shinytoybox | Sherlock and Moriarty nonsense

[The gesture was subtle, one he noticed he would not have spotted with human eyes. So the Professor learned some new tricks, a stray part of his mind noted.

Like a spider's thread... he remembered the tale when he was in Tibet, the thread of a spider was a sinner's sole chance of escaping hell. Was it the same here? The tension in his body - taut enough that one could draw a longbow with, was slowly evaporating.

And an odd sound came from him, it took him a moment to remember what it was - laughter. The insult wasn't even that funny, especially not with how venomous Moriarty was saying it]

You can't blame yourself for that, don't even think of starting on it - much as he enjoys showing off his "Prizes", he knows when to keep his weapons concealed, the fiend was a warlord and still have the instincts of one.

[A laugh is a start - as well as the reduction of the tension in his body. That's good - that's how this man should be. The same man who laughed in his face when he threatened mutual destruction, the detective who was practically a gremlin in his own right.]

...I suppose - but it's clear, then, that he definitely still thinks like one, with all the associated arrogance and cockiness. Such things will be his inevitable downfall.

[He gives a fierce grin - before shaking his head, sighing.]

That is, if I can get his trust. But - mark my words. I will take you from that man, no matter the cost. Sherlock Holmes should not be the thrall of an outdated madman of a vampire!

Mad is the least of it.

[He doesn't elaborate, though the way his eyes momentarily darts - searching, despite Moriarty's assurance says more than anything else.

His lips pursed faintly, in thought, it seemed almost too good - but he recognize this was a last chance. Deadening himself, it let him survived - but that was not what he wanted to do, to constantly dull his senses, dull his thoughts to avoid the vampire's punishments. His brows knitted, while he has been less tense, there's still the guarded wariness. But for the first, in a long time... a flicker of lightness in his chest despite his heart being still.]

He has much to answer for.

[Is this what it's like to have something to look forward to?]

Edited 2019-10-27 00:30 (UTC)

[A flicker of hope. That was all Moriarty was looking for - and he smiles, in a wry sort of way.

...How odd. That flicker - it was if he himself felt it...?]

I should damned hope so! As it is, we'll have to formulate a plan - he will, most likely, continue to meet with me for at least a few times more. Before the end of that, we'll have to figure out a way to get you free of him, and find a place to hide, as it were.

[His mind is already rattling, shaking off the fog and tiredness, as if it never existed, nor plagued him for decades. Already, he was feeling - much more like himself.]

Though before then, we should probably continue to make him believe I'm gloating at you - I believe he thinks we're kindred spirits of a sort.

[His fingers rested against his chin, eyes closing. To think, the man that had tried to kill him is now his one and perhaps only hope from hell.

Fate is a twisted woman.

Now to think, to plan beyond avoiding the pain and the torment of his mind - dust off the furniture in his attic space, perhaps some of it will remain intact despite it all.]

Yes, he'll liable to bring me with him if he believes it would please you, to make negotiations go smoother. To hide - ah, he'll certainly go to the ends of the earth to claim what he thinks is 'his'.

[There's a tone of sheer revulsion in there, the sense of bile rising in the back of his throat, fangs momentarily exposed before he catches himself.]

After that, well - I will come up with something.

Well, I can easily act that I'm pleased to see my old nemesis collared and brought in as a servant - as can you, of course.

[He listens, before curtly nodding - as if understanding something.]

Ah, I see. If he is that tenacious, then - We'll have to kill him.

[Said utterly calmly, and easily.]

I assume the stake through the heart is still a common weakness?

[There's a sense that if he could, his face would be flushed. As soon as the words 'kill him' spilled from Moriarty's mouth, he felt that pent up anger, the long-suppressed wish uncoiling in glee at the sheer thought of being rid of the monster]

Yes, as well as decapitation.

[That intense joy - it almost took him off guard, but he tried not to let it show as he continued to speak.

..How odd. Is he experiencing what Holmes is? No, that can't be....can it?]

