[At first, it had just been a fun game - between them, using lives in their wake, humans being destroyed or jailed or their fates irreparably changed. And he didn't notice - in the beginning, anyway, too focused on the webs they wove for each other.
But then - as if his eyes had forcibly been opened - he saw what they were doing to the world, to London.
And he knew they had to be stopped, no matter what.
He had played for too long - it only made sense, as Sherlock was the 'force' of the Beast, the driving intelligence behind them while he was their fangs - been too complacent. And he knew, without a doubt, the destruction they would bring if they were unchecked.
(Let it happen, his instincts whispered, but he forced it down)
So as Sherlock slips into his flat - the door purposefully unlocked, knowing the other man can't resist showing his face again, the pattern of their games familiar by now - James is waiting in a chair at his desk, facing towards the door to the study as Sherlock walks in.
His eyes are like ice as he speaks, his voice neutral.]
no subject
But then - as if his eyes had forcibly been opened - he saw what they were doing to the world, to London.
And he knew they had to be stopped, no matter what.
He had played for too long - it only made sense, as Sherlock was the 'force' of the Beast, the driving intelligence behind them while he was their fangs - been too complacent. And he knew, without a doubt, the destruction they would bring if they were unchecked.
(Let it happen, his instincts whispered, but he forced it down)
So as Sherlock slips into his flat - the door purposefully unlocked, knowing the other man can't resist showing his face again, the pattern of their games familiar by now - James is waiting in a chair at his desk, facing towards the door to the study as Sherlock walks in.
His eyes are like ice as he speaks, his voice neutral.]
...The Game is over, Sherlock.