Risen from death (Moriarty's return)

Watson killing Holmes

Sherlock groaned, the blood pulsating in his head. He tried to sit down, but all started spinning around him, and he decided to stay laid on the floor. He opened his eyes, only to see the total darkness around him. Damp, dense darkness. Probing his head, he could feel a great bump when the ghouls hit him.

Suddenly, a soft light sprang up, keeping Moriarty's figure in chiaroscuro. Sherlock blinked and slowly sat, trying to get the fog off his brain.

"I thought you came back to conquer the world, and so. Too much paraphernalia for getting only me. It's excessive even for you", the detective said with disdain.

"Always so egocentric," chided Jim. "There has been a little change of plans" Moriarty walked through the corridor around Sherlock's cell, head bowed. "You are really amazing, you know?" Yes, you know it. Of course, you do. Because I know I am amazing, and you are exactly like me."

"We already had this conversation. Boring", Sherlock replied in a bored tone.

Moriarty froze, his face contorted with fury for a second.

"Where was I? Oh, yes, change of plans. Yes, because you know what?" he conjured a book in his right hand that Sherlock recognized as The Necronomicon "being back from dead, it's good but boring. What it is really great is becoming from dead in flesh and bones. As if you had never died. Totally alive and kicking, as it is said. And not only that. Becoming immortal. Can you imagine what I could do to be immortal? No competition, nations surrendered at my feet. I'll be a God."

"What an innovative plan," replied Sherlock ironically, his eyes scanning the place, looking for an exit.

Moriarty waved a finger, and Sherlock's body flew across the cell, crashing painfully with one of the stone walls. Sherlock groaned, due to his aching ribs, that cracked with the hit.

"First lesson. Only talk when you are allowed to". And yes, it's very innovative. Do you know why? Because I'll achieve it with your help. Actually, both you and your pet's help".

"Keep on dreaming."

Sherlock's body flew again, this time his head hitting the wall, making him see stars. He wailed, cursing, feeling a bit dizzy.

"You are such a slow learner, but don't worry. I'm a very patient teacher. I don't mind repeating lessons over and over again. Hope you don't mind, EITHER!!" he shouted, rotating his hands, as Sherlock's body rose from the floor and fall with a loud bang. He remained on the floor, his nose bleeding.

"Where was I?" asked Moriarty. "Oh, yes, immortality. Surprisingly, the spell to become immortal is really simple, could you believe it?" he laughed, faking surprise. "All you need to perform is a werewolf's heart."

"Don't dare to touch John!" Sherlock yelled. He stood painstakingly, and when regained balance, threw himself towards Moriarty, but his body collided with an invisible barrier, and his body was thrown back to the floor. He lay there, trying to regain his breath, his ribs aching every time he inspired.

"Dark magic," Moriarty chuckled. "More powerful even than mighty Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty groaned of pleasure.

"If you dare to hurt John," panted Sherlock, trying to get up again" I'll kill you. With my bare hands".

"I'm sure it will be a great pleasure to feel your hands in my body, but I have other plans for you and me."

Sherlock looked at him and narrowed his eyes.

"Remember Sherringford? Holmes killing Holmes? I'm sure you do."

Sherlock shivered, recalling the moment he had to choose between shooting John or Mycroft and finally decided to gun himself. He almost could feel the coldness of the barrel in his neck again.

"This time, it's going to be much better. This time it will be Watson killing Holmes" Moriarty lustily licked his lips.

"John would never hurt me," sneered the detective.

"Let's see if mighty Sherlock it's right. Remember, you always miss something".

Sherlock heard a chirping noise, metal gliding over metal, and he could discern John's silhouette in his werewolf form. He slowly entered the cell, hesitating, as if he was a bit scared of what he could find inside—Sherlock's heart broken when he saw him limping as he walked, his psychosomatic limp back.

The detective looked for John's eyes. Though he remembered the doctor's words in Scotland Yard, he hoped John would recognize him. But when he finally met the blue and orange eyes, he found no sign of being recognized.

The werewolf sniffed the air and laid down on the floor, exhausted, ignoring the detective. Sherlock took a couple of steps to him and stopped when the lycanthrope raised his head, smelling the air again, showing a bit his big white fangs, a deep growling coming from his throat. The sleuth stepped back, trying to calm John.

"Oh, it was me who missed something this time," Moriarty said, and Sherlock felt several cutting impacts on his arms and legs, caused by short arrows, that started bleeding.

"I know, a bit theatrical, but you know me, I've always loved acting" mocked Moriarty. The werewolf got onto his claws, growling, his now completely orange eyes fixed in the detective.

"John, it's me, Sherlock," the detective knew it was pointless to try to bring the human part of John out once he had smelled the blood, but he had to attempt it.

The lycanthrope limped to him, slowly as if he knew his prey has no loophole. Sherlock looked around the cell. It was about three hundred square meters, but he can't be aware of where the magic barrier was. He moved slowly towards his right, always looking at the werewolf's eyes and trying to find John's hint.

Suddenly, the werewolf jumped, almost reaching the detective. Sherlock ran away, which only got to excite even more the animal, that quickly rolled over and rushed after the sleuth, who tried to mislead John zigzagging in his getaway. Still, the werewolf was completely capable of predicting the man's movements, so he finally ended cornered by John.

He looked for John's gun in his coat pocket with quivering hands, took out the gun, and charged it with the shining silver bullets. This maneuver seemed to distract the werewolf, who, during a second, stopped and looked curiously at Sherlock's hand, like sensing what Sherlock was going to do.

The detective had taken a decision: first, he would shot John, and immediately, he would kill himself. He didn't care about Moriarty or the world's destiny. He only wanted to prevent John from being sacrificed by Jim in who knows which sadistic way. And he knew he couldn't keep on living after executing John.

He extended his arms, pointing at John, his eyes closed in silent prayer, asking John to forgive him. He held the gun with his shaking hands, removed the safety lock, and put his index finger in the trigger. The werewolf tilted his head; in the same way, he saw John doing so many times, and the detective dropped the gun, incapable of end John's life, which was chanted with a boo from Moriarty and a crazy giggle.

Sherlock leaned on the invisible barrier and let himself slide to the floor, his legs bent, curled over himself, and closed his eyes, sighing in pain. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do.

The werewolf looked at him, almost questioningly. Understanding that his prey had given up, he walked some steps backward, to finally gain momentum and bounded over the detective, his eyes fixed in Sherlock's jugular.

A gunshot, a little whine in pain, and the werewolf fell heavily on the floor. Sherlock opened his eyes and gasped, crawling to John's lifeless body.

"No," he whispered, tears falling from his eyes "no, no, no."

He looked at Moriarty, but the consulting criminal appeared to be as shocked as him. The detective's gaze roamed the cell perimeter. In one of the corners, he could see the barrel of a still-smoking gun, firmly gripped by Mycroft, who looked shaken for the first time in his life.