shinytoybox | Sherlock and Moriarty nonsense

Indeed. Yet, I'm certain that they'll slip up.

['This is a bad idea', something deep inside him whispered.

Yet, like this, sitting at a table...

There was so much they could be, they could do. They could play a game all for them, dancing around the traps each other set.

Maybe...for a little while, it wouldn't be so bad. Until one or the other is inevitably trapped, strangled by those threads -

(The fate of a Beast like them, after all.)

He gives a loud yawn, before downing another swig of his drink.]

A criminal always does, somewhere along the line. Don't you agree?

[Games are never meant to last, they are by design meant to be just momentary distractions.

But it wouldn't hurt to push it a little more, to play another round.

To play, to dance, to weave and pounce, giving and taking.

(Snaring and Devouring)

His eyes slipped half-lidded, swirling the glass lightly]

Everyone does make mistakes it is part of existing - though while such flaws may expose a criminal, it does not always mean justice will be dealt to them before either time or the shadows of history takes them.

Edited 2019-06-08 04:47 (UTC)

Indeed, Sherlock. We'll have to see if this criminal slips into the shadows, uncaught - or if they'll eventually be collared by Scotland Yard or a detective of some renown.

[He gives a smile, and then -

shrugs.]

Time will tell, but it is good to see you again. I'm surprised you're still in london, personally.

Time will tell.

[A genuine smile actually crosses his lips at that, reaching into his eyes]

I had considered other places, but London seems to suit me better than anywhere else.

[Being around people was comforting in an odd way. There's so many thoughts and ideas flitting about, so many things to see and learn.]

It is a bustling place, true. I don't have any plans to move from the city, either - So I suppose we might see each other again, then.

[He chuckles.]

It seems I'll have to keep slicking back my hair in order to keep people from mistaking us for the other.

...Speaking of, I take it you're using a different name now?

That we might.

[He considered, and decided James would figure it out eventually, and there really wasn't much of a point]

And yes, I am - Arthur Gray.

Gray, hm? It's a good name.

[He takes another drink, noting there's only a sip or so left.]

As for myself, I'm asking those close to me to use 'James'. There's just something about the name I like.

[He nods, 'James' - he remembered liking that name. It sounds nice, and as the hour was getting late, he says his good-byes and withdraws, leaving just enough mackerel for Abby to steal.

It wouldn't be the last time they meet, not with the game they're playing. The Spider was not the remote spinner of webs, but the leaping hunter, but also on occasion the lurker inside a trap, drawing someone in before snapping them up.

He was careful, always so careful - a false front, crimes covering crimes, sometimes vanishing like a phantom, other times leaving evidence pointing towards another criminal trying to worm their way into his territory or made too much trouble, drawing too much attention near his havens.

Sometimes James wasn't called in at all, and it was disappointing, but when he was - he'd always watch from some remote place, to see him search and question, uncovering what he had hidden. Sometimes it gone as far as him finding one of his safe houses, which Gray would have stripped clean of the presence of any signs of his enterprise by the time police would arrive, leaving only bare rooms and wiped prints.

But much like the drugs, it wasn't enough to quell the screaming - it would be mutable for a while before roaring back louder and louder, taking more to make it silent again. As he upped the dosage, he also increased the complexity of his work, and the severity of it.

Some small part of him hated this, hated the thing he became, but the rest of him was too well-honed at this art, too dipped in blood and shadow to stop. He was constantly uncovering hidden things, forbidden things, loathsome knowledge was knowledge that appeased that hunger. Sometimes his hands were stained with blood when he wrest something new, and he noticed he was growing numb to the sight.

Gray knew that there was no happy ending for this game, but long as he kept playing - a worse one would be avoided, or so he tells himself. Though he could sense the change in James' demeanor as of late.

And the air around him just thrummed with a new kind of tension as he slips once more to that flat]

[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.]

...The Game is over, Sherlock.

[He had been so absorbed, in the fun - one of the few pleasures he had left - and quieting the screaming that the game had spiraled, becoming instead of a means of preventing the Beast, it became the very thing that may draw them together once more.

(It would make it stop, it would make the screaming stop)

As he stood in the flat, the ice in the other man's eyes, the building tension. The declaration wasn't of the 'I know your tricks' variety.

