The Mystery of Love (Johnlock)

Is He Real?

Sherlock was headed to the place where it all happened. He was going to the morgue where Molly worked to see if there was anything he missed. The roof of the morgue was where Moriarty had killed himself and where Sherlock had jumped that one day. The cab came to a slow halt and he quickly jumped out, leaving the gas fee in the back seat.

Once inside, he passed by Molly in the hall. He didn't bother to stop or look back at her. Molly, however, tried to stop him. She turned around to look at Sherlock walk away after getting a glimpse of the tears streaming down his face. She waited a while before calling his name.

"Sherlock," she called. He stopped but said nothing. She repeated herself with more force, "Sherlock!" This time, he turned around. The tears falling from his eyes were the only things expressing the slightest amount of emotion. The rest of his face was blank.

Molly had no idea how to comfort her colleague because he had never showed sadness in front of her. If he had, it was never to this magnitude. Sherlock turned back the way he was headed and burst with great speed up the stairs to the roof.

Once at the top, Sherlock stood near the edge, looking at the world around him. He gazed at the buildings and the trees and the streets and the people and the cabs. He looked into the sky at the birds flying overhead. He stared at the clouds, moving slowly across the sky. He could hear the loudness of the city; people chattering, cars beeping, footsteps from below.

Sherlock closed his eyes and felt the cool breeze on his skin. It touched his face softly and made his cheeks cold. Sherlock felt the wind through his silk shirt, enveloping him in a chill. He raised his arms like a bird soaring through the air, alone and free. After a while, everything became white noise. He couldn't feel the breeze, or see anything. For the first time in his life, Sherlock had stopped thinking and deducing things about his surroundings and just existed.

After what felt like an eternity, Sherlock felt an arm wrapped around his waist. He opened his eyes and looked down at the arm that embraced him. After a quick deduction, the person attached to the arm was none other than- No, it can't be. He's dead!

Sherlock carefully turned around to see Moriarty standing in front of him. Moriarty was wearing a black tuxedo that made him look like an evil penguin. The only difference between him now and the last time they met was the bandage wrapped around his head. Sherlock stepped down and walked towards Moriarty with a rage in his eyes that would kill any ordinary human being. Moriarty took several steps back. He was not afraid but wore a smug grin on his face.

"Are you going to hurt me Sherlock?" Moriarty mocked.

Sherlock raised a hand and slapped Moriarty across the face with all the strength he had. Moriarty hardly moved. He still grinned a wicked smile that annoyed Sherlock.

"I'm disappointed in you. I come back after all this time and this is how you greet me. I thought you were better than that."

"Shut up! Shut up!" Sherlock yelled as fear slowly filled his head.

Moriarty chuckled, "Sherlock, the high functioning sociopath detective, is a fake. You may be a detective, but right now you are weak. You aren't trying to figure out how I survived a bullet to the head by scanning the roof top. If you were high functioning, you would have figured it out by now. You aren't a sociopath either. You were crying a while ago as evidenced by your puffy eyes, stuffy nose and tear tracks on your face. You were angry and slapped me as hard as you could just now, not very logical if you ask me. You also lost all motivation to do anything regarding personal hygiene or house maintenance. Not to mention breaking your expensive vials and running here in a hurry."

Sherlock had no counter argument. All he could do is just stare at Moriarty as he tried to keep the tears back.

"I knew you were ordinary. I knew you would fake your suicide and continue our story. You thought that I had missed someone, that I wasn't including Molly as one of the people to kill. I knew she was a friend of yours; if I had a bullet for her, you wouldn't have faked the death, and we wouldn't be here. You see, I don't want to end our story, it is too fun to just end. I just changed it a little. Since I "killed" myself in front of your eyes, coming back to life would change you. You are weak, you are afraid, you are a wreck. Now that you can't focus on anything but me, you won't be this great detective anymore. You will seem ordinary and people will doubt you. You should see a therapist. It might help you. I'm sure it helped John when you died, then came back."

Sherlock had felt like he had been punched in the gut. The anger and confusion that he made John feel he was feeling right now. He had no idea the pain John felt or would feel. Sherlock sunk down and sat on his knees. His head went down and touched the floor. Sherlock's mind was racing and his heart was pumping so fast he thought it would fall out of his chest. Tears came from Sherlock's eyes and his entire body shook.

Moriarty grabbed Sherlock by the face so he could see the great Sherlock Holmes fall. He faced Sherlock towards the edge of the building and walked over to the edge. Moriarty turned around when at the edge as Sherlock was all that time ago. Sherlock was watching Moriarty.

"Miss me?" Moriarty said as he fell off the side of the building.

Sherlock could not take it. He screamed in fear and despair as he ran to the edge to see Moriarty's body sprawled on the ground below. Sherlock backed away from the edge of the building covering his mouth. He looked around him as his mind raced in all directions. He screamed at the top of his lungs as he cried. He was hysterical and could not control himself.