he knew they would. John chins the Chief Superintendent, which was mostly unexpected, but fortuitous. Sherlock decides he would like to spend as many remaining moments with him as possible. They go on the run and Sherlock leads them both to where he knows the next act must play out - Kitty Reily's apartment. Sherlock argues with her about the newspaper article until a familiar face enters the apartment.
"Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal-"
Sherlock and Jim meet each other's gaze and Jim drops the bag of shopping. He backs away until he is against the wall and holds his hands up protectively in front of him. Sherlock has to restrain himself of applauding the performance on that alone.
"You said that they wouldn't find me here! You said that I'd be safe here!" Jim protests.
"You are safe, Richard. I'm a witness. He wouldn't hurt you in front of witnesses," Kitty explains, trying to calm him.
John points a Jim, in shock. "So that's your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!"
Sherlock and Jim are unable to look away from one another. Sherlock's heart is beating in double time. So close, so soon.
"Of course he's Richard Book. There is no Moriarty. There never has been," Kitty says.
"What are you talking about?" John asks.
"Look him up," she replies. "Rich Brook - an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty."
Sherlock continues to stare a Jim, who is still holding his hands up and looking at everyone nervously. Sherlock has chills. He is amazing. Incredible. Fantastic.
"Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man-" Jim says, appearing terrified. "Don't- don't h- don't hurt me."
John screams at him, pointing: "No! You are Moriarty!" He turns and yells at Kitty. "He's Moriarty!" John turns back to Jim. "We've met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!"
Jim puts his hands over his face then holds them in front of himself again. He sounds as if he's about to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He gestures to Sherlock. "He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay?"
John turns to Sherlock, his breathing heavy. "Sherlock, you'd better- explain- because I am not getting this."
"Oh I'll... I'll be doing the explaining," Kitty interrupts, "in print. It's all here, conclusive proof." She hands John a folder, which he begins to pick through. There's a typed sheet of her article and a proof copy with the headline - SHERLOCK'S A FAKE. Sherlock reads it over John's shoulder. Brilliant.
"You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis," Kitty continues.
"Invented him?" John asks, visibly upset.
"Mmhm. Invented all the crimes, actually. And to cap it all, you made up a master villain."
Kitty and John bicker for a few more minutes, while Jim continues to play the part of Richard. It's masterful, really. When Kitty walks across the room to pull out more information, Jim meets Sherlock's eyes and reveals his true self, smiling triumphantly. John, ever oblivious, is watching Kitty's behind. Sherlock half-smiles back at Jim and watches him slip back into his 'Richard' persona.
Kitty and John continue to argue and Sherlock finds his patience wearing thin. He starts to advance towards Jim.
"It's all over now- NO!" Jim backs away and up a short flight of stairs to the upper level of the flat. To his credit, he looks absolutely terrified. "Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!"
Sherlock knows his part well, too. "Stop it. Stop it NOW!"
Jim turns and bolts up the stairs. "Don't hurt me!"
Sherlock and John chase after him, and Jim is careful to make sure that he has a moment to grin at Sherlock without John noticing. Jim slips through an open window and Sherlock stops John before he can follow. He has to give him space.
"No, no, no. He'll have back-up," Sherlock explains. He heads towards the stairs, and after one last encounter with Kitty, leaves the flat. Outside, Sherlock begins to pace. He's anxious to get to the final chapter.
"Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?" John asks.
He had better be able to, Sherlock thinks, but replies instead: "He's got my whole life story. That's what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable."
"Your word against his," John says.
"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to-" Sherlock stops dead, a realization dawning. Yes. Of course.
"Sherlock?" John asks.
"Something I need to do."
"What? Can I help?"
"No - on my own," Sherlock replies. He walks away, leaving John behind. I'm sorry, John. But it's the beginning of the end.
#
Later, Sherlock meets John again at Barts to bask in the last hours of his company. John falls asleep and Sherlock listens to the way he breathes. He sends a text.
Come and play. Bart's Hospital rooftop. SH
An invitation.
Hours pass. Sherlock sends John away with a phone call.
I'm waiting... JM
Acceptance.
#
"Ah, here we are at last. You and me, Sherlock, and our problem - the final problem." Jim holds up his phone. "Stayin' alive! It's so boring, isn't it?" He switches off the ringtone. "It's just-" he holds his hand out flat and slices it slowly through the air, "staying."
Sherlock paces around the roof. It's time. He's practically vibrating.
"All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you."
Sherlock's head turns sharply. What? Did he misunderstand the game? No, not possible. What then? The phone, of course. A recording. Irrefutable evidence.
"And you know what? In the end it was easy," Jim continues.
Sherlock stops and folds his hands behind his back. In his right hand, he cradles his phone, making sure to catch every word on record.
"It was easy. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you're ordinary just like all of them." Jim lowers his head and rubs his face. "Ah well."
Jim stands and walks closer. Sherlock can smell his cologne. It's intoxicating. He starts to pace around Sherlock - there's no way he won't notice the mobile. He'll be tipped off - keep playing the game.
"Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get to you?" he asks.
"Richard Brook," Sherlock responds. Cover all the bases.
"Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do."
I do, Sherlock thinks, I get all your jokes. I'm the only one who will ever be able to keep up with you. You've already fallen, haven't you Jim? You fell a long time ago. Maybe that day at the pool, when I bested you. Maybe before that. How long have you had me in your sights?
They discuss the binary code, get it all explained for whatever half-witted detective that finds the mobile. Sherlock even plays dumb, lets Moriarty lay it all out. There is no room for doubt.
"That's your weakness - you always want everything to be clever," Jim says. I'm that clever, I'll always be clever for you, Sherlock. Words unspoken, but heard. "Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building - nice way to do it." An invitation
"Do it? Do- do what?" Sherlock asks the question to which he already has the answer. "Yes, of course. My suicide."
"'Genius detective proved to be a fraud.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairy tales," Jim replies. "And pretty Grimm ones too." Acceptance.
#
There's a body on the roof of St. Barts. Sherlock has handled enough firearms to know that Jim's gun was loaded. He also knows that firing a blank in one's mouth can still be extremely convincing, as can theatrical blood packs. But it was all for the good of the recording. There will be no body to find, of course, but it won't matter. They will write it off as the criminal web collecting their fearless leader. The final curtain call belongs to Sherlock Holmes.
"Hello?"
"John."
"Sherlock, are you okay?"
"Turn around and walk back the way you came. Now."
"No, I'm coming in."
"Just do as I ask! Please."
"Where?"
"Stop there."
It's hard. Much harder than he expected. Real tears spill from his eyes. John's voice is saturated with love. A piece of Sherlock's heart breaks when he tells John Watson goodbye. He will never be able to mend it. But a much greater and more profound love awaits him.
"Goodbye John."
"No, don't."
Sherlock tosses his phone down to the rooftop as gently as possible. It's important that they find it, listen to it. Hear everything.
"No, SHERLOCK!"
He can hear John shouting from all the way down the street. I'm sorry, John. Sherlock spreads his arms and tips forward, plummeting towards the pavement. Goodbye.
#
Sherlock lowers himself over Jim's naked and spent body, kissing him deeply. They shift around to lay tangled in one another's limbs. The hotel room's television plays a news story about the double suicide of London's greatest villains. Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, Jim."
"I have something I want to tell you, but you have to promise to never tell anyone."
"I promise."
"Do you swear on your life?"
"I swear on my life."
"I'd die for you."
"I died for you, too."
#