Well then! I'll keep a cleaver in my desk, as well as a stake. We'll wait for the right time to strike - when his guard is down the lowest. I assume that you wouldn't mind lopping his head off yourself, if I can strike him through the heart?

[He gives a sharp, firm nod, lips trying to pull into a dark grin but he catches himself]

I would be glad to.

Of course. The right to give the final blow belongs to you.

[He sees the catching - and while he thinks that it would be better for Holmes to just give in, ultimately...

...he's glad to see that he isn't.

Suddenly, his web tugs - and he hisses a curse under his breath.]

He's coming back. In 5 minutes, I should think. Since he most likely thinks I've been in here berating you, well - perhaps we should make it a bit dramatic for when he arrives?

[It's natural to want to, to give the man his worst, he knew it's a slippery road. Even if he had killed people as a Vampire, it was not out of joy or pleasure.

He feared giving in completely would be too intoxicating. The man catches the curse, and he shifts, to the stiff straight-back posture he had before, eyes half-lidded. Despite himself, despite knowing there's a plan, the tension slithers back into him]

He'll believe me cowed, but I suppose being faced with one's Nemesis would spark something.

A good thing I am not a violent man by nature - Otherwise, I would have suggested slapping or hitting you. Still, I believe this should be sufficient.

[There's a moment where he pauses, looking sherlock over, noting the quick shift back to his old ways - and reaches his hand out again, as the feeling of brushing up against a spiderweb suddenly resonates.]

If anything should come up - or if you have a moment to yourself - speak, and I will hear. it's an unfortunately one way form of communication, but...

[The thread is nearly invisible, even as Moriarty himself slides into a much more triumphant posture, with a sneer on his face, as if he's both pleased by it and condescending at the same time, almost impossible to tell that it's an act...if not for the very, very faint giveaways, faint enough to be invisible to Dracula, at least.]

What a pitiful creature you've become, Holmes. No words to fight back to me, anymore? Are you so collared that you can't even muster up the will to renounce me, as you did in the past?

[Saying it for the hearing of the vampire, as he holds up two fingers in a 'two minutes' warning, subtly.]

Still better than nothing given the circumstances.

[it was that feeling again, it's not a pleasant one, but if he can force himself to be demure for years, he can tolerate this.

Doyle had once claimed in him, the world lost an actor, but Moriarty was not a bad act himself, Holmes thought as he goes to speak. His voice comes out brittle as spun glass, knowing that tone so well, the one he always uses after stepping a toe out of line. The old scripts came, when the women (his siblings in a twisted way) would torment him.]

I have no words for you, Moriarty. I do not need them. There's no point in fighting you.

[It's a painful tone, that voice - so different from his memories that he can't help but give a single wince when he knows that Dracula isn't yet there before composing himself.]

No point in fighting me...? Truly? Is that truly how you feel, standing in front of the man who tried to drag you down to hell with him? Like this, you've become nothing more than a servant - and it seems that suits you. How your dear Watson would mourn how you look now!

[A bit of a low blow, but the Moriarty that Dracula wants to see wouldn't hesitate. He would want to see a reaction, spitting out caustic words.]

[He actually flinches, eyes shot open in shock. That's right - he's doing it because it's what Dracula expects, he had to remind himself. His lips curled back in a fanged grimace, fingers curling against his knee]

Don't you dare use his name, Spider. Your vile tongue would only taint it.

[Then he could feel it, the looming presence, the shadow over his soul, and he soon falls silent as Dracula made his presence known, the vampire looking over the two with a critical eye, Sherlock meeting his gaze for a moment, before lowering his eyes.]

Pity I seem to miss the bulk of it, Moriarty. I see you managed to invoke a little bit of spirit from my Childe,

[He crooks a finger, lifting up the former detective's chin, stroking under it in cruel affection - and it's clear that Sherlock was restraining himself]

[Though his face didn't show it, the moment that Dracula did that touching, lifting his chin?

He quietly thought about how very quickly he could lop off the offending digit with the knife concealed in his jacket, before reining the thought back in. No, no - not yet. He absolutely couldn't do that yet, as it would ruin everything.

