#moriartipocalypse 2021

[onthecrosslook]

Three Acts

Note: @call-me-moo Here goes nothing…

Epilogue

(From this point onward, the chapters will not be illustrated. I attempted to illustrate them, but it diverges from canon so much that I couldn’t find a single scene that worked. I’m really sorry about it. But still, I hope you enjoy the epilogue…and whatever that entails.)

I’m in a wheelchair at Mary’s funeral. The doctors told John I was too weak to leave the hospital, but I insisted on going. Their concerns were warranted, after all- the last time I left, I nearly bled out in an abandoned building. But having my best friend…

Perhaps maybe more…?

I shake the thought away.

I can’t ruin this.

Being with John is the least I can do, and the most I could ever ask for.

I don’t deserve him.

Everyone that was there to pay their respects have already left- not that many people came to begin with. Most washed their hands of the whole situation when they found out who Mary truly was, and what she had done to us. Only John and I stayed afterwards.

Together. Once again, together.

We remain at the grave, respectively sitting and standing in companionable silence. Neither of us are sure what to say- to each other, or to Mary, I’m not sure. It’s fairly overcast, and I can see the beginnings of storm clouds rolling in above us.

How appropriate.

I exhale and tentatively steal a glance at John. He looks calm, but I can see a range of emotions flashing in his blue eyes as he stares at Mary’s gravestone. One of his hands is balled into a shaking fist, and the other loosely holds a bouquet of white lilies.

“Sherlock,” he murmurs, his voice cracking with emotion and painful, unsaid words. “Sherlock, what…what am I supposed to say…?”

He killed his wife.

I swallow hard. I’m not sure what to say, either, but anything I could do…“Do…would you like me to speak first?”

He killed his wife for me.

John nods stiffly and stands back, before hesitating and pushing my chair a bit closer. He looks as though he wants to say something to me, but he bites back the words and keeps them to himself.

I take a deep, shaky breath. “…Mary. I…I…want you to know that…Even if- if you shot me. Even if you…with Rosie…Even after all that, I- I think…I forgive you. You were selfish. And you- you lied, and you hurt everyone. But…you were also kind. And you were selfless, sometimes. And I saw some of the love you had f-for everyone, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Where is this coming from? I hated Mary, I hated her, I really did, I hated her smile and her words and her subtle manipulation throughout the entirety of our fabricated friendship-

“Sherlock…” John says softly, urging me to stop getting lost in my mind. It’s funny how he can do that with a single look…

I can’t stop. Not now.

“-And…and I know I should be…the last person who tells you about love, because…because I’ve only truly…truly known what it meant after meeting John.” I don’t look at John. I’m too afraid of how he’ll react. “And…and you. I don’t…believe in the afterlife, you’re aware. But…I- I hope…” I feel hot tears burning my eyes. “I hope you’re at peace, Mary.”

John rests a hand on my shoulder as I choke back tears. I flinch at the sudden contact. He doesn’t say anything further as I take deep breaths to regain my composure.

I shouldn’t be this emotional. I shouldn’t care.

“Sherlock,” he repeats again, the barest trace of a smile on his face. “How- how do I compete with that?”

I laugh and lean into his touch. It feels warm, comforting, loving.

It feels right.

I smile weakly back at him. “Just say what's on your mind. You’ll be all right.” And I mean it. He will be all right.

He sighs and walks forward. A moment passes before he finally builds up the courage to begin speaking- and once he starts, it all rushes out of him like an unblockaded river. “Mary. You were my wife. Once. And…and yes, I shot you. But you shot Sherlock, so I think we’re even. You were a liar. And a killer. But I suppose that’s my type, yeah? I can’t help going for the crazy ones. It’s…it’s my addiction.” He glances towards me, pain in his eyes, before looking back. “I just…I don’t think I could forgive you, normally. But…if…if Sherlock could- if my favourite bloody sociopath could find it in his heart to…I…I think I can, too. Goodbye, Mary. I think I’ll be happier now.”

He deserves it. John Watson has been through far too much heartache, he deserves to have a bit of happiness.

“John, are you all right?”

His expression lightens a bit, as though he’s gotten a lot off of his chest.

I suppose, in a way, he has. Catharsis can be a wonderful thing.

“Yeah, Sherlock. I’m all right. For the first time…in…in a while. Come on. I’ve got to finish moving my stuff back to Baker Street, and I’ll be damned if you use being shot as an excuse not to help.”

I smile softly. “No excuses?”

“None,” he agrees, before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss against my lips. “I think we’ve been making excuses for far too long.”

I know we have. Things will be different, at first. It’ll take a bit of getting used to. But I think we can do it.

Sherlock Holmes…and John Watson.

¿?MThIeSS?MEnd¿???

“R, sweetheart, do you have eyes on Sherlock Holmes?” A smooth voice- just like honey- creeps into R’s ear like a particularly cunning virus.

R swallows bitterly as her lips curl into a snarl. “Yes, sir. He’s at the grave,” she growls, her American accent feeling much more natural than the British one she had been faking for so many years.

“Excellent,” the voice says, which isn’t the most original comment, considering how many criminal masterminds have said ‘excellent’ in regards to evil plans before. “Ugh, isn’t he boring?”

“Who?” R asks reluctantly.

“John. So plain, so obviously in love- oh, I think he finally kissed his little boytoy! Bravo, John, it only took you five years!” The voice is taunting, emanating energy as though it would never again have a chance to play. “I’m sorry, that’s a bit of a sore spot, isn’t it?”

“Of course not, sir,” R says curtly, ignoring the previous musings. “Would you like me to eliminate them?”

“No, no, no!” the voice shouts viciously, making R flinch. “Don’t you dare touch a single curl on that pretty thing’s head! I want Sherlock to recover and be healthy for our next round.” He says ‘round’ as though it’s such an intimate thing- it’s altogether rather surreal.

As much as R would like to put a bullet in each of their heads, she controls her impulses. God knows what he would do to her if she did. “Yes, sir.”

The voice groans. “Stop with the formalities, Mary. It’s so dull, and you of all people should know how much I despise dull people.” He lowers his tone to something dark and deathly soft. “Refer to me as ‘sir’ one more time, and I will string your bloody corpse up in Regent’s Park for the birds to have at you.”

Mary swallows, her gun shaking violently from her sniper’s post. “With all due respect, Mr. Moriarty, Mary is no longer my name,” she whispers.

“Ah, well, it suits you!” Moriarty exclaims over the comms, his voice back to its regular gusto. “Head back to the car, Mary. We need to discuss your punishment.”

Mary pales. “Punishment, Mr. Moriarty? But- I haven’t-“

He laughs. It sends shivers up her spine. “Mary, Mary, quite the contrary,” he quips. “You nearly killed my favourite pet. Shooting him near the heart- tsk, tsk, I expected better of you. The little joke about saying ‘hi’ to me was clever, too, but I can’t have this go unnoticed. We’re both professionals, I’m sure you understand!”

“But-“

Moriarty interrupts her with a shout. “BUT I suppose I’ll be lenient, just this once.” He seems to be barely holding back deranged giggles. “Instead of taking your hand, I’ll settle for a finger. Off you pop!”

The line cuts off abruptly as Mary feels a needle plunge into her neck, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t worn a bulletproof vest when confronting Sherlock…

~

(To Be Continued!)

Act One linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656892650818011136/three-acts

Act Two linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656968775195934720/three-acts

Act Three linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/656990419321864192/three-acts

Act Four linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/657145687996301312/three-acts

[tick-tick-moo]

- Jim Moriarty