We are equals
Hello! Here you can find my first published story - at least first chapters of it. now remember, that I am not a native English speaker, so this would be better....but I hope, that you like it, anyway. I am not either very experienced in LJ, but I am thinking, that I will get this working. :)
Fic: We are equals
Proloque
Moriarty has lured them to the trap, at the swimming pool, where Carl Powers had died many years ago. Red spots continued their dancing on their bodies. At the same time Moriartu didn’t cease to make his noise. The irritating noise he called his talking.
Moriarty called him an equal. That they were like twins, when it came to their intelligence, their morality… They couldn’t compare themselves to ordinary people.
“To ordinary average people like …. Let’s take for an example….. John Watson here, a little irrelevant ex-army doctor. Or Mrs. Hudson, by the way! Such a sweet old lady! They’re hardly worth one single thought or one single emotion. Their only worth is as tools for a supreme goal.”
He should just understand it. But he will. Oh, he will. He will choose Moriarty.
Sherlock’s incredible greenish blue eyes drilled into the consulting criminal, when the red light dots danced, probing him all over. “We are not.” He was not like the psychopath killer in a front of him. “I have never killed anyone. I will never be like you. Inhuman.”
Moriarty laughed. “How have you ever showed your humanity? Even his closest friends suspected his ability to care about them. Why don’t you show them? What if he can´t prove it? What if people suddenly look at the brilliant consulting detective, whisper to each other, and turn away with the horror and anger readable on their faces as if they have seen a monster in front of them?”
Sherlock tried to figure out what his taunts meant. Moriarty was trying to confuse him. He had to find his and John´s way out from this situation, far away from this maniac and his insane talk.
He aimed his gun at Jim Moriarty´s head, and then back at the bomb vest, unsure what would happen next. He expected that this was a test. Despite the fact that his work included constant confrontations with criminals, he had managed to survive without ever killing anyone. Should he begin now? Moriarty might be a good start. But it would be a short-time solution. There was no doubt that if he didn’t do something soon, he and John would be dead before he had time to think about what he has just done.
“Just think, Sherlock,” Moriarty teased, “of poor Mrs. Hudson, your housekeeper, alone in her house, should she meet an accident. Old ladies are so fragile and defenseless. Would you be sorry, if you miss some meals in the future?”
Sherlock blinked when the red spot stopped on his pupil, and had to turn his head away.
“Or would you be ready to kill, for the first time in your life, to save your dear pet?”
The spots disappeared from Sherlock´s body, but danced yet on John´s.
“What if John ceased to exist? Would you mourn? Is it possible that you are capable to feel something as trivial as mourning?”
Sherlock suppressed his growing unease. “What is exactly your point?”
“What is your next move? Mine is this: I am threatening your little dog. What are you going to do to stop me?”
“Stop calling John a dog.”
“What are you going to do? I’ll give you five seconds to decide, then I make my move. I’ll shoot him. Take this as a promise.”
One.. two.. three.. four..
Sherlock closed his eyes. To shoot the bomb vest…or to shoot Moriarty. He lowered his gun and pulled the trigger.
There was a weak explosion, but thick smoke released to the air. It was a bluff, and Moriarty vanished into a smoke cloud, laughing like the delighted devil.
They looked at each other as the red lights disappeared. Nothing else happened. They were alone in the quiet of the ancient crime scene. Finally he broke the silence.
“Are you all right, John?”
“I’m all right, Sherlock. Are you ok?”
“Er, yes, I’m fine.”He always said so. Maybe it was true, at least this time.
“What was this all about?”
“Mmm. I don’t know... It was strange... This guy is twisted. But he was after something with this show. I need to think... Oh!” Sherlock paced back and forth, and then suddenly stopped.
“We have to go, to 221b Baker Street!”
ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo oooooooooo ooooo ooooo
Where do the old ladies go?
They both ran out into the dark streets. At this time of day, the streets were deserted, only some lonely-and-not-exactly-sober by passers looked for their way to a home or yet another drink. Only the stars stayed bright and steady above them all. He flagged down a taxi, as easily as he always did, and after a fast drive they were back on the familiar street. John stopped to pay, but Sherlock was already sprinting to the front door.
