shinytoybox | Sherlock and Moriarty nonsense

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 pants, his eyes wide, pupils almost pinpricks as his hand touches his own shoulder in sympathy, cough and wheezing.]

Ahn... ah... hah... mo-mo...

Moran. He hold the man to stay in the village, to keep anyone else from interfering. That fool - that loyal, earnest fool... this was the first time that man ever refused an order.

But that refusal, snapped him out of his stupor - he almost tried to do what they should never attempted - and that moment, he remembered in terrible clarity - the reason why they had split apart.

This has to end now, while they're still them.

With a strangled roar, he tackles the injured man, sending them rolling before Moran could reload for another shot. Now that they're entangled, the sharpshooter would not dare take aim.

It was a split-second, or time seem to slow only in his mind as he process there being no ground to support them. Instinctively, the desire to survive kicks in and he grasped whatever he could to keep from falling into the abyss]

[Time...certainly did slow. Rolling over and over, each movement taking what felt like a lifetime -

and yet, it wasn't long enough before he felt them fall off of the path, into empty, wet air.

Automatically, he grabbed - managing to catch onto the ledge with his right arm, while something grabbed onto his left, his mind still muddled with pain, unable to realize what it was in that moment.

And then, like a flash of light - the haze cleared, and he stared down at Sherlock hanging onto him, holding onto that injured arm -]

Hhgh-!!

[The pain was intense, but - no.

Though he had come to finish this, in this moment - he couldn't. Staring at those green eyes, even if he was a criminal, even if he was the Beast -

he was still-!!]

Ah...hagh...!!

[He tries to haul himself up with just his right arm - but there's too much weight, too much pain, and he can't keep his grip forever.]

...Sher....lock...! C-climb up...! Before I...!!

[His eyes were wild, shock that he actually held onto his other half, though he could see from the man's grimace that it wouldn't be for long.

Tears started to form as the man encouraged him to climb up - after everything, after all he did - he knew it was their love of humanity speaking...

Did James still see him as human? he tasted ash in his mouth at the thought, he was sliding further and further from it, his horrible game designed to simply occupy the beast had turned into his sole purpose for existing. That - that wasn't something a human would do.

Quickly he shook his head, his fingers slowly loosening, this - James is the one they need.]

No. This is what fate decided.

Don't-! Stop being an idi - nghgh!!

[As Sherlock begins to let go, he suddenly lunges out with that injured hand, despite the pain - and grabs a gloved hand, clinging as tightly as his wound will allow him, his entire arm shaking with the effort.]

Y-You're still! You're still a human! Fate has - nothing to do with this! C-Climb up, damn you!!

[Rivulets of blood begin to run down his arm, pooling on Sherlock's hand...and in those blue eyes of his, there's...desperation, but also - something else.

(He's the original one, isn't he? I'm just - a pretender. With this Authority, I can never truly be human in the way he is, so -

He should live...!)]

[He grunts as the man catches him, his shoulder aching in protest at the sudden movement - and he knew the man's arm was in worse shape.

Those eyes - those eyes are proof enough, that of the two of them, or the both...

It's all back to him, holding the fate of one man in his hands, a man who never asked for this. And yet never forgot why they did this.]

There is one logical choice here.

[His other hand reaching up, at first appearing to give in, to climb, but his fingers fiddled with the small button that held his glove fast, knowing between behind drenched and the slickness of leather...

that he will fall out of the man's grasp.]

[For a moment - he thought everything would be alright.

And then, he sees what Sherlock is trying to do - and his face immediately goes pale, or paler past the pain and blood loss.]

Don't!!

[But, he can't do anything. Just hanging on is the most he can do, and even his grip is beginning to loosen, bit by bit, to that hand.

Tears finally come to his eyes, spilling over before vanishing in the spray from the waterfall, his eyes wide.]

[He could feel himself slipping, the instinctive desire to live, the beast inside screaming to grab hold - to stop but, he had spent much of his life learning to deal with that voice - silencing, feeding it, now - in his head, he roared at it to be silent.

This was the logical choice, a criminal or a detective - it's obvious whose life is more important to the world]

You're the one-

[And with a hitch, his fingers slipped out of the glove entirely, gravity yanking him down, only seeing those pained blue eyes as he descended, disappearing from sight]

Sherlock and Moriarty nonsense

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