15The third cigarette stub lay cold and useless in the petri-dish, and Sherlock stood still, with both hands on the table, not looking directly at the one remaining item. The frustration was so intense, it was as if his body had been taken over.
That little nagging sensation.
He exhaled, turning half away from the table, hands raking through his hair, thinking he should just get it done, and then none of it would matter anymore. But if he did it then it would mean he was still an addict, and the subsequent regret would be so severe that it would be unbearable.
You're going to have to be strong to resist.
Maybe he could just go to bed and forget all about it… as if he ever could. But, the thought of walking away now was intolerable.
You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home… there.
Sherlock's mind was numb, a thick blanket of fog obscuring his mind palace; a blindness of his own making, that he was not willing to fix. He realised now that it had all been a charade, and that he was trapped. The game had only ever had one possible outcome, and nothing remained but to let it unfold.
Sherlock picked up the needle and it felt solid and familiar, like an old friend.
An old friend.
Sherlock felt a pang of conscience as he thought of John, and how much his actions were betraying him. He wished John could be here now. He needed his faithful ally, who always had his back; who was always there to save him.
The thought was like a sudden glimmer of light through the parted mist, and as a drowning man clutches at a root on the riverbank, Sherlock sprang to his feet and snatched up his phone from where he'd left it on charge, before frowning with irritation and bewilderment as he realised that the phone was not his, but was, in fact, John's phone.
He scrabbled around trying to find his own phone, knocking books and ornaments to the floor in his mad frenzy, before stopping, exhausted and perplexed. He seized John's phone again but the battery was stone dead.
"Dammit, John, where are you?"
The world seemed to spin around him as he was filled with a slow rage against the universe and an overwhelming desire to hit back at a world that didn't give a damn about him. If there was no-one there to help him even when he tried to do the right thing then what did it matter anyway?
Going back to the table he snatched up the needle, along with the solution he'd carefully prepared earlier that evening, and then he nestled into the arm chair, with his back to the door. Making no examination of his arm this time, he mechanically went through the familiar motions, remembering how well he had this routine down; tightening the strap around his upper arm and taking the end in his teeth…
The needle was just touching his skin, when a sudden crash made him drop the syringe. The door flew open and simultaneously he heard the sound of his brother's voice, speaking urgently.
"Sherlock, we have intelligence that Moriarty's men are watching the flat, you could be in grave danger if you were to leave…"
As Mycroft came around to the front of the chair, Sherlock stared back at him, his eyes wide and eerie, like a ghostly rabbit in a car's headlights.
"It's fortunate you came back, Mycroft", he said in a voice shot with relief and disappointment. "I've run out of cigarettes..."
…
John silently made his way over the wet lawn; the dark, abandoned manor house looming up starkly against the night sky in front of him. He knew she was in there, and his heart pounded furiously, with no thought other than to get to her as quickly as he could. Stealthily he picked his way around the back of the house, under cover of some ancient pine trees. He'd heard voices coming from far away as he'd scaled the wall to the grounds; guards maybe, but no-one seemed to be keeping a look-out around the house itself.
In one hand, John held his pistol, his finger ready on the trigger. In his pocket was Sherlock's phone, which he'd taken in a fit of frustration that morning. He was concerned that Mary would go into labour without being able to reach him, so he had picked up Sherlock's phone instead, with the intention of texting her, so she knew how to contact him, but then the chilling messages from Moriarty had started.
There were lights on in one area of the house only. John climbed through an empty hole which had once been a window, moving carefully over the broken window-sill. He crept along the corridor, past dusty paintings and the heads of dead animals on the walls, until he came to the only lit room, and his heart nearly stopped as he heard raised voices through the door and someone begging for mercy.
Furiously, John kicked the door open in a blind rage. Inside, his heavily pregnant wife had Moriarty pinned up against a bookcase in an arm-hold. Next to the door, the gunman wavered uselessly, unable to take the shot for fear of hurting the wrong person. In Mary's hand was the razor blade from the box she'd removed from Moriarty's pocket, and she held it to his throat, her eyes blazing with maternal aggression. There was blood running down her arm, but John wasn't sure where from.
John took his own gun and dealt with the gunman before he had time to react. Then he pointed the gun at Moriarty, still tangled up with his wife and unborn child.
Mary's voice came steely and determined, her eyes fixed on her tormentor, "He was going to hurt our baby, John, and now I'm going to bloody kill him. Because he needs to understand that there is nothing, NOTHING that I wouldn't do to protect her." Mary jerked Moriarty's arm tighter and began to press down on the blade. John stood motionless, his gun trained on Moriarty's head unable to do anything except take in the spectacle.
As John watched, Moriarty's look of terror began to flicker into one of amusement, and Mary's hand stalled, somehow unable to continue. Moriarty began to chuckle as he felt the blade's contact with his throat relax a minuscule amount.
"You can't do it now, can you?" Moriarty sneered at her, speaking slowly.
"You can't do this in front of him.
"Because he won't love you when you've finished", Moriarty hissed at her. "If you do this, every time he looks at you from now on, he'll see a woman who kills people."
Mary's eyes seemed to dawn with awareness as her hand came slowly away from Moriarty's throat, her intense focus on him melting as her eyes glanced sideways at John.
"It's a shame really, Moriarty continued, in a voice of mock consolation "because for a minute there I really thought you were going to do it."
The razor blade fell from Mary's hand, as she stepped away from Moriarty, her hand instead going protectively to her belly. There was a split second where her eyes met John's, and in that moment a loud noise overhead tore into the silence, indicating backup had arrived.
John's concentration broke, as Moriarty pressed something on the bookcase behind him, which swallowed him up swiftly like a trap-door, and in an instant Moriarty had disappeared. Mary scrabbled frantically at the panels, to try to follow Moriarty, but the book case was unrelenting.
John had come over to her, trying to embrace her and looking down worriedly at the blood. Finally she seemed to see him properly for the first time and the waves of shock fell from her as she allowed him to take her in his arms and hold her there for a long time.
"I'm OK, I'm OK. She's OK", Mary finally said, and kissed him to reassure herself, as much as him, that she really was, and then she stepped back, John gently taking her hand, angry and pained at the sight of his wife's injuries.
"It's fine, it's just a scratch", she shook her head, smiling with relief now. "Don't worry about me. I've had a lot worse." She smiled wryly, remembering.
John brushed her face with his hand, smiling at his brave and brilliant soul-mate, and trembling with relief. Mary still seemed agitated though, as she struggled to say what was on her mind.
"I'm glad you're here", she finally said.
"I'm glad I'm here too", John returned genuinely.
"No", said Mary emphatically, looking straight at him. "I mean I'm really glad you're here, because I'm having contractions. I think I'm in labour."
John's eyes widened, and suddenly he looked terrified.
…
A/N: Many thanks to ChucksterinDowntonAbbey, Lampchairpineapple, basswall2, crexy, gejlir, kimberlyboo3, liliflowerxoxo, mari12345, mickeydawn995, paulaarushing, shadajoserj, starsofimagination, trenchcoatandtie, yerawitchayesha, Gwen Maddens, AngryHobbit, Hobbit, GeorgyannWayson, Guest and Ennui Enigma. It's great to see some familiar names, and I hope you had as much fun as I did! Please take care, everyone.