Moriarty Wasn't Real

Final word count - 2334
This all takes place before series 3 since I started writing it back then and the original storyline is from BBC Sherlock based on the works by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
When Sherlock reaches the top of St. Bartholomew's hospital, he meets his maker once again. They've been playing out this game for too long and Moriarty wants out. He knows there's only one way to do this, but will his puppet stay loyal and listen, or is he too close to winning to give up now? Was Moriarty real? Or do you believe in Sherlock?
My very quick entry to the Sherlock Fanfiction competition, so there's probably a few mistakes in there so feel free to point out you views (though I won't be able to act on them until the competition has ended completely) :)

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1. I Don't Believe in Sherlock

 

                I was bored.

                I was failing.

                 No one was good enough.

                Even I ended up not being good enough for myself.  People think I'm this villain with brains, the ordinary people, but I'm not. I can see them down there, moping about with coffee in their hands, rushing in their cars, running from one job to the next. Believing that their lives are oh so hard.  They don’t know the meaning.

                They come back and forth on phones, ringing or texting. Just this constant buzzing lingering in your mind. When’s my next appointment? When’s the footie on? When’s this? When’s that? BORING!  That’s the thing; they think technology could do anything, help them live their pointless little lives. But it can’t help me. No, I now realise that each and every one of the inane people at those big computer companies are all the same; just in it for the money. Why does nobody do anything fun anymore?

                See, they all just bustle about like ants and don’t even notice me standing up here, feet over the edge. Ants that need to be crushed by a giant boot. Ants that need to be controlled. That need to be burned, hit, eaten, anything! Anything to make things more interesting around here. I’m in such an obvious place and can be seen by all, but their oblivious. They never take a moment to look up out of their mind’s shell and take in the bigger picture. Ugh!

                Oh, it’s just the icing on the cake that one of them’s got a newspaper. Hate those things. Got my name and photo plastered all over the front just like I told them to. It’s all too easy. Like I said, I was bored. I am bored.

                Trying to control the swarm is a waste of time too. I tried getting myself a little ant as a as pet once. Makes me shudder just thinking about it. He passed his sell-by date so quickly. Even I have. Boredom is such a dreary disease isn’t it?

                Speaking of pets, there goes Watson now. In his knitted jumper thing, scuttling home on his tiny legs… Sherlock will see through my lie though. He’ll see my sign. He’s me and I’m him. That’s how it goes.

                The wind is toying with me, trying to blow me over the edge. I’ll go on my own accord thank you death. I will die on my own terms.

                My story has come to an end. It has blown out of my own control.

                They all thought Mr Holmes was doing all this because he really was that clever, but no-one is cleverer than me; no-one. Many think it was maybe because he liked the chase, but in fact he just likes the adrenaline in the lie. The few that think he’s a psychopath would be wrong too. He probably laughs to himself at how fooled these people are, but he’s not crazy. Just lonely like me…

                I made the lonely man a monster and now I had to slay him. The rest of the world finally thinks he’s a fake thanks to me and for once the rest of the world is right.

                I invented my own hero.

                I invented a saviour against myself.

                I invented Sherlock Holmes.

 

                The scrape of the roof door opening again reached my ears. I turned, “And here he is! The man of the hour, Mr Sherlock Holmes.” My voice cracked at the end. I just couldn’t keep up this hysterical act.

                “I thought we were never to speak to each other face to face again...” He’d returned to his whiny voice, the tone he had when I first met him. The cocky, unfeeling façade had vanished.

                Trying to meet his eyes, I think he might have noticed the lost spark. He’s not too stupid. Perhaps a little above the average mind. I’ll give him the credit for all the deducting stuff he does on his own, but he just couldn’t quite string sentences in his story along very well; not without me.

                “It’s time.”

                “Time for...” He stood straight to attention for the sergeant.

                “The final curtain call.”

                I’m sorry.” His words got caught in throat.

                “I want to stop now. We have to.”