There's a finality, especially the usage of that name]

Over...?

[His voice was cool, but he had been steadily growing cooler in expression and voice over the months, only growing animate when James confront him. But even as he questioned cool, he felt it - that hot flash of rage wanting to crawl out, indignant that their game was being declared over from the beast who had been fed by their play.

yet his shoulders dropped as if in relief]

Yes.

[He doesn't miss a single moment - the shoulders dropping, the faint flash of rage in his eyes. Of course, the Beast would be angry that the game was over, but -

It had to be done. For the sake of humanity, for those dear humans he loved so much. ]

...Monday, you and your gang will be caught by Scotland Yard. There will be no escape, nor any miraculous ways to wiggle out of it.

[And swinging - he could almost see the noose, woven from spider-web. James would not make such a declaration without absolute confidence]

And there will be no persuading you?

[He asked, his voice quiet, already his mind was turning, replaying their encounters, now seeing the small threads being drawn out, entwined so he would have no hope but to get trapped. There was a strange thrill, to be outmaneuvered in such a fashion, wanting to pick at James' mind, unraveling the threads, to learn his process.

But that will not happen, not when the detective declared the end of this game]

[Those threads - he had entangled the other man intensely, over and over. The destruction would be complete and total, dangling helplessly in his web. After all, even today, the police were beginning to prepare for the raid, for the arrests, getting the nooses ready -

He nods, slowly.]

..Yes.

We can no longer continue like this - not if we want London - no, England - to keep standing.

One of us - cannot be in this world anymore, Sherlock. You should know that.

[England, the world potentially.

A rare, impulsive thought bubbled up - to tackle James right then and there, putting his hands around the man's windpipe, to see how it would look, to squeeze the life out of him to feel the authority pulse under him again.

Then he shook his head.

No. Not like that.]

I know. But you are aware with this end, that you are opening yourself up to your own destruction?

[Either death by the hand of one of his men, or some less kindly members of the Yard taking James' silence on their game as his being an accessory after the fact. Or... or... the beast in him coils and hiss like the humans they love, the Beast could not stand the thought of perishing before it could fulfill it's purpose in life.

It can't end here, it will end but not quietly]

I know - and I am going through with this regardless.

[His eyes - are piercing, staring directly at his other half, his other self. The other half of the Beast, the man who had come to rule the dark side of London with his wits and intelligence, staining his hands with blood in pursuit of knowledge.

How would it be if they were reversed? He can't help but wonder - would he be standing there, having finally revealed himself? Would they be as close to destroying everything as they were now?

...It's not worth thinking about, he decides after a few moments.]

I'm no stranger to destruction, Sherlock. I see it as a needed sacrifice, and nothing more.

[The thought of another path, would he be a Detective pursuing justice? Sherlock had wondered if that was possible, with how easily he slipped into this role.

The nightmares and lingering doubt where just those, stray thoughts not allowed to dwell in his head to add to the cacophony - he had enough noise in his head and enough reasons to not sleep]

Then - there is no changing this course. I'm afraid that you will not live to see your victory.

[He slowly shook his head and turns to leave]

Nor will you live to escape another day.

[He doesn't stop the man from turning around to leave - after all, this was it. The prelude to their final separation, the ending that had lied in front of them the entire time.

He'll expect attempts on his life, of course. But the two of them simply could not exist together on this stage at the same time, and one of them must exit the play permanently.

And, in the end -

James left for the continent, along with Watson - the man had insisted, despite his (admittedly weak) protests, and most of the gang was quickly apprehended as they traveled in Europe.

All...except for two, of course.

And when he stepped foot onto the soil where the falls were, he knew. There was an inexorable pull on his soul, something that tugged and told him that this was where it would all come to an end.

And on that gray, miserable day...Watson was called away, an obvious distraction, yet...he was glad. Even if he felt nothing beyond the base fondness for humans for the man, he didn't want him to get wrapped up in this - in the moment where a monster split into two ended itself.

Standing there, he finished the note for the doctor and secured it carefully, trusting he'd find it before the winds carried it away - and turned to face the path down towards safety, waiting for that one man to come.]

Good. You let him go off.

