ANGST CENTRAL PEOPLE.
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Am I posting this twice? Yes. Yes I am.
John is missing.
He has been for the past 3 months.
Ever since Sherlock had returned from being 'dead', John had been acting off, distant, unusual, freakish.
When Sherlock got back they resumed their relationship, the crime fighting duo who were definitely more than friends. Hell, they even said they loved each other a few times. However, one day John just started acting odd, and Sherlock didn't have the slightest clue why. Then one day he just...vanished. Without a trace.
Now, 3 months later, Sherlock had found the location of his best friend, his love, his John.
He stood before a very tall, old building, made in the 18th century. It was covered in damp spots, mould, peeling wallpaper. It actually made Sherlock gag.
He walked slowly through the hallway and up the winding staircase. He climbed until he heard a voice. On the roof.
The voice was unmistakable, smooth, calming, kind.
John.
The detective reached the roof, hoping to be reunited with his John.
"Hello John." Sherlock said, trying to hide his joy.
The blond man spun around. Suddenly his face was possessed by a look Sherlock had never seen before.
Pure disgust.
"Ah, I see you finally found me Sherlock."
He smirked, the name Sherlock violently spat.
"Where have you been I've been so...worried."
As Sherlock said this, a familiar face appeared from the shadows. Sherlock almost died right there. It couldn't be...he died.
"Sherlock." The man said smoothly, "miss me?"
James Moriarty. Sherlock, dispute being an atheist, prayed that what he thought wasn't true. But John quickly confirmed his suspicions.
"Yes Sherlock, I'm working with Jim and have been since we met."
Moriarty laughed, that sinister laugh. While the Baker Street boys just stared at each other.
"But I thought...you-" he was cut off by the blond.
"Loved you? Ha. You didn't think I was serious did you?" He slowly walked towards the detective, "I've been pretending from day one. Slowly gaining your trust, weaving myself into your life, gaining information on every little thing you do. I mean come on! How could you ever think that I would ever love a freak like you?"
Tears were freely streaming down Sherlocks face no matter how hard he tried to contain it. Suddenly that sadness grew into rage as he saw Moriarty slowly draw his gun.
He quickly pulled out his own ( 😳 ) and shot him in the shoulder, making him drop his gun.
Sherlock ran out of the building, a deceptive look on his face. He was smiling. Despite his pain he was smiling.
John Watson would regret ever meeting Sherlock Holmes.