So he laughs, light and peaceful, placing his hands behind his back.]

Just a bit! Sadly, you've trained him well - almost too well. That last flash of spirit was the most I'd gotten, though -

[He gives a sly, almost predatory grin at Sherlock.]

- if you see fit, I wouldn't mind trying to invoke a bit of that spirit again...?

[He lifts his eyebrows, as if to amplify his question, before laughing again.]

Of course, it's your choice, my dear partner.

[Truly, he would have been amazing on the stage.]

[Much as Sherlock would love to see the offending finger go flying in the night, he would be glad that cooler heads prevailed, they're just starting a dangerous game. Though the sick feeling settled in his stomach, he showed no outward response to the stroke. Either he was an excellent actor, or he is sadly used to this invasion of his personal space. His eyes slowly flicks over to Moriarty at the grin]

It did take quite a long time for him to know his place, he truly was a stubborn one.

[Dracula muses, as Sherlock held his tongue]

A little flash of fire would prove an amusing diversion. A reminder...

A reminder of what he was? Truth be told, I'm certain even you miss it. Did you ever read the accounts, sir? This man once laughed in my face and told me that if mutual destruction was our end, that he would be willing to be dragged down to hell with me if that was what it took.

[He shrugs, quietly - balancing between being slightly insulting, slightly challenging...and yet preferring to defer to the CLEARLY stronger person. An amusing partner, an amusing diversion...gain trust and grease the right wheels, flatter the right way.

It's almost an art - and it's so easy to see how he managed to control london's underground so easily as he pulls off this performance.]

It is a bit disappointing, I must admit - but if you're willing to continue bringing him here, then I wouldn't be remiss in trying to reignite that spark for you.

[He doesn't like speaking about Holmes like he's - some sort of animal, or a child. But, that's the way this must be.]

[Good, Sherlock thought - focusing on the dialogue now, keep the revulsion down. It was strangely illuminating, seeing how the man was spinning stories - true ones, but stories nonetheless to keep the Vampire's interest. The younger vampire could almost see how Moriarty was thinking, how he goes for just the right inflection, the appropriate cadence for the desired effect]

And to the broken state I had found him in, his spirit proved much more resilient. But like any stallion, one just needs a firm hand. This might prove entertaining, Mr. Moriarty.

[He lets go of Sherlock's chin, before rising back up, gesturing for the Englishman to stand as well]

It is about time for us to leave, shall we meet tomorrow?

Of course! I look forward to our next meeting.

[To anyone else, it would have sounded pleasant, cheerful.

But the intent rung out clear as day, to those that knew.

The plot is beginning to be carried out.

---

And through the days, such meetings continued. The dance between the two - no, the single stage act that Moriarty played for the benefit of the elder vampire, while conspiring in the scant moments that they were left alone and out of earshot.

Eventually, their time came to an end - and the day before, he had given Sherlock a stake, while keeping a cleaver on his own person for the final day. The chat was pleasant - friendly, almost - until it was time to bid farewell to the man.]

Well then, Dracula. I suppose we'll be in touch, hmm?

[Extending his right hand, he slowly slipped the cleaver out of his clothing with his left, still looking like the friendly, if challenging partner he had presented himself as this entire time.]

Ha, but - do be careful, won't you? After all...

[He brandishes the cleaver, trying to bring it up while seeming ever so slightly hesitant, trying to keep the vampire's eyes soley on him.

After all, once the bait is taken - Well.

Sherlock would know what to do.]

- You really need to watch your back!

Edited 2019-10-27 08:42 (UTC)

[It was the strangely the most hellish and yet the most elevating few days, the need to put on the mask, to play the obedient child was more imperative than ever when it was also the most difficult.

Dracula was a monster, he was cruel, tyrannical and sadistic, yet some part of him still hesitated at the thought - was it the bond of Sire and Childe, or his own reluctance to kill, or both? It was something he had to push against. Not only he would lose his one shot of freedom, the hesitation would end up killing Moriarty.