They hurried in, and then suddenly stopped. Although it was a late night, there were lights on in the entrance hall, and the door to Mrs. Hudson’s flat was open. The lights were shining inside there, too. Already this was alarming. Mrs. Hudson had a careful life style, early to bed, early up, as many older people have. They walked into Mrs. Hudson’s flat. Everything seemed to be in their places, as they were supposed to be. A feeling of stagnant stillness floated in the air. But the tingling feeling of unease, that something was not as it should be, was growing inside them. The flow of normal events had already been twisted that night as Moriarty ,the puppet master of distorting mind games, had manipulated the strings of his puppets and rewritten the script of the play. Mrs Hudson’s bed time had gone long ago, but she wasn’t anywhere in her home.
"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock yelled. When no-one answered, he ran, already halfway upstairs.
John followed as usually. Soon they were at the first floor, opened the door to their own flat and stepped in. The flat was dark; it was a new moon. Sherlock gripped the cold metal of the gun and turned on the switch. They had found her. Mrs Hudson lay in the middle of the floor. It was as if she had stepped in the room for some reason, stood there and then… They saw from her stillness and the position of the body that she was dead. There was a darker spot under her as if a glass of wine had spilled on the carpet. You didn’t need to be an army doctor or a consulting detective to tell what it was. They didn´t say anything for a while.
Usually, when Sherlock saw a fresh corpse, he made his quick and detailed investigation as soon as he was allowed. But now he just stared down at her, paralyzed. What did this mean? What in the heaven and hell had happened here? Sherlock got soon his grip back and bent down to eye the body. However, he didn’t have time to make much progress, when they heard heavy footsteps and noise from the staircase. The door was pushed open and suddenly the room was filled by police officers. They recognized Lestrade and Sergeant Sally Donovan instantly.
"Step back from the body, freak! Keep your bloody hands off it!" Donovan shouted.
"This is my flat and my corpse." Sherlock said, a little unwisely, and frowned at her.
"So it is yours! You admitted it yourself. Now we’ve got you, you psychopath!" Sally continued in her usual sweet way.
Sherlock flinched as if someone had stuck a needle into him. “Stop calling me that. I am not a psychopath," he hissed furiously.
"Sergeant Donovan. Let me..." Lestrade interrupted her and continued gently to Sherlock.
"We got an announcement from your neighbor some time ago. There was shouting, and after that he heard a gunshot. Because you have, er, an inclination, to shoot in your flat, I thought that it wasn´t anyhting serious- although that’s not advisable, Sherlock. But we had to come and look it over. But what is this? Can you explain it to us? You usually have good theories. "
"I don’t know yet, Lestrade. We’ve just come in and seen this. I haven’t had time to form any theories. "
"The neighbour heard you, you were at home."
"Who said that? Which neighbour?" John interrupted, but nobody paid any attention to him. John started to feel very uncomfortable.
"Lestrade, let me check the corpse,” Sherlock suggested.
"No! You step away from the corpse and I will check it!" Anderson ordered Sherlock. He emerged from the blackness of the room around him.
"You? You couldn’t find yourself in a dark room." Sherlock said calmly.
"You are a suspect, Sherlock", Lestrade sighed, sounding apologetic. "I cannot let you go near the body. Could you step away from it, please? Anderson, do your job - be thorough."
"That’s stupid!" John started to shout with pure frustration. He felt totally exhausted, he needed sleep. His life had just been threatened by a maniac, and now this. He couldn’t handle this calmly and rationally, he couldn’t be civilized. He didn’t know how it would be possible to handle this well. "He has always helped you! You would be totally lost without him! How COULD you suspect him as a murderer! Don´t you… Don´t you even want to know what we have just been through?"
More policemen filled the room. They all want to see Sherlock crumble. What a bunch of vultures, John thought bitterly. They didn’t listen, they didn't believe what had just happened to him and Sherlock. This was Moriarty´s plan. He had framed Sherlock as a murderer. Even Lestrade had swallowed it. He heard Lestrade giving orders to the forensics team in the distance.
"Lestrade, do you really think that I could do such a thing? I wouldn´t kill anyone. It’s not my area. This is a setup. How many times have I helped you? Lestrade! You have to listen to me. Let me show you." Sherlock tried to talk calmly, shouting wouldn’t help him.
