Sherlock's secret

CHAPTER 13

 Sherlock's POV

"You have questions. Go ahead." Moriarty's voice hadn't changed in the two years since Sherlock had thought he'd killed him.

"What are you doing back?" He paused. "You know what? I don't even care. Just stay the fuck away from John. I mean it. You go anywhere near him and I'll rip your fucking face off."

"A feisty one, aren't you?" The smugness in the Irishman's voice infuriated Sherlock and he clenched his fists, trying to calm himself. "I suppose you told him then?"

"Told him? Told him what?"

"That you love him, of course."

"I - I don't - What the fuck? How did you know? I barely knew myself until - " his voice trailed off, as Sherlock replayed John's confession over and over, the scene on repeat like a bad, bad memory.

Moriarty sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "He told you, didn't he? Finding out you missed your chance is always hard to take."

"I didn't miss my chance you - "

"Look, Sherly, I have loved this chat, but I'm afraid I must be off. Things to blow up, people to kill; you know how it goes..."

"Wait!" Sherlock cringed at the desperation in his voice, but it was too late now. He had to know. "How? Just...how?" His voice came out in a waver, and he mentally cursed himself for it, but there was no denying it. Sherlock was terrified; terrified of this man and what he could do, not to himself, but to John. The man he loved.

"That, Sherlock Holmes, is the question. You'll be hearing from me soon, I expect." Pausing as he neared the door, he turned back, facing him one last time. "Say hi to John," he cooed.

His eyes rolling back into his head, everything going black, the door latching shut was the last thing Sherlock heard.