The stake felt heavy inside his sleeve as the pair arrived at the appointed hour, as he saw the cleaver slide out - he knew the Vampire would notice]

Indeed, I believe we'll be in-

[Suddenly, the vampire lashes out, gripping Moriarty by his wrist, going to lift him up as if he were a ham, his red eyes glowing]

I had not lived this long to not know when someone is sharpening their knives across the table, Mr. Moriarty. Pity, you would've been a good business partner -

[Sherlock knew it was this moment, now or never. The stake slid into his hand, and he quickly slams it hard into his Sire's back, angling as close as he could towards the still, cold heart.

The response was instant, as Moriarty was dropped - Dracula howling in pain and rage as he staggers to the side, a hand reaching back to rip the stake out.

Damnation! He was close, but not close enough]

You..

You do not know how long I've been waiting for this.

[perfect.

At least, that's what he thought - until the man yanked out the stake. Not close enough - was it hesitation? He knew Sherlock had been struggling with it, but -

No time to think, now. He lands on his feet with a grunt - the motion had jostled his spine, but not badly enough to set off any pain - and flung the cleaver still in his hand towards Sherlock, yelling out:]

Holmes!

[With that accomplished, his next goal was to get the Hell out of the way - even with his immortality and better-than-average strength, he knew he would be useless in a fight against Vampires.

...Well, Maybe. If he saw a chance...There was still another stake hiding in his sleeve.]

You will regret this, Sherlock. You will beg me for your death.

Punish men for what? Your foolish arrogance? You knew what we were talking about, but you believed me so tamed... Dracula, if one keeps beating a dog, the dog will bite.

[Hesitation, and a thick overcoat kept the stake from being a lethal blow. But it was enough to for him to press the advantage as he catches the cleaver]

Go! This won't be good!

[He calls out as he sets himself onto the Vampire, who snarls, turning into blood-tinged mist, before reforming, jumping onto Sherlock, his movements clearly that of a man in pain. The ensuing fight was vicious, the table smashed and the Englishman yelps in pain as his chest was raked by claws, the men wrestling for the cleaver, before Sherlock yanked it back, raising it up to hit down on the throat, but a quick turn of the head buried it in Dracula's cheek.

Sherlock hisses, trying to rip the cleaver back out, as a large, clawed hand shot out against his chest, clearly trying to dig into his chest]

[Normally, he would have moved away.

But - no. For some reason, watching this, seeing the fight - it was as if he were fighting for his....life? How did that make sense? He hadn't felt genuine fear for his life ever since he gained his immortality, and yet -

...No. No, he wouldn't run. Why would he run when his Rival was right there, fighting for his life?!

Letting the stake fall out of his sleeve, he watches - watches carefully, quickly, for the one moment where Dracula's attention is purely on Holmes, wincing as things are destroyed and the men fight and wrestle -

(Why does he hear those falls again? It's loud, pounding in his ears -)

until the cleaver comes out and bites the elder vampire on the cheek, and he sees his chance. Quickly - faster than it seems a human his 'age' should be able to do - he rushes forward.

And with no hesitation - he drives the stake home, into the hole Sherlock made earlier, only this time, putting all of his force and weight into driving it up towards that no-longer beating heart, no hesitation at all.

To hope that it would be enough.]

A word of advice, Dracula.

Never assume your pawns have no will of their own!

[The adrenaline, or something like it ran through him, as claws dug, blood spilling. There was roaring in his ears, roaring - cascading, drowning all over sounds, as he tasted his own blood in his mouth.

His reddened, glowing eyes, growing black from his pupils swallowing them up widened as the stake suddenly burst through the Vampire's chest. Dracula's eyes went wild, gouts of black blood sputtering from his mouth, almost foaming as his hands clutched his own chest in a futile attempt to pull the stake out.

With the claws out of his chest, Sherlock wrested the cleaver free, and rammed it into the vampire's face, and shoulders, and neck, over and over, even when there was no longer any resistance. His shoulders trembled, as reddened tears streaked down his face]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject