A change in heart. (Sheriarty)

• Chapter 2 •

Chapter 2

•

Nox.

•

Jim had been knocked out for a while- the drink had probably helped him with staying unconscious- but it certainly didn't help with the aftermath.

Jim was awoken first by the excruciating- pounding pain in his head; which seemed to pulse for what had felt like hours.

Then it hit him.

He wasn't home.

In fact- the cold, sharp metal that had bound one of his hands around a thin interior pipe, probably connected to a sink or something along those lines only proved that he wasn't anywhere he could quite put his finger on.

So, a kitchen perhaps? Pipes are in the kitchen- but then they're also in the bathroom, which one could he be in?

There was very little light in the place; so where he was, was still unknown, leaving him alone to attempt to gather the memories from the night before-something about Sherlock Holmes.

"Look who's finally awake." A voice- certainly belonging to Holmes himself, startled Jim- breaking him out of his own thoughts- thankfully too- because as soon as he heard the detectives voice; everything seemed to slowly come back- the mess he'd gotten himself into- it was so avoidable, so simple to do; had he have been sober.

Jim allowed a scowl to form on his features as he glared up at the detective, not a word leaving his lips.

"Sorry about the hand cuffs- but everyone knows how stubborn you are. I don't fancy dying this week. Anyway, we clearly need to catch up; because it's been five years and I'm not /quite/sure where this new ploy to kill me is coming from- we both know you don't do those sorts of things yourself- and you certainly wouldn't do it like that." Sherlock spoke like a parent as he knelt down to Jim's level. Jim just wanted to slap him right there and then. Sherlock didn't know him, not really.

Jim grabbed the man by the collar with his free hand; it was weak, but it was enough to pull him closer to him, to oppose some form of threat.

"Where did it come from? Are you really that blind? Ask Sebastian Moran- ask all of /my/ men and my clients, that you and your brother either got killed or put behind bars- My livelihood- you destroyed /everything/ and yet you still ask why. I will make sure you die in the most painful way you can imagine, and when I'm done with you I'm going to redecorate your flat with you. I will carve into you like a steak, I will /skin/ you. Do not think for one moment that I won't do it, just because of the lack of backup; because killing you would be /so/ easy. Hell; I would enjoy it." Jim rambled-he probably looked like a crazed lunatic; the jittering tone, the shakiness of his own form, he was radiating some new, darker vibes; something new, Sherlock was far more used to the light Jim Moriarty, who's threats were subtle and metaphorical with the occasional irrational ,borderline violent outbreak, and dark, dark under tones in his cheery voice. This was like speaking to a whole new person- no pop culture references, nothing quirky to say- no flirting, what Sherlock saw was the devil himself- a man so twisted in his own sick mind- so lost yet so... sure of himself- so sure of what he had intended to do- and honestly, that scared Sherlock Holmes, undoubtedly. Sherlock pulled himself away from the grasp of the other man- standing up in efforts to avoid his cold stare- it made him uncomfortable, it made it hard to think- to deduce- and figure out just what he was going to do.

One name that had stuck out to Sherlock Holmes within James Moriarty's rant was Sebastian Moran- Sherlock had met him before- briefly- he was in hand cuffs and had just been caught attempting to murder a high ranking member of the House of Lords' and of course- was only taken down thanks to Sherlock, he wouldn't have cared usually- The House of Lords wasn't a vital part of the Government like it had been hundreds of years ago- losing one member wouldn't have made the slightest difference- but he had researched Moran- he knew of his significance to Moriarty's little empire- he knew that with Moriarty gone; Sebastian was bound to take over and rebuild it from the ground up. However he had also heard about Sebastian's hold on Moriarty- how he was able to control him- faze him out of his childish tantrums, ect.

It was only rumours- and besides; Jim was thought to be dead then, so of course Sherlock was happy to get the sniper locked away, but looking at the shell of a man that was left over now, he didn't know what to do. It wasn't like he could get Sebastian out of his maximum security cell on day release to control his potentially genocidal counterpart, and Sherlock was sure that Jim wasn't in the condition to be rationalized with by anyone- especially not himself.

Jim however wasn't happy about the man moving away from him- it'd made him feel practically powerless- not that he wanted him close for the purposes of friendly company.

He lashed out yet again- this time attempting to frantically grab at him in spite of the hand cuffed to the pipe- missing of course- Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to stand close to him now that he was aware of his state of mind- he was adamant about keeping his limbs today.

Sherlock knew that he was going to need time; and a fucking straight jacket by the looks of it; the man seemed to get more and more aggressive by the second- and those handcuffs weren't exactly meant to hold; they were Mrs Hudson's- he found them in her bottom drawer along with some other... scarring objects that she probably hadn't used in years- he couldn't look at her in the same way afterwards- he had to remove the pink fluff from around the rim, yuck.

"You're going to stay here. And you're going to calm down. You can't be /this/ angry forever." Sherlock felt like a stern parent; grounding their child or something.

He wanted to help- he felt so guilty, that perhaps this was all brought on because of him. He'd never thought about what happened to the people involved after the case- but now- he couldn't stop thinking about it; he wanted to help- to make things right but, he knew that it wasn't possible now.

Jim Moriarty was far gone; he had been like /that/ since he had met him.

He just didn't know how far it was until now.