Sherlock was trembling despite all his muscles feeling loose. Not to mention the terrible itching… Damn. He was clean for over three years previous to this so it was effectively starting again. And Jim had obviously hit him with something a lot stronger than just a 10mg start up shot… This was not going to be pleasant.
Sherlock forced himself to sit up, swinging his legs off the sofa and balancing his elbows on his knees to rest his head in his hands. Fuck. He needed John. In the flat somewhere was a drug that was able to reverse the effects of opiates - but John had moved it so Sherlock didn’t feel the need to test it. Naloxone was his only hope now.
He wanted to retort, wanted to make a snide comment but… Well, the dry mouth and the inability to focus was a huge problem. He was aware Jim was just wandering around the flat, letting himself touch what he wanted, making himself at home.
He was seriously considering the bucket - he hadn’t felt like this since his last misjudgment of a dosage 10 years ago.
This was not what he was used to and certainly wasn’t what he missed.
“Oh no, no no no no Sherlock!”
Moriarty chimed a little too happily, taking on a temporal role of the brunette detective’s doting mother and pushed Sherlock back down on the sofa, a Cheshire grin painted upon his features. Watching Sherlock suffer so from his actions was more than just a little pleasing to the eye. He made a quick mental note to ‘thank’ his lackey later.
“It’ll better if you were to lie down- you were injected with some pretty strong stuff”
Was there no limit to how far his Cheshire grin could stretch? Moriarty was only too aware of Sherlock’s dirty past that involved a rather colourful consumption of drugs, heroin included.
Oh, just in how much pain must Sherlock be right now!
With another amused glance thrown down at the consultant genius, Jim stood back up and wandered into the kitchen, switching the kettle on, fully intending on preparing himself a cup of tea.
The question was rhetorical, almost mocking. Of course Sherlock couldn’t have anything right now without bringing it back up, tea included. A small snicker passed his lips- a small syringe was produced from the inner pocket of his suit.
“Or, perhaps you would like this instead?”
The syringe with Naloxone was shown to Sherlock from a distance, taunting the detective. It was nothing but a lifeline that was thrown to Sherlock just so he could grab onto it and drown. This game was turning out to be a lot more exciting than he anticipated.
“Who the fuck are you”
Jim’s chocolate coloured gaze flickered over to the blonde foreigner, giving her a meticulous once-over, quickly pinpointing her weaknesses. Cars huh?
Slender finger pressed itself against the red button on the large screen of his smartphone, ending the phone call abruptly without even saying goodbye. Why bother with such useless formalities with someone who was about to be blown to pieces.
“Excuse me for being so rude, I was talking on the phone.”
Simple statement followed by a falsely polite smile- well darling, shall we play?
“Shouldn’t the asker introduce themselves first?”
Molly crings at the rather friendly smile he was showing. No, she decided she didn’t liked it one bit. However, she gain some strength and spoke “We are close, Moriarty…you should leave.” she said, testing on her mouth the name he was recognized now. “A stroll in the morgue?”
“For a morgue to have open hours? I thought that death was a twenty four/seven service”
A small, falsely polite smile curled the corners of his lips upwards, the brunette male clearly testing the waters. He could tell that Molly was far from pleased and flattered by seeing him again, but Jim couldn’t care any less than he already did.
“Sure, I don’t see anything wrong with that”
“Continue being a bother and I will end you”
don’t you think? I find them to be quite… mesmerizing.
consulting-psychopath approached you.
The way that they can crawl up your skin, unnoticed by you until they bite you. The way that they can literally creep out of nowhere and attack you — all whilst being extremely afraid of it. Just as afraid of you, as you are of it.
Don’t you find them fascinating?
“I wouldn’t necessarily put it in such a pleasing manner. Their significance amongst those that are below them is undeniable, but they are so minuscule compared to humans that stepping on them brings no satisfaction.
“I have weaknesses - as do. Only thing is, mine make me stronger - make me more determined.” Sherlock did nothing to indicate the annoyance he was feeling. This man was pestering him, goading him to get a reply, and Sherlock was simply not playing this game.
