James Moriarty - Tempestuous Tides

Chapter 16

Sherlock had retreated beneath the decks, going back underneath, not knowing if he was able to face the front of life. Knowing that his brother was dead was nothing he was able to even consider happening. You think people will last forever, especially your family.

That is never true, people do die. People lose their lives even though they do not think they will, and neither do you.

Aella had left, she went back to resuming her torture, believing it was still okay to continue, even with a burden bearing over Sherlock. Camilla had come in with Sherlock, she had stayed with him while the boy lay on his lap, his head being delicately stroked in complete motions to keep him asleep.

When Sherlock rose his eyes to face the small window, tears were overflowing his perfect face, overflowing, and showing in a great amount of anguish over his face. No one expected someone like Sherlock to be so weak and in pain. Do we ever get used to the pain? Do we ever get used to the fact pain exists? Do we ever understand the meaning of pain, and why it happens? Do we always know the answer to, why? No.

"Can you not bring him back from the dead," Camilla grabbed his hand tightly, squeezing it. "Can you not bring them back from the dead?"

"I wish I could, I wish I was able to. Some things I can do, but others I cannot,"

"Just do it!" he shouted at her, and her hand just tightened on his a little more. "Please, just do it."

She let go of his hand, running out of the room into the fierce weather. Her face was expressionless and without any emotion. No sign of where she was going, and what for. It was never fair, it couldn't be fate whatever happened.

"Sherlock," the little boy whispered, but Sherlock patted his hair down letting him know he needed to rest. "Is daddy dead?"

"It seems he died for you." Sherlock pressed the corners of his eyes, his face contorting into tears, his face shrivelling up, the dimples forming less attractive feelings for him.

Buried in his broken dreams, hopes, thoughts and emotion. He had never considered what the other side would feel like without his brother, without Mycroft to nag him. Alina did not know she had lost her brother, because she was dead. How was he supposed to tell his parents what had happened to Mycroft?

"Sherlock!" Moriarty shouted from outside, looking out ahead at the sea calming down, a small amount of sun coming out in the clearing. "Come out here."

Sherlock rested the child to sleep, covering him over with his coat, going out in just his shirt and suit jacket. The child slept, exhausted from whatever trauma he had been put through. As he opened up the door, he saw a cleanly shaven Moriarty, he seemed fresh, he seemed alive. What had h done to look so good? What had he done to look so normal? In comparison to Sherlock who looked like he had been on a hunger strike, starved and malnourished.

Moran came by his side, offering them a cup of tea or coffee after finding a machine below decks that dispensed good coffee. Sherlock accepted a cup of tea, and Moriarty accepted water.

"What is it?" Sherlock rubbed underneath his nose, sniffling from being cold, tired and shattered with the pain of losing his brother. Nothing had hurt him more than this. At least he was grateful that he had not seen it.

"A lighthouse, I do not know if anyone has operated it in years, we could stay in there. The land is safer than on the sea right now, and I can guarantee there are storehouses underneath where they stocked food and bottled water for the winter. What do you think?"

Sherlock looked out to sea, moving to the railings, looking out at the clam waves. All the time his eyes kept seeing Mycroft trying to swim to the surface trapped beneath a sheet of ice he was unable to come out of, screaming before the drowning came. His lungs filled with water, his body hypothermic. No one, not even John Watson would be able to save him.

"I know what your thinking," Moriarty said, coming beside him, looking out to sea.

"How could you possibly know?"

"You have lost your brother, your best friend, you want me to go over the edge and drown to bring back both of them,"

"Like I already said, James, how could you possibly know?" he snapped back, he hated people trying to make his decisions and intentions made for him, especially when they were wrong.

"So, you don't want me dead?"

"No! No, I don't want any of you dead. I just need to think, for a while, I need some time to myself. Have you seen Camilla?"

"She went back, it is best for her," Sherlock simply nodded, rubbing his nose again, cold shivers down his body. "What should we do?"

"We should go to the lighthouse."

Leaving Moriarty in silence, he descended below the boat to try and find Moran. From the cold look in Moriarty's eyes, he knew he had something planned that he was not going to find himself divulging to anyone, any time soon.

Upon reaching the bottom where their dispenser was, Sherlock saw spilled coffee and water all over the floor, plastic cups scattered hopelessly across the ground. Two guns were carelessly lying around, anyone could grab them and take them. Or, was that the point? To have them on the ground as bait for Sherlock.

Sherlock reached out and grabbed one of the guns, taking the second one quickly, ascending the stairs to find Moriarty, he knew something was going on. Was Moran in on this?

"Moriarty!" Sherlock called, now snapped out of the emotional state he was in. "Moran!"

No one answered the call, no one was there, the boat was completely deserted.

"Lucas!" Sherlock screamed, spinning around on his heels frantically.

Completely alone.

Not wanting to lose a part of himself, hoping he was finding that part of him again, waiting for everything to be unleashed.

"Is anyone here? Come on! This isn't funny, someone, anyone!"

From behind him, he heard someone come onto the boat, water dripping from their body, but they were weighed down by something they were carrying. Sherlock turned delicately, too afraid to know what he would see.

"I found one of them, I might have brought him back, Sherlock,"

"Camilla!" Sherlock saw her, running toward her, and the body in her hands.

She laid him on the ground, letting Sherlock do the CPR on his body. He coughed water pout from his body, his face pail, so frail and scared. So alone.

"Don't do that again," Sherlock smiled, his eyes leaking like he had cut an onion. "I need Bachelor John Watson and his emails."