"I am so sorry, Sherlock. I don’t really know what to believe. I just know what this looks like. And I cannot make any exceptions, even with you."
"Oh, I understand too well. You are worried about your career. If you let a criminal like me to look at the crime scene, it wouldn´t look good on your record. Your superiors would mark you down." Sherlock said sardonically.
"Your attitude isn’t really helping you."
"Listen, Lestrade, we just came in. Don’t you see? We still have our coats on, and we came here by a taxi. John, do you have a receipt for payment?"
"I am sorry, Sherlock, I didn´t take it, I was trying to follow you. John said apologetically. He felt terrible. Just one piece of paper, and they would have been cleared. It would have proven that they weren’t here, when Mrs. Hudson was shot."
"I’ll check the taxi, I’ll ask after the driver,” Lestrade said.
"This is very clear,” Anderson explained eagerly. “You have coats on because you were going to hide the body. You sat on the sofa. There might have been an argument, and then this psych- I mean, Sherlock grabbed the gun and shot her in cold blood. Psychopaths don’t need a reason to do that." Anderson seemed very proud of his analysis.
They all waited for what Lestrade would do next. He sighed again wearily, but he couldn´t make any exceptions. "Have you found the murder weapon? Check everything, specially him."
They found the weapon quickly from Sherlock´s clothes, and the powder burn from his fingers. Of course. He had fired, that much is true, but not here. Moriarty´s timing was perfect.
"Take him! Handcuffs! He is dangerous." Donovan ordered. John was frozen when he heard how Sergeant Donovan and Anderson talked about his friend. Why didn’t they listen to him? And why didn´t Lestrade interrupt them?
"Lestrade! Look…look at me! You know me! Moriarty is behind this. Give me time, so I can prove it. This is ridiculous, even from you! You cannot be serious." Sherlock was shouting now but without effect. Lestrade turned his face away.
Two policemen grasped Sherlock and forced the handcuffs onto his wrists. John watched, stunned, and felt more helpless than he had ever felt in his life.
"You are under arrest.” It was Sergeant Donovan. She seemed very pleased. This was just as she had predicted. As she had dreamed.
"Give me time! Don’t do this."
"Time to run away or what? I knew that something like this was going to happen. I told you." Donovan said.
John took a last look into Sherlock´s eyes before they pulled him out into the dark staircase. He looked baffled just for a second, then he vanished. John stayed watching after them.
"By the way, John, you should be at the Scotland Yard at nine o´clock tomorrow morning. I have some questions to you." Lestrade said before he left too. "And you have to find some place for the rest of night. You cannot stay here. I hope that you understand."
"Yes, I know. As if you need to remind me." Understand? John decided not to even try.
Fic: We are equals
Proloque
Moriarty has lured them to the trap, at the swimming pool, where Carl Powers had died many years ago. Red spots continued their dancing on their bodies. At the same time Moriartu didn’t cease to make his noise. The irritating noise he called his talking.
Moriarty called him an equal. That they were like twins, when it came to their intelligence, their morality… They couldn’t compare themselves to ordinary people.
“To ordinary average people like …. Let’s take for an example….. John Watson here, a little irrelevant ex-army doctor. Or Mrs. Hudson, by the way! Such a sweet old lady! They’re hardly worth one single thought or one single emotion. Their only worth is as tools for a supreme goal.”
He should just understand it. But he will. Oh, he will. He will choose Moriarty.
Sherlock’s incredible greenish blue eyes drilled into the consulting criminal, when the red light dots danced, probing him all over. “We are not.” He was not like the psychopath killer in a front of him. “I have never killed anyone. I will never be like you. Inhuman.”
Moriarty laughed. “How have you ever showed your humanity? Even his closest friends suspected his ability to care about them. Why don’t you show them? What if he can´t prove it? What if people suddenly look at the brilliant consulting detective, whisper to each other, and turn away with the horror and anger readable on their faces as if they have seen a monster in front of them?”
Sherlock tried to figure out what his taunts meant. Moriarty was trying to confuse him. He had to find his and John´s way out from this situation, far away from this maniac and his insane talk.
He aimed his gun at Jim Moriarty´s head, and then back at the bomb vest, unsure what would happen next. He expected that this was a test. Despite the fact that his work included constant confrontations with criminals, he had managed to survive without ever killing anyone. Should he begin now? Moriarty might be a good start. But it would be a short-time solution. There was no doubt that if he didn’t do something soon, he and John would be dead before he had time to think about what he has just done.
