Tearing at the Seams

As soon as Sherlock is exiled, his brother calls him back for a new case: Moriarty. After what happened the first time, Sherlock doesn't want John anywhere near this case, but John is too stubborn to listen. How will he cope when things take a turn for the worse? Can he ever forgive himself?


8. Chapter 8

I am so sorry it has taken so long for this chapter. I've just had really bad writers block for a while and life keeps getting in the way. I will try to update soon, but no promises!

John opened his eyes, only to be greeted by more darkness. Think. Sherlock's phrase rang through John's ears as he concentrated on what had happened.

Then all at once everything came flooding back. Right before Sebastian stopped John, he saw the light leave his wife's beautiful blue eyes. Mary was gone. For sure. Unless there was yet another fake death. Those had been increasingly popular in John's life. He clung onto that belief until the dark enveloped him again.


Sherlock's eyes fluttered and he lifted his head. He was bound and gagged to a hard chair and across from him sat a James Moriarty in his usual computer chair.

"Oh, you've finally decided to join the realm of the conscious, I see." Moriarty clasped his hands beneath his chin. "We haven't had enough alone time."

"Where are they?" Sherlock snarled.

"Don't you remember, Sherrly? Mary's dead. And your John has been taken care of."

Sherlock's eyes we're furious, "What did you do to him?" He slammed his fist onto the arm rest.

"Oh, stop worrying about him. I'm here now. Focus on me." Moriarty kneeled in front of Sherlock.

"James, enough of your childish games. Just tell me where John is." Sherlock's stern voice sent shivers down Moriarty's spine.

"Oh, Sherrly. You know it turns me on when you get so tough." Moriarty slowly leaned forward as he spoke and their lips brushed together.

Sherlock's fists slowly unclenched as he breathed Moriarty. He slowly edged forward, anticipating Moriarty's kiss. However, Moriarty stepped back and snickered. "You do love me." He mumbled, more to himself than to Sherlock.

Moriarty fixed his posture then went behind Sherlock. His breath was heavy on Sherlock's neck as he traced Sherlock's arms to the rope tied around them. In one swift motion, the rope was cut, leaving a wound the length of Sherlock's hand. He proceeded to strut out of the room, leaving Sherlock to cradle his hand.

Sherlock stretched back then stood up. He walked over to the door, only to find the Moriarty had locked it.

Moriarty was known to play games; he would have left a clue or... or something to help him. Right?

Sherlock started in the most obvious places: under the desk, under loose floorboards, in the cracks of the concrete walls. However, he found nothing.

Sherlock's pulse jumped and he struggled to contain his panic. John. He was the only thought running through Sherlock's mind.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock replayed his conversation with Moriarty.

Focus on me. His eyes had shifted down.

Focus. His hand had slid into the hem of Sherlock's coat.

On me. He brought his eyes back up.

It was that intense gaze. His deep eyes. Sherlock realized he knew the way out. Reaching into his coat, he found it. A small circle with a red blinking light. The light began blinking rapidly as if counting down...

Sherlock ran to the door and stuck the device on. He ducked and ran as far as he could before his world collapsed.

A piece of debris hit Sherlock's back with a jolt. The impact knocked Sherlock to the ground as he groaned in agony. His head, however, remained unharmed.

He stood up and shook off the dust. "Sher-Sherlock?" John's voice was weak and in pain. Sebastian stood behind him with a bloody blade in his hand.

Moriarty was to the side, his arms crossed. "I was quite hoping you'd figure it out. I'm just shocked it took you so long."

Sherlock looked back over at John. He had four gashes across his stomach making an M. He kept looking behind Sherlock, as if he had seen a ghost.

Sherlock turned around and found a telescreen showing the room he had just escaped from. John would have seen Sherlock die.

Sherlock turned back, "John." His voice was almost silent. He started to go to him, but Moriarty blocked his path.

"Did you think it'd be that easy?" He said. His hand reached behind Sherlock's neck and their lips crashed for a passionate kiss.


John stopped breathing for a moment. He knew something had been off for quite some time. Not everything made sense, except one thing: Sherlock and Moriarty were together.

Well, maybe. But why would Moriarty try to kill Sherlock?

Because he's a madman. John's internal voice shot back.

Their kiss continued on, and from they way Sherlock's muscles loosened, he was enjoying it.

They finally broke free, but Sherlock continued to stare at Moriarty. "James..." He whispered, then he turned back to John, horror filling his eyes. That was not something John needed to witness.

Suddenly there was a pain in his stomach as Sebastian's blade pierced his skin again. But this time deeper.

"John!" Sherlock shouted.

"Now we can be together." Moriarty mumbled.

The world became shades of grey and breathing became increasingly difficult. Blood flowed from his fresh wound.

His world seemed to collapse as glass blew everywhere and a shot was fired. "Hello, Brother Dear."


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