The Reichenbach Fall [Reader Insert]

The Itsy Bitsy Spider - Part 2

"Humanity is like an enormous spiderweb, so that if you touch it anywhere, you set the whole thing trembling..." -Frederick Buechner

     Bach had some good works. Sherlock's playing made them great. You supposed you might have been biased; Sherlock wasn't an especially talented piano player. He was mechanical and deliberate. Then again, maybe that's what made him better than others. Who knew? Despite your impartiality to emotion (as opposed to Sherlock's objection,) Sherlock understood music far better than you. Also it was entirely possible you were indulging yourself in enjoying the music, more so than usual because of the events you knew were coming.

     Shortly after John's call, the charmed criminal Moriarty strolled into the flat. In a lazy minute he was up the stairs and watching Sherlock play. Sherlock, all the while, had his eyes focused on you carefully. He was scared. You were too.

     Just before the last line, Sherlock stopped. He lowered his violin as you said,

     "Most people knock." You said, looking at Moriarty. 

      He didn't look back. He was squinting at Sherlock. "Johann Sebastian would be appalled." He stared at Sherl for several more seconds and then his expression unskewered to something more deceivingly passive. He looked around the room as if searching for a seat. "May I?"

     Sherlock gestured with the end of his bow to John's chair. "Please."

     Jim immediately strolled over to Sherlock's chair and made himself comfortable there. Sherlock looked up at you, looking slightly unnerved.

    "You know," said Moriarty, and you felt the distinct impression that he was now addressing you, "when he was on his deathbed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end..."

     "...And the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it," you completed.

     "Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody," Jim affirmed.

     "Neither can you," you said. "That's why you've come."

    He leaned forward in his seat, staring intently at you. "Be honest; you're just a tiny bit pleased."

     "With what? The verdict?" Sherlock asked.

     Moriarty's expression soured, and he regarded Sherlock like a smashed cockroach. "With me." He looked back at you and smiled softly. "Back on the streets. Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain. You need me, or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I. Except..." He frowned. "You're boring. You're on the side of the angels." He spat the last word like it was an insult, but then grinned widely like he'd just made a joke.

     You looked at him carefully, feeling as if you were stuck in a room with a bomb that could go off at any moment. Finally you said, "You got to the jury."

     "Well  I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?" Moriarty answered easily. "Cable network. Every hotel bedroom has a personalized TV screen..." his heavy gaze swiveled to Sherlock, who stiffened. "And every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm." He leaned back in his seat, relaxing again. "Easy-peasy."

      "Is that how you're going to do it?" you inquired. "Burn me?"

     "Well, duh," Moriarty giggled. "But not just that, silly. No, it'll be a teensy bit more complicated. That's the problem- the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet? I did tell you... but did you listen?" he sang. You unconsciously narrowed your eyes, studying him, mind racing. His fingers were tapping on his knee. Your eyes followed the movement. Several seconds passed. "How hard do you find it, having to say 'I don't know?'"