The Death of a Watson

When Things Were Simple

AN: Hey guys! New story! Just wanted to let you know that there are some references of rape and abuse in this story, I'll try to let you know when it'll happen but I'm not 100% sure about everyone's triggers. PLEASE don't read this without thinking about if something will harm you! (Rape mentions in this chapter, not in depth though)

I laughed at Sherlock because he was being an idiot. He had decided to wear his "death frisbee" out on the case today, and the reporters were loving it. Sherlock, as always, was trying to be very sullen, but I could see the corners of his mouth turn up slightly when they began asking for his autograph.

"Mister Holmes, are you currently in a relationship?" A young reporter asked. She was eyeing his purple shirt, and for some reason, I wanted to slap her.

"Ask some better questions, come along John." He was always running from this question, for some odd reason. I had long ago given up on trying to understand my best friend, as he was much more complicated than I ever will be. Currently, we were trying to figure out what the current criminal was planning, as he had been setting bombs and playing games with Sherlock. Sherlock, as usual, was playing along, getting a kick out of having a "friend" with intelligence. Even though I knew Sherlock probably didn't mean it, I had a hard time convincing myself not to get angry.

When we walked into 221B Baker Street, I immediately went to my room. Thankfully, the detective didn't ask any questions, but he probably was already in his mind palace. I reached the door and pulled it open, marveling at the state it was currently in. I hadn't been in my room for a while because of this new case, but even so, there were clothes scattered across the floor. I sighed and started cleaning it, piece by piece regaining its former cleanliness. When that was finished, I made my bed and got changed into some work-out clothes so I could get a quick sweat on before I forgot to.

At the base of the steps, I called out to Sherlock, as if he was even listening that I was heading out to work-out, and would be back before supper time. There was no response, so I walked out the door.

After a few minutes, a cab finally pulled over to let me in and I hopped in quickly, giving him the address of the gym I had a membership to. The few minutes in silence were broken when we pulled up to the gym and I stepped out, handing the proper amount of cash to the driver before heading in.

I started to pull out my membership card when my phone buzzed. Figuring it was Sherlock asking where I was I pulled out my phone, surprised when I saw an unknown number flash on my screen. Looking at the text, I ran out of the building to catch another cab. Thankfully, a cab pulled over almost immediately and I rushed to get in. The driver listened to the place I needed to go and we took off immediately. She must have noticed the crazed look in my eye because when we got there she said, "No charge," and left quickly. I ran up to the top of the stairs at the hospital. St. Bart's is where I work, so the criminal must have chosen it specifically for me. I ran to the top of the stairs and saw a very unwelcome sight; Jim Moriarty was standing near the edge of the building and looking over the top to the ground below. His phone was playing a familiar tune, "Staying Alive" by the Bees Gees. I shuddered. I'd never hear that song again without thinking about this moment. Then again, I might not have to worry about that for much longer.

"Ahh, John! I was wondering when you were going to show up! For a minute, I thought you'd be stupid enough to not heed my word. Because I will kill Sherly unless you don't do as I ask. It won't be much, just a little souvenir of my victory," Jim stated in a sing-song voice. I decided to glare at him from across the roof, trying to intimidate him into giving up. Unfortunately, Jim was probably used to much more than glares.

"What do you want Moriarty?" I shouted, frustrated that he had to be here. All I had wanted was to get a good workout in, not get involved in Moriarty's mind games. I was already a bit upset that I couldn't go workout, and Jim taunting me wasn't helping the matter. Jim was trying to make me do something I would regret though, so I held it together. He was probably only doing it to get a rise out of Sherlock, even though it wouldn't work. Sherlock wouldn't care. He didn't even know where I was. Finally, I decided to pretend like I knew Sherlock was coming to get me now, and that he'd tell the police to come with him. Which was all a huge scam which he seemed to be able to tell and just laughed at my efforts.