Consulting Fangirl

Chapter 25: Mai

A/N **WARNING** If you are uncomforatable with the subject of blood, please do not read this chapter. I don't want to be responsible for anyone getting sick or worse. It's not that bad, but I don't know what you people find as 'bad.' So, just to be safe, if you think you might have a negative reaction to this chapter, please don't read. If you have any questions about what happened, PM me. Thank you. 

P.S. Don't kill me. 

There was so much blood. How could there be so much blood? The human body couldn’t possibly hold all of that horrid red substance, that disgusting liquid that made my stomach curl. There was so much blood. And it was all his.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Moriarty sent me the text. I had time. The cabbie drove fast, I sprinted up to the factory and there was a man waiting for me. He told me everything would be okay if I followed him. He showed me the door and didn’t stop me as I ran through. I only had time to say his name before Moriarty’s man sliced his throat.

“JOHN!” I couldn’t hear my own voice. I was deaf to the world. His eyes were all I could see. I watched them change from shock, to pain, to nothing. Next came the blood. Red, oozing blood everywhere, staining his white jumper, his trousers, even the pale grey floor.

I didn’t stop running until I was at his side. The men and Moriarty watched silently, but I ignored them. I held John’s limp head in my hands, screaming at him to say something. It was hysterical hope, the last plea of a desperate woman. I knew he was gone, yet I couldn’t stop screaming.

Moriarty was gloating to Sherlock, who now sat silent and numb, watching John with a broken look on his face. Not broken as is sad, like a child with a broken toy. He was shattered, inside and out. Almost as shattered as I felt right now. My entire world was tearing apart at the seams, soaked in so much blood I saw nothing but red.

Rage started to cloud over the despair. My fingers grasped blindly for the knife until they wrapped around the hilt. It was slick with his blood, like everything else. I nearly broke down right then. The only thing holding me together was the fury inside me.

With an angry scream, I kicked off the ground and hurled myself at Moriarty. He didn’t even flinch. The two guards pulled me back before I could come close. One held me down while Moriarty continued to talk as if nothing had happened.

“Now, Sherlock, how are you feeling? You seem troubled. Have you lost something recently?” His voice was so conceited I felt sick. All I wanted to do was tear his throat out.

“See, Sherlock, last time I was too clean. I tried too hard to be clever. That was my mistake. See madness isn’t always about being clever, and I’m mad enough for the lot of you. Sometimes madness is messy. Dirty. Raw. And that’s good. It’s brilliant because now I’ve finally burned you and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Sherlock chuckled, but there wasn’t the slightest bit of humour in that sound. It was cold. It was dark. It was terrifying.

“You’re right. You burned me. You burned the heart out of me. Now there is nothing to stop me from hunting you down, nothing to stop me from enduering every second, waiting each moment until you’re dead. Until I’ve avenged him.” His eyes never left Moriarty’s. His stare actually sparked some fear in Moriarty’s eyes, though he tried to hide it.

“You can’t hunt me down. You already tried, and look how that turned out.” He mocked, waving his hands around in a grand gesture. Sherlock grinned a sadistic grin that made him look damn near psychopathic.

“That’s true. I can’t hunt you down.” He paused, the grin widening. “But I can always kill you now.”

Moriarty never saw the knife coming. It pierced his heart with a sickening thud, sinking into his chest with surprising ease. The knife that Sherlock must have nicked off the guards while they were beating him, the knife he had been using to break the ropes binding him this entire time. Now, it decorated Moriarty’s chest, a gleam of silver against a sea of red.

As his thugs moved to help their boss, Sherlock grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the exit. I followed, too numb to think much either way. It wasn’t until we were safely in the back of a cab, Sherlock lending me his coat to cover the bloodstains, that I remembered John’s body.

I cried.