“Just think, Sherlock,” Moriarty teased, “of poor Mrs. Hudson, your housekeeper, alone in her house, should she meet an accident. Old ladies are so fragile and defenseless. Would you be sorry, if you miss some meals in the future?”
Sherlock blinked when the red spot stopped on his pupil, and had to turn his head away.
“Or would you be ready to kill, for the first time in your life, to save your dear pet?”
The spots disappeared from Sherlock´s body, but danced yet on John´s.
“What if John ceased to exist? Would you mourn? Is it possible that you are capable to feel something as trivial as mourning?”
Sherlock suppressed his growing unease. “What is exactly your point?”
“What is your next move? Mine is this: I am threatening your little dog. What are you going to do to stop me?”
“Stop calling John a dog.”
“What are you going to do? I’ll give you five seconds to decide, then I make my move. I’ll shoot him. Take this as a promise.”
One.. two.. three.. four..
Sherlock closed his eyes. To shoot the bomb vest…or to shoot Moriarty. He lowered his gun and pulled the trigger.
There was a weak explosion, but thick smoke released to the air. It was a bluff, and Moriarty vanished into a smoke cloud, laughing like the delighted devil.
They looked at each other as the red lights disappeared. Nothing else happened. They were alone in the quiet of the ancient crime scene. Finally he broke the silence.
“Are you all right, John?”
“I’m all right, Sherlock. Are you ok?”
“Er, yes, I’m fine.”He always said so. Maybe it was true, at least this time.
“What was this all about?”
“Mmm. I don’t know... It was strange... This guy is twisted. But he was after something with this show. I need to think... Oh!” Sherlock paced back and forth, and then suddenly stopped.
“We have to go, to 221b Baker Street!”
ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo ooooo oooooooooo ooooo ooooo
Where do the old ladies go?
They both ran out into the dark streets. At this time of day, the streets were deserted, only some lonely-and-not-exactly-sober by passers looked for their way to a home or yet another drink. Only the stars stayed bright and steady above them all. He flagged down a taxi, as easily as he always did, and after a fast drive they were back on the familiar street. John stopped to pay, but Sherlock was already sprinting to the front door.
They hurried in, and then suddenly stopped. Although it was a late night, there were lights on in the entrance hall, and the door to Mrs. Hudson’s flat was open. The lights were shining inside there, too. Already this was alarming. Mrs. Hudson had a careful life style, early to bed, early up, as many older people have. They walked into Mrs. Hudson’s flat. Everything seemed to be in their places, as they were supposed to be. A feeling of stagnant stillness floated in the air. But the tingling feeling of unease, that something was not as it should be, was growing inside them. The flow of normal events had already been twisted that night as Moriarty ,the puppet master of distorting mind games, had manipulated the strings of his puppets and rewritten the script of the play. Mrs Hudson’s bed time had gone long ago, but she wasn’t anywhere in her home.
"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock yelled. When no-one answered, he ran, already halfway upstairs.
John followed as usually. Soon they were at the first floor, opened the door to their own flat and stepped in. The flat was dark; it was a new moon. Sherlock gripped the cold metal of the gun and turned on the switch. They had found her. Mrs Hudson lay in the middle of the floor. It was as if she had stepped in the room for some reason, stood there and then… They saw from her stillness and the position of the body that she was dead. There was a darker spot under her as if a glass of wine had spilled on the carpet. You didn’t need to be an army doctor or a consulting detective to tell what it was. They didn´t say anything for a while.
Usually, when Sherlock saw a fresh corpse, he made his quick and detailed investigation as soon as he was allowed. But now he just stared down at her, paralyzed. What did this mean? What in the heaven and hell had happened here? Sherlock got soon his grip back and bent down to eye the body. However, he didn’t have time to make much progress, when they heard heavy footsteps and noise from the staircase. The door was pushed open and suddenly the room was filled by police officers. They recognized Lestrade and Sergeant Sally Donovan instantly.
"Step back from the body, freak! Keep your bloody hands off it!" Donovan shouted.
"This is my flat and my corpse." Sherlock said, a little unwisely, and frowned at her.