shinytoybox | Sherlock and Moriarty nonsense

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]

[At hearing the dying splutters of the elder vampire - of Dracula, of finally finishing what countless Hunters had attempted over the years - Moriarty backed off, letting Holmes do what he would with the dying man, seeing the black blood and the flash of bloodied steel ring over and over.

...But, wait. Was this - truly how it was supposed to go? Even as the bloody tears traced down Sherlock's face, Moriarty felt a sense of deep unease under the joy and mixed emotions.

Is something...wrong?]

...Holmes.

[The vampire - had to be dead, at this point, obviously - but there didn't seem to be any point to stop for the other man. Despite everything - seeing his face, that strange feeling inside of him - Moriarty came forward, reaching out a hand towards his shoulder.]

...Holmes! That's enough, he's already -

[If asked later, he wouldn't be able to tell anyone why he was crying, but the feelings were bubbling and boiling, and churning, utter relief, rage spilling over, guilt, joy, it's all mixed up in a confusing mess all needing to get out. Just to get it all out of him.

And make his chest stop hurting so much.

He didn't even realized what happened, he flung the cleaver into the far wall at the touch, startled his body twists like a serpent lashing out blindly before-]

Mor-Moriarty?!

[Ah.

He'd fucked up.

It had been so sudden - the toss, the lunge, the way mere fingers could wrench themselves into his throat and pull and tear apart tissue and blood vessels -

not that he could feel that pain, but - Ha, how ironic. Dying to Holmes again, for the second time.

With his throat open to the world, he couldn't speak - his larynx had been crushed by the mindless berserker state Holmes was in - but he still <tried, a horrible gurgling sound rising up as he reached out a hand to try and grab at Sherlock's arm.]

Ghh...hh....ngh....gaah...ghkkk...

[Shit. Shit, this was the worst time for something like this - while it would be on the shorter side, Holmes didn't know about his immortality.

And he didn't want the man to run or do anything rash, even as he knew his death was fast approaching.]

Sh...Shhhh...

[He... oh dear god. The fresh blood hits his nose as he staggers back, the large pupils suddenly shrinking into narrow, cat-like slits as the man grips at him.

Sherlock catches him, frantically thinking, wheels spinning as he tries to in futile, staunch the bleeding. This was his fault, he's the one who did this.]

Edited 2019-10-27 23:26 (UTC)

Shhh....shher....

[Fuck it - his vision is going black at the edges, and he can't make the words of what he wants to say.

So, he merely grabs on harder to the clothing - to the man's arm - as he locks eyes with him.

But...where one would expect to see pain, fear, betrayal - there was nothing but clarity as he gazed, eyes saying one thing.

Don't run, and don't do anything stupid.

With that expressed - he finally let go of his hold on life, a horrible death rattle coming from his ruined throat as his eyes half-closed and faded, life leaving.

...Yet, he still held onto Sherlock's arm, even though he was dead...like he had wanted, with all of his might, to keep the man in the area.

Which, well, he did.]

[He lowers the body, as much as the grip would allowed, gently prying the handa off. His lips pursing, fangs pressing against them as he could feel the life leaving Moriarty, for the moment numb.

All the emotions running hot in him went cold, as he scans the room, thinking, mulling - part of him wanted to bolt, to flee into the night but upon seeing Dracula's mangled corpse, his eyes narrowed.

Before he goes, he had to make sure the man didn't rise. He searches the house, finding everything flammable possible, dragging the corpse behind him outside, using the cleaver to sever his head, before building a bonfire over the body, setting it a light - instincts forcing him to scramble away before he works on the head, smashing the fangs with the cleaver handle, and despite his natural aversion, stuffing garlic into the maw before pitching it into the lake.

Then he sits, staring at the fire, legs pulled to his chest, arms folded over them]

[All of this - took the better part of an hour. Perhaps he might have felt the itch of regrowing issue - but then, considering how badly Dracula had attacked him...It might not have been a surprise that he didn't notice the itching around the neck, the way it felt like his throat was healing up.

At precicely one hour, Moriarty jolted back to life - and after the requisite coughing up the blood clot, he wiped his mouth and looked around - and cursed.

Neither Dracula nor Sherlock were there - and for a brief moment, his mind raced, believing that somehow, the horrid thing had survived - before the stench of burning flesh hit his senses, and he scrambled to his feet, looking down in a window and seeing the bonfire, along with a certain familiar figure staring at the flames.

...Ah. Good. so, in the end, Dracula was dead, and they had survived.

Caring little for the blood that stained him, Moriarty quietly went outside, walking softly, as not to alert the Vampire to his presence, before he got close enough behind him to be heard.]

...A beautiful night for a bonfire.

[...Just giving him one last scare should be enough, right?]

[The smell was horrendous, and the smoke coming from Dracula's burning body was of an unnatural color.

Again, he wondered - with the powers and banes that Dracula had that he didn't, if his Sire had made a contract in the past. He'll figure it out later, once he figures out what to do next.

Normally he'd noticed, someone approaching, but his thoughts were such a mess that he nearly jumped out of his skin as Moriarty spoke, springing up to his feet and pivoting to turn in one motion, like a spooked cat]

Pro-Professor?!

Professor? That's a name I haven't been called in over a hundred years!

[He does look satisfied at the pivoting, but maybe he did feel a little bad about spooking the poor man, lifting up a hand in an open-palm gesture.]

It's alright - I am truly back, lest you worry about your faculties. Shall we sit?

It came out like that.

[He stated, somewhere between sheepish and peeved, breathing out slowly, or least the motions of it]

Yes... there is much to be explained, such as how you managed to not have a gaping hole in your throat.

[Sherlock slowly settles down]

Well - You did kill me. And I did have a gaping hole in my throat!

[He says it cheerfully, as he takes a seat, looking at the oddly colored smoke coming off before sighing.]

But - for whatever reason - after the falls, I could die...but it would never 'stick.' I always come back, no matter the damage.

Sherlock and Moriarty nonsense

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