James Moriarty - Tempestuous Tides

Chapter 17

It can be a hard choice to let go, it can be hard being alone for so long. When you lose someone who you believed to be part of you, it can be so hard to recover that part of you you lose. You never seem to let go of them dying, you bury yourself beneath the depths of despair you find yourself in. Praying every day to anyone who might listen, praying they would return to your life, and hopefully listen, and bring them back. No one knows the extent of your injuries like you, people can counsel you and help you cope, but you never truly tear your body away from the hope they can return from the dead to be by your side.

Mycroft was gone, he was dead, and now John was back. Was it the feelings of loneliness that left him feeling a lack of excitement to see him? Or, was it the feelings of the loss of another member of his family? Was it the sense of the unknown, not knowing what would come next?

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, sitting him up against the side of the boat.

"I feel like I was asleep, and I just woke up," he laughed, looking to Sherlock, who had tears welling in his eyelids. "Why do you look so dead?"

"Charming! But, I think we should concentrate more on you, and ensure you get better," all Sherlock wanted was for John to get better quickly.

"He will be fine," Camilla said, getting him some clothes from the storage box for the crew. He willingly put them on and got warm fairly quickly after getting dried from the sun and the towel. "I made sure he would be okay."

John took her hand tightly, thanking her just by squeezing her hand tighter. John had no idea what had been happening recently, he had been dead. That was one thing that seemed to sound strange in a sentence. It seemed rather odd that he was thinking that his best friend had once been dead, and now he was alive. How often does that happen? Barely ever.

From the distance, rallying cries were heard, high pitched squeals and cries, gunshots firing into the water, some sounding as though they were hitting. Sherlock pulled out the two guns he had found below decks, offering one to John, but he refused as he was still too weak.

"Okay, we are going to have to hide you, can you survive for a while in a tight space, dark, and without air,"

"It seems I managed it for a few days, surely I should be okay now," John made a joke, making Sherlock laugh a little. "Put me wherever you have to."

Camilla and Sherlock carried John and place him inside one of the storage boxes. Camilla pulled out a gun and gave it to John.

"Where did you get that?" John asked, taking it from her.

"Don't be afraid, or scared, we are right around the corner, and I am stronger than most. Just stay put and fire it if need be," Camilla reassured him, seeing his confusion with the gun situation.

"Where have you gotten all these guns from?" John asked again, looking to Sherlock for an answer.

"Sebastian Moran, and, James Moriarty. A quick refresh, I have no idea what happened to them but my brother is dead, I don't know just yet, I can explain after. Just stay alive!"

Through the embedded cries ringing in their ears, Camilla started her cry, it sounded as though it were a rallying cry as they neared the shoreline where the lighthouse was. They left John inside of the box, making their way to the front of the boat. When they reached the front, they saw Moran and Moriarty covered in blood, firing and firing away, they had cuts all over themselves, scratches and some more of the odd bites on their bodies.

"What happened?" Sherlock shouted over the ringing bullets, he needed to know. He was a lot better than he was a few hours ago. "Where did you go?"

"Ammunition, Sherlock! Blow them out of the water, get rid of them off of this planet!"

"Stop firing at them!" Camilla yelled, their hands dropping to their sides, the guns going to the ground. "I rallied these men and women to help you, to protect you. You don't know me, but I do, and I know I can help you get rid of her from your lives, you just have to find a way to trust me. And if you can't, then she will come and kill you all one by one, that is her intention. So stop firing at my people, and let me help. I have brought John Watson back from the dead, and I can heal those bites on your arms, Sherlock can sow your scratches closed with the medical kits inside of the lighthouse. I have been there before, I know it inside and out. It used to be my home. So, stop firing and let me help."

"What's in it for you? What do you get for helping us get rid of her?" Moriarty snarled at her, coming in front of her face. "What is it that makes you such a special little girl?"

"I am a special woman, I am far more powerful than you in brute battle force. Do not think you are stronger than me! I want my life back, I want my freedom. She is a dictator, she is a cruel leader, she killed my entire family yesterday, and the day before that, she killed off most of my friends. I guess you don't know someone until you truly know them,"

Moran turned around, his dark shadow across his face giving her goosebumps across her skin, especially when he smirked at her, a smile at some points. Somehow she had become attracted to Moran, even if he was not someone she expected to come into feelings with. She felt her skin betraying her. Bright red, rosy cheeks betraying her.

"You need to protect John Watson at all costs now, she would not have wanted me to bring him back from the dead. She won't know for a while,"

"I have to see this," Moriarty pushed past her, looking in and out of the doors, wondering where he was.

"Wait for a second!" Camilla ran after him, standing in front of the box he was in.

James was impatient, trying to get to the opening of the box to see him.

"Let us see then," everyone gathered around the box as though it were a museum to see John.

"Just don't make him feel too uncomfortable," Camilla raised the box, John's eyes wide, pointing the gun out immediately. "It's just us, John."

Everyone's eyes, apart from Sherlock's, were wide and unable to comprehend this. He was alive again. Moran prodded his skin, checking he was alive.

"Is he warm?" Moriarty asked, still confused.

"Warm and talking."