Ambivalent [JackalxReaders]

The Cassette [Criminal!JackalxCriminal!Reader]

A Sherlock crossover

Warning: spoilers

"I've sent for two playmates to entertain you for a while, Sherlock. Do be careful with them, they're some of my favorite toys."

Sherlock received this message from Scotland Yard several hours ago. It was conveniently—and comically—dropped off at their doorstep, a daring action meant to mock the agency. The information was recorded on a cassette tape, an outdated piece of technology that crackled when used. Sherlock would've classified this as strange, unnecessary even, if the voice spouting the statement was different. It belongs to a very familiar, very dead Jim Moriarty.

The outside world became irrelevant when Sherlock initially distinguished Moriarty's voice. Sherlock instinctively lurched through his memories, the sound bringing him back to the last encounter they had. It was on the rooftop of a towering building, glacial zephyrs caressed his face as a battle of the geniuses commenced; Moriarty was more frantic then, compared to any other time. His gestures were fervent, and the ravenous glint commanding his eyes was unmistakable. He wasn't the composed mastermind that individuals saw if unfortunate enough. Moriarty let a fraction of his human side out, which was perhaps his greatest mistake or greatest advantage. Sherlock hasn't figured out which one yet.

In that strenuous situation, facing both life and death head on, Sherlock was more occupied than ever before. It was exhilarating, surpassing all accounts of euphoria he experienced previously. Prior to that time, using all of his brainpower for a single objective was absurd; he would've laughed if someone made a relatively close assumption. But at that time, the foreign concept became very real, very quickly.

Hearing Moriarty's voice spurred an abundance of theories and experiments.

How did Jim Moriarty survive?

And after hours of scrutiny, hypothesizing, and simulation, as much as he loathes to admit it, he still doesn't know. Sherlock feels anticipation course through the veins in his body, like a teenager patiently waiting for the release date of a promising game. Moriarty promised something interesting, and with how Moriarty functions, it's going to include catastrophe—a friend Sherlock welcomes.

Sherlock peers out of the gargantuan window in his flat. The regular dreary clouds hang above London, almost embraced by the locals, and obnoxious red busses transport individuals following their day-to-day routines. His keen eyes rapidly lock onto the police cars that rush down the populated streets with sirens whirring loudly; an elated grin tips the corners of his lips, he comprehends exactly what's going on. Sherlock swiftly stands, the oppressing air around him retreats as he sprints to gather his trench coat and scarf. His excited footsteps can be heard from the kitchen, where John's plundering for food.

"Come on, John! No time to waste, they're starting off loud!" Sherlock yells—almost cryptically—fastening his thick scarf around his neck. John looks over to Sherlock a moment later, confusion thundering in his mind.

"You can't go out like that, Sherlock! You're still in your pajamas!" John exclaims, baffled as to why Sherlock is in such a hurry.

But before Sherlock can hear John's reply, he's already out of the door.

The sound of the door closing against the frame agitates John.

Note(s):

*This series will be ending soon from lack of support. If you want it to potentially continue, I advise you leave comments; it's challenging to keep going without motivation.