 

                I could feel the little clogs in his brains whizzing round, processing. He’d be casting his mind back to the contract I made him sign all those years ago when he got on board my little plan, searching for a wormhole to wiggle out of his fate. There’s no way out. I think I’d find one if there was.

                “Is it the code? Is the burden getting too much-”

                “There is no code, DOOFUS!”

                UGH! Of all the people I’d thought I’d trick he never came into the equation! On second thoughts I might as well have given this job to a dog or a detective inspector or something...

                Even he couldn’t hide his eyebrows furrowing, his mouth dropping open slightly. The confusion was printed like a newspaper all over him.

                “Well, how did you... How did you manage to get into the prison and the bank of England and-”

                “The good ol’ fashioned way; the man with the money is king.”

“But...”

                “Your opinion of me is way too high.”

                Shaking my head in disappointment, I turn my back on Holmes, taking one last look at the ants. Time was catching me up.

                “It’s time to end it, Mr Holmes. It’s gone too far.”

 

                After a moment of pause, the shuffling of the busy bees along the streets down below irritating my ears, he finally finds his words, “But we can rule the world! Everyone believes everything that comes out my mouth like its gold. I’m the greatest detective and you’re the greatest criminal.” Arms flailing in puppeteer gestures, it was almost frightening facing someone as changing as me, so wanting to cling onto a lie.

                “I’m the greatest storyteller; the greatest mind of this generation. You’re an actor and not even a great one. I wrote the story and now I’m finishing it.”

                “Don’t you see that we’ve achieved so much already? There’s so little left to conquer.”

                “No.” I can’t see it. I see a life where my genius is hidden under deceit. Where eventually I’ll have nothing left to win so will have no choice but to fall. It repels me now.

                Silence wraps around the wind again. Holmes’ hands rub together, scrapping against his rough knuckles, his lips pursing in deep thought. My eyes never break from his, burning with danger; burning with hope.

 

                He snaps.

                “No?” Spitting out the words, I try to keep my solemn exterior from being broken down by a smirk. They get so excitable! “No! And since you’re the genius around here how do you expect to just disappear into thin air?”

                I walk to the edge yet again, ensuring his eyes were on me whilst I survey the scene below us, my breath leaving smoke across the cold air below. This was the perfect place for the perfect end I had in mind.

                “Disappearing. A brilliant end to a brilliant man like Sherlock Holmes, or so the world thinks anyway. Is that good enough for you?”

                I keep looking down and then his gaze joins too. A few seconds later and I see his eyes light up with knowledge but straight away it’s then sucked out by fear. He moves away swiftly back to safety. “Doesn’t need a genius like to work it out then.”

                The world’s falling asleep as the last page’s turned. It’s time for the end to fall.

 

                “What? No.” The cogs in his brain are whirling again, “You’re seriously not expecting me to be willing to do this.”

                Letting out a frustrated sigh, I try to relax myself.

                “You’ve got to jump, Mr Holmes. You knew what you were getting in to. You knew the cost of stopping the boredom of this world."

                "But... There must be another way... There must..."

                "You signed that you'd do anything I say-"

                "Yeah, but that was before you wanted me to jump to my death!"

                It was strange how much a man could change when facing his sell-by date. I know how it feels when you’ve used up all your worth.

                I knew he’d need a little bribery. Anyone would, but I’ve already paid out almost all of the money I can get my hands on. It’s time to bring out some more of the old techniques.

 

                “There are your friends’ lives at stake too by the way.”

                My smug smile creeps across my face again and I almost dance across the rooftop.

                “Friends?” He spits out the word.

                “All three of them. If you don’t jump, my friends will shoot them and you’ll have no-one left still clinging on to the thought of the Great Detective.”

                “I don’t have friends. I’m an act. You must know that my feelings are all just a lie.”

