A change in heart. (Sheriarty)

• Chapter 1 •

Chapter I

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Verba ultima insanum.

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He'd been fantasizing about it for months now. How he was going to do it.

Nothing exciting had really pricked his interest this time. He just wanted something painful, bloody in fact.

-Enough to make Mrs Hudson have a mental break down, and leave John in therapy for the rest of his miserable life.

He wanted him to hurt in every way possible- he wanted him tortured, mentally and physically.

But he wanted his death to be boring. Expected, in fact. He didn't want to see a picture in the papers; he didn't want the mourning fans. He wanted it dull and forgettable- like a boring old shooting- or poisoning.

He was outside the flat. He'd seen this so many times in his mind, him killing him- but he never expected the day to come so soon- he was questioning the reality of the situation, he didn't know if he blamed the drink or the pills for that. Perhaps this was another dream- perhaps he'll wake up right before he does anything, yet again.

He'd been writing to Moran under his brother's name.

Sebastian Moran; or 'Tiger' as his name was coded to, had been able to help control Jim for so, so long- he was probably the only person in his network who had that power over him- his best friend- the man who was able to calm him down in his murderous, self destructive episodes, who was there to comfort him, and well- he wasn't really around to do that anymore- Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes had made sure of that- hammered the last nail in their own coffin- Jim was on his own now, that was what this was all really about- but he'd never admit that. Everyone needed a distraction these days- for the tracks that ticked in their own head- Jim's had been removed with a blunt knife and a life sentence; painfully ripped away with no such sign of a return any time soon. He was a ticking time bomb, and today was his long waited detonation date.

Sebastian had obviously expressed his discomfort about how unhealthy this obsession with Holmes had become, what a mess Moriarty had made of himself. That he should just move on, that he didn't /need/ revenge-he had a clean slate- sort of- a chance to change his name and get out of the country- to have a normal life.

He didn't want that, however, and he didn't care much for Sebastian Moran's input if it wasn't said in person. he didn't want a normal life- in fact; as long as Sherlock Holmes remained a living, Jim was not going to be able to just move on. He didn't care about living; he didn't care about creating a normal life full of picket fences and barbeques- families, friends- he'd rather shoot himself in the face.

He should've shot himself in the face.

He'd pick pocketed Mrs Hudson on her grocery run the other day- taken her keys, had a spare one for 221B cut for himself, so that he could let himself in without fuss or struggle- he later stuck it behind the bottle bin, as though she had left it out for Sherlock and completely forgot- he was good at forgetting his keys; He read Johns blog enough to know that.

He unlocked the door- it was going on 9 in the evening. John was working late and Rosie was sleeping at Molly's, Mrs Hudson was likely at bingo and Sherlock had the house to himself- but not for long, of course.

Sherlock however wasn't exactly someone to sleep early- or at all- Jim knew such; but the thought must have slipped his mind in the excitement of the situation- when he finally reached the living room of 221B, he was caught off guard by a loud gasp and the scolding gaze of the detective.

"Whatever happened to warnings? Texts were usually your forte, whatever happened to a text? Did that faze die along with you?" Sherlock asked- going for a more casual, sarcastic approach, a defence mechanism more likely- In his mind Sherlock was probably picking everything he could apart off of Jim, any possibility he was hallucinating, anything that would explain the situation- Jim was normally the one to act so casual and so sarcastic too- Sherlock always was so uptight, he missed those days- the naive virgin who liked to solve crimes with his pet John- nowerdays he was so media savvy- so mundane, so predictable, still good at over complicating things however.

Moriarty didn't say anything, in return to the remarks, he examined the detective's features- he looked older- that's the only way he could really tell that he wasn't hallucinating- he'd always dream up young Sherlock.

his breath held a slight shakiness about it as he exhaled; before rushing for the gun in his pocket- which was then met by a mirrored response from the detective.

A stand off. Oh fun.

He looked towards Sherlock- his eyes narrowing as the eye of the gun moved towards Sherlock's heart. It'd be so easy to pull the trigger, to end the detective once and for all

"Bit dull- isn't it? That never really was your approach." He chuckled. He was mocking Jim- to his face as well.

Moriarty didn't know to say- he was so angry at Sherlock- but he had to maintain some form of 'cool' for his own remaining sanity's sake.

"You'd love that. The excitement, the media attention- but no; you're going to die here, Sherlock. You're going to die as just another unsolved case. Did you really think I was going to let someone else kill you? Your sister is smart- but obviously nothing was going to come of her little games- but I have to give it to her- the lunatic is certainly creative- I wouldn't have thought of it alone." He spoke in his usual cold, dead voice, perhaps even more dead than before- he certainly felt it.

"I bet you couldn't even tell me why you are in this position."

Sherlock examined Jim- a small smirk framed his features- obviously, as usual, he decided quickly that he had the upper hand in this situation, something about Moriarty appearing unstable had given him such a thought- Jim was sure that anything could give off that vibe-  maybe his poor choice of clothing, he looked more like 'Richard Brooke' than Jim Moriarty, perhaps it was the tremor in his aiming hand, or the shake in his voice or maybe.

"You don't want to do this- James." Sherlock's voice was stern- like a disappointed parent; he'd avoided the statement like the plague- of course. Jim knew what Sherlock was like- he was practically blind to all of his wrong  or right doings- he didn't care what mess he had left behind- as long as a case was solved.

"Do you want a bet? -I could shoot you right here and now-nice and easy- I wouldn't bat an ey-"

"The straight line of dampness across your sleeve shows that you've been leaning on something- the bitter smell-you've been drinking- so you've been leaning at a bar- so you're clearly not in the right mind; I'd say you are drinking heavily and regularly too- judging by the state of you- and the fact that you're here-like some form of crazy ex spouse, so why don't we place the gun down- we can talk about this whole mess." Oh there he went again; deducing people as though that was his job.

"Don't patronize me. I've wanted to do this for so, so long now- do not speak to me as if this is just some drunken episode- because it's not. I'm here to kill you; I've been planning it for months. You can't talk me out of it, now. It's too late."He was sweating now- this wasn't like the dreams- it was less cold- the situation in itself was overwhelming- and Jim had the worst pit in the bottom of his stomach- it felt like fear, fear of death, fear of letting Sebastian down- he'd tried so hard not to let Jim get this bad- and it took merely a couple of years for him to break and turn back to old habits.
Jim's stubborn stance, however, remained- as did the rising level of tension in the room-like a swimming pool filling with water- and the two were at the bottom of it.  Jim was sure he'd drown if he didn't get this over with soon.

"Oh for love of-" Sherlock grumbled- before quickly grabbing Jim's gun- a few random shots fired in the shock of the moment as the firearm was yanked from the shorter mans grasp- all thankfully missing the detective- a couple laying rest in holes in the mantel piece and one through the centre of the mirror.

Jim in his intoxicated state didn't notice the gun being bought back up- the butt of the pistol then bought down and colliding with his skull.

And from there- the world went temporarily black for Jim.