As Sherlock sits on the plane, flying to what he knows will be his sudden and inevitable death, he begins to think. He closes his eyes, and enters his mind palace.
He's flooded with memories from that night in Appledore, which is odd. He doesn't want to remember that. He pushes past them, shaken. He opens a 'file', and memories pop up from that day at St Bart's. He inhales sharply, and leaves. He opens his eyes and looks thoughtlessly out the window. His phone vibrates.
That's funny. I didn't think I was allowed phones. He muses to himself.
It's a text. From an unknown number. He opens it.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Dear me, Mr Holmes,
What happened to you?
Deserting your friends
And "taking" your life.
You've made quite a mess
And caused lots of strife.
Oh, and your little friend John,
What about him?
Without you,
He looks quite grim.
Dear me, Mr Holmes.
Does my name ring a bell?
That day you faked your death,
I faked mine as well.
-JM.
He reads the text twice more, not showing any signs of emotion. Then, a few minutes later, a large man in a black suit enters the cabin.
"For you Mr Holmes." he says, handing him a mobile. He glances at the phone in Sherlock's hand disapprovingly, but doesn't say anything.
"What?" Sherlock snaps into the phone.
"Hello, Little Brother. How is exile?" comes Mycroft's sophisticated drawl.
"Shut up."
"Well, you are returning. You are needed."
Sherlock sighs. "Good God. I've been gone four minutes. Who could possibly need me?"
"England." Mycroft answers after a moment's pause.
Sherlock says nothing.
"Oh, and Little Brother? Bundle up. There's an East Wind coming." Mycroft says as he disconnects the call.
Sherlock swallows hard, shaken up. Moriarty is back. And Sherlock knows he has to stop him.
YOU ARE READING
And Still We Play - A BBC Sherlock FanFiction
FanfictionMoriarty is back, and stopping him is more difficult than before. Sherlock must choose between saving the ones he loves, or playing the game.