                The shake still enduring in his voice proves otherwise. “You’ve grown to love them. How could you not? You’re just as ordinary as the everybody else.” He should have just followed my instructions. He should have just stayed away from feelings like he did at the beginning rather than surrendering to gaps in his guard, giving in just because it’s easier.

                “Molly and I were a lie. That was obvious. Your relationships with them are too obviously real.”

                His lips smack together but nothing but wind comes out. They shut straight into a line as his eyes sharpen to a glare on me.

                “Why?” He spoke through gritted teeth, “Why must I fall just because you want it to end?”

                “It’ll be splashed over the newspapers they all read and that’s the only way they rest of the world will believe the story.”

                “They won’t believe in me though. They’ll believe I was a lie.”

                “Which is the truth actually. You’d get away with being a part of one of the biggest deceits England has ever seen.” This conversation was dragging on a little longer than I expected. The only thing I admire about ordinary people is their hope, their determination to live. I just wanted this to hurry up and end so I could pull out the biggest trick still hidden up my sleeve.

 

                “My death will just prove I’m a fake. Was that huge game I was losing to you just leading up to this?”

                I’d painted him as a fool over these past few weeks, finally showing my face to public. There’d be no point in hiding since the end was so near. I wanted to be remembered as a champion, not like all the other criminals that got found out in the end.

                “Sherlock Holmes; the Great Detective that never existed. You’ll lose a mask I made for you”

                He took a turn at the edge of the roof, his eyes squinting into every clear window, down every alleyway. Taxis were coming to and fro. I wonder which one will contain his beloved Watson. He must have found out that the old woman’s alright by now and that something was up. I wonder what his face will be like once he finds out Sherlock Holmes was nothing but a fake.

                “Do you not even having the slightest bit of a conscience?”

                “I’m Moriarty-”

                “All of us dying just for you to live doesn’t exactly seem fair...”

                “Well life just isn’t fair otherwise we wouldn’t have been bored and none of this would have happened in the first place! There’s no way out unless I suddenly decide to change my mind.”

 

                That’s when the light bulb sparked. It’s quite embarrassing it took this long for him to work it all out.

                “I’ll make you change your mind.” Stepping back, he stood over me. His eyes fierce; his breath ragged and crawling over my forehead. He smirked and then I mirrored.

                “And where in your past did you suddenly become such a fighter to defeat me.”

                “What? Not liking the idea of me throwing you over the edge rather than me.”

                “My employees need to see your body fall. Not mine.”

                “A little push will make you call them off then.”

                “Don’t show yourself up even more.” I groaned. Even this was boring me to tears.

                “I’d happily shake hands in Hell with you.”

                Wrapping his hand around my shoulder, I broke his grasp as if his long fingers were twigs. Surprisingly, he didn’t lunge for me again. Rather, his chest continued to fly up and down faster and faster and I could almost feel the loss of hope in his heart.

                “If Sherlock wasn’t real than how is Moriarty, the criminal mastermind, real?”

 

                I had to release the burden on him. I had to tell the final twist in the tale.

                The gun felt heavy in my pocket, but taking it out made it lighter as if it was delighted to not be hidden any longer. I run my hand along its chic body. The coolness of it tingles at my fingertips. The power. The power to control even death. To control my victory over this world and its dullness.

                He knew I wasn’t going to hold him at gunpoint. He knew the real purpose for this.

                “Please.” Was his final word. The final word I heard in this life.

                The word that meant I had power over even him, the man believed by the world to be the greatest detective and professional asshole on the planet.

                I so hope Molly’s got everything sorted. Once I boasted down the phone about having Mr Holmes just where I wanted him, she gladly jumped in front of the bullet for him; his own knight in shining armour. Yes, she would have sorted out my final masterpiece; my lasting legacy. Once more, the Great Detective will rise to my script. His eyes flicked to the door to the roof behind me and I heard it creak into the breeze.

                It was time to reveal the truth.

                Moriarty wasn’t real.

 

                “Thank you, Mr Holmes, but good luck with getting your way out.”

 

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