[That was what the man said once he walked up, while outwardly he appeared as expressionless and as calm as ever, the tension in his frame is more noticeable, more taut the closer they came together. Moran was nowhere in sight, but a sharpshooter probably made himself well hidden.]

I cleared my agenda, and no doubt you wrapped everything up on your end. Now whatever happens, we will have nothing to hold us back. I will hold nothing back now.

[No guns, no stick, but with each step closer, right into James' personal space, his fingers curled, a grab for his tie, a feint to distract from a vicious kick? No, he pounced upon the man like the spider that his other half often compared him to]

Of course. He shouldn't have to see the end of all of this.

[He doesn't say anything as Sherlock walks closer, though he's obviously just as tense - and when he's leapt upon, he lashes out with his hands, trying to punch the other man in the face even as he's caught, grunting and trying to push him towards the ledge.

Even in this struggle - there's that odd Joy, that odd excitement as they jostle and fight, a light coming to his eyes joyfully.]

[Laughter bursts from his throat even as he's punched, he couldn't even remember the last time he had laughed, or felt such elation.

There was joy to their dance, but not quite like this - even as they're trying to kill each other. His eyes widening, as if not wanting to miss a second of the light in James' eyes. His feet planted themselves as he yanks at the tie to throw the other man off-balance, a grin spreading upon his lips as he tightens it, turning the fashion accessory into an impromptu noose.

This - this risky, reckless fight, neither of them are likely to survive at this rate.

Yet - he was fine with the specter of his own death.]

Edited 2019-06-10 03:53 (UTC)

[Unable to stop him in time, the tie does become a noose - how ironic, since that's what should happen to Sherlock if Scotland Yard had been able to catch him, yet here he was -

The slippery path was enough to send him entirely off balance, going to his knees if not for the tie - automatically rising his hands to the band of fabric as his airways were immediately cut off, making a choking noise that could be heard over the roar of the falls.

But that light is still in his eyes though he's still not quite smiling, even as he struggles for breath and reaches out again, trying to knock the other man's legs out from under him.]

[The irony was not lost on him either, as his grin took on a grim edge. His breath quickens, heart pounding as his fingers felt the detective's heartbeat, the struggle for breath as his throat strains against the restraint.

That light still shined - given who they were, it made sense that James would shine brightest at such a moment, and this momentary reflection was enough and down he went slipping as he was knocked off balance, forced to let go of the tie to keep from completely falling]

Ngh...!

[Taking a few hacking breaths, he doesn't wait - leaping upon Sherlock as soon as his head stops spinning, trying to straddle him as his own hands grab for the neck, going for a more personal way of ending this, of ending the Beast -

And as his hands grip tightly, that smile - that delighted, overjoyed smile - finally crosses his face, and in that moment, you could almost see the red glow from his chest, mirrored in his eyes as he allowed himself to take delight in the destruction he was causing, just for a moment.]

[His vision swims as he's forced onto his back, pain radiating as his head hits the rough stony ledge, and then his air was cut off by strong, callused hands.

Noises gurgled from his throat, lights dancing in his vision, but even then his eyes focused entirely on that glow, the light in his eyes, having no fear of the destruction it promises, but his heart beat with overwhelming elation at seeing what had been missing for so long.

(Yes - come on... closer

together - together - come together, come together, togethertogethertogethertogethertogether-!)

The screaming rose up to a crescendo, and he could hear nothing else as his gloved hands stretched out towards him, as if trying to grasp at the Authority.

Then a loud rapport echoed in the cliffs, silencing the beast within]

...wha...

Edited 2019-06-10 04:33 (UTC)

[For a moment, he didn't even realize what had happened - except that his grip suddenly loosened, that light and the glow suddenly fading away as he jerks back off of Sherlock, his hands reaching towards a strange heat in his left shoulder.

...and as he touches it, bringing back bright red blood.

At looking at it, the pain suddenly lances through his being, causing him to grab at it and crouch down, groaning.]

Agh - ghh!!

[That arm hung uselessly, and he internally swore - knowing that now he was at a disadvantage.

(But in the end, if he's the one to die - then that would be fine, wouldn't it? He'd just give back what was originally someone else's life.)]

Sherlock and Moriarty nonsense

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