Obsession

Really, he should have known it wouldn't be that simple. Things involving Sherlock rarely were, even small things like getting the paper became complicated just because Sherlock was involved. So trying something that was already complicated was just asking for trouble.

He was talking, of course, about the relationship. Not that most people would see it that way because most people didn't see at all but they shared a connection that defied Sherlock's usual platitudes about being married to his work.

Then it got complicated because John was in danger, had nearly been killed, and never mind that Sherlock risked his life all the time because he always knew he could outsmart them but John... Moriarty could not be predicted, not really, and there had been every chance that John would die, would be taken away from him and he Would Not Let That Happen. John was his, and he would never willingly let him go, especially not to the grasping claws of death.

What happened that night wasn't a gentle introduction to sex, nor a passionate joining. It was hard and brutal and possessiveness in its most basic and powerful form. Mine, it said, as Sherlock's cock slammed into John over and over again with little regard for pleasure and no consideration of comfort. Mine, mine, always mine, never letting go.

Things always got more complicated around Sherlock, and this time relationship meant obsession.

One Step Closer

"No Inspector, I really don't want you coming any closer," drawled that infuriatingly nasal voice the three of them - Lestrade, Sherlock and John - had all grown to hate: Moriarty. He was lounging in the doorway to the bank vault, gold glimmering ignored around a restrained John within. Sherlock was poised with Lestrade and his men at the top of the stairs, the red dots of their sights playing over Moriarty's face and chest - but the consulting criminal was completely unconcerned.

"I've got what I came for," Moriarty continued. "You know what that is, don't you Sherlock?"

"The original deeds of Parliament," Sherlock said quietly, eyes riveted on John, checking that he was unhurt. Apart from a bump on the head he seemed alright, but hunched over like he was it was difficult to tell whether anything else was amiss.

"Oh very good, you did do your homework," Moriarty clapped twice, mockingly. "Your lapdog seems surprised. Didn't you tell him?"

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock snapped, refocussing on Moriarty. "We've foiled your little game. Now hand over the deeds and I might be able to persuade the Sergeant to keep her overenthusiastic hands to herself."

"Tempting, but allow me to make a counter offer," Moriarty pouted, eyes burning with what could have been insanity or genius. "You let me walk out that door with the deeds - or your little pet gets himself blown to pieces. Stand up Doctor Watson, let the nice Inspector see what you're packing."

John glared at Moriarty, then flinched when the small man's hand twitched. The involuntary movement incensed Sherlock and his lips thinned with his displeasure as John obediently - if reluctantly - levered himself to his feet against the gold. Once again his jacket had been laden with explosives and detonators, enough to decimate the vault and blow back into the corridor. Donovan whistled.

"Aren't you making a little oversight here?" Lestrade drawled, seeing the explosive power present. "You set him off, you're caught in it too."

"The corner between doorframe and wall create enough of a shelter that he will be largely unharmed by the blast," Sherlock quickly dismissed the Inspector's brief frisson of hope, eyes fixed on Moriarty. "You know we can't just let you walk away with those deeds."

"Oh I think you can," Moriarty smirked. "After all, you are the great Sherlock Holmes. You can do anything with big brother looking out for you."

A sneer twitched around the corners of Sherlock's lips at the mention of Mycroft but he made no further reaction, studying Moriarty. After several long minutes he straightened and nodded.

"Alright."

"What, Sherlock, you can't -" Lestrade protested, but was cut short by Sherlock. His terse "Shut up" quieted the Inspector, more out of surprise that Sherlock practically swore than anything else.

"Good dog," Moriarty told Lestrade patronisingly. Donovan took a step forward in defence of her boss but was halted by Moriarty's hand holding a trigger. "Sherlock's pet dog has his own little bitch. How sickeningly adorable. Back in place, little girl."

Lestrade reached forward and pulled Donovan back into line, looking at Moriarty for a long moment. Then he straightened.

"Sorry John," Lestrade said softly, then quickly, "Fire!"

But there was already fire blooming in the vault, a shock wave sweeping toward them as it bent around the slim suited shape of Moriarty in the corner, and the inaudible shout of denial from Sherlock. The group on the stairs were tossed back, ears ringing and vision blurred from the force of the explosion.

In the aftermath, as the group of toy soldiers staggered to their feet and questions were shouted at each other, only Sherlock noticed that Moriarty never came up the stairs, and wondered.

Brand New Day

This appeared as a moral dilemma
Cause at first it was weird though I swore to eliminate
The worst of the plague that devoured humanity
It's true, I was vague on the how so how can it be
That you have shown me the light

It was a chaotic few days, when Jim Moriarty played his great game to draw us in. We didn't even know who he was that first time he came to see us, to get a closer look at Sherlock and get his measure. He was just a face and a name, blundering across our path with yet another crush on Sherlock - who of course thought nothing of it. Strange how such an egotistical man can be so cavalier about the awestruck looks of women and men alike, dazzled by his towering intellect and eyes that see everything. Strange how he demands no public recognition for his feats of deduction, preferring to remain in obscurity save for his website, yet expects everyone to instantly bow to his superior intellect at every turn.

Yes he's arrogant, but he can usually back up his claims (which arguably makes his arrogance all the more grating). So, when Sherlock failed to deliver on his claim that he could catch Moriarty...well. I think we all lost faith a bit there. It became obvious - to me at least - that different methods to Sherlock's would be necessary to stop Moriarty. His deductive reasoning would provide the direction, but the solution...

I've been a soldier all my life, and a doctor too. There are times when decisions have to be made in an instant. There are times when you have to consider the greater good. There are times when one must be sacrificed for the rest to live. I've made those decisions under pressure, under fire, and killed friends.

This time there was no pressure of time, no imminent danger, and it isn't my friend I'm planning to kill. Cold calculated reason, carefully cultivated through my association with both Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, has been my guide in this decision.

Jim Moriarty must die.