He was done with these games. Jim was a man of relentlessness and determination - something Sherlock found admirable, but when its mind games he insists on playing - Sherlock lost a lot of respect. He was good - a worthy opponent, but this man had got too close, got too personal.
Sherlock, did of course, had a plan. He had been devising it for a while but the execution was not up to scratch just yet…
“Hmmm? Are you sure about that?”
A small chuckle escaped the psychopath’s lightly parted lips, the male amused by the other’s naivety. Sherlock’s spoken words were not a sign of someone strong willed, they were a sign of someone who was weak, vulnerable How very insultingly so.
Perhaps his little toy was beginning to slowly destroy itself?
If that was the case then should Jim just put an end to Sherlock’s career as a consultant detective? A great mind such as his could not work to its full extent whilst the man was experiencing such shameful thoughts.
The thought itself made the psychopath want to gag. Sherlock was supposed to be a sociopath, not mother Teresa.
“Well…isn’t that disappointing”
Amusement quickly vanished from his expression, showing the other that Moriarty was quickly growing bored. And that was never a good sign.
Unless, of course, the consultant detective wanted to die.
Sherlock was on the way home after collecting this mornings paper to read about yet another one of the Yard’s excellent cases when a man of larger build than himself collided with him. “Watch where you are walking, fool.” Sherlock growled in annoyance as he adjusted his coat. His arm… Something wasn’t right. His vision started to blur - tunnel vision?
Sherlock’s arm felt like led - heavy… numb. He knew all too well what caused this. His mouth started to dry out - making it harder for him to swallow. he staggered into the entrance of 221 and leaned against the wall - dropping the paper to the floor. He made a break for the stairs - using the banister to control his balance.
He made it to the sofa before he dropped down face first. Sherlock knew exactly what was going on. His body was hot - he was flushing, his chest and cheeks a strong pink colour. His breathing was slowing down significantly, but he couldn’t roll over - his body was not cooperating in the slightest.
Heroin. It had to be.
Moriarty muttered, amused by Sherlock’s unsure pace. Watching the detective struggling to walk was definitele a sight the consultant psychopath could get used to. Greatly pleased by how smoothly his plan was carried out Jim stayed on the rooftop a while longer, probably a couple of stray minutes that ticked by slowly, only making the eagerness to see Sherlock stumble and fall prey to his carnivorous nature heighten. With one last glance the psychopath finally got off the makeshift pedestal and directed himself to the front door of the apartment, shamelessly letting himself in.
Not like Sherlock was in the right set of mind to protest anyway.
He found the great detective on the sofa, lying face down and stifled a small, amused chuckle.
“Well good morning Sherlock, I do hope that you don’t mind me intruding”
His tone was playful, the psychopath teasing the suffering male, greatly humoured by the other’s declining state.
“Would you like some tea?”
The question was genuine but slightly sarcastic, the male knowing full well what Sherlock was currently experiencing. Moriarty walked up to the sofa and bent down so his mouth was by the other’s ear and enquired, his voice a mocking whisper:
“Or should I get you a bucket instead?”
First symptom- vomiting.
“I don’t need to flaunt my impressive skills… You know what I can do. Need I remind you of the little incident on the roof? Or has that hole caused a spot of memory loss?” He asked with a smug, almost singsong voice.
Jim was just trying to tease - just trying to trap him. Show his hand. Well, no dice. He was much too involved in teasing and tormenting Jim that now was not the time for games.
“All I will say is that you are partial to a spot of day time television and probably cooking shows.” He nodded once and steepled his fingers under his chin.
“Who knows Sherlock, perhaps it did.”
A casual shrug of his shoulders followed, a mischievous grin painted delicately upon his features. His expression gave out nothing but amusement, yet his thoughts raced one after another as if a continuous freight train, getting darker and darker. His chocolate coloured gained a darked undertone, a little something that the psychopath was unable to control, but luckily for him it was a warning that was very hard to spot, to pick up on.
There was no point laying his cards bare on the table just yet, he hadn’t had his fun just yet.
Oh no, this was just the beginning.
“Almost spot on, I’m impressed. I’m sad to say that cooking is not my forte, but you are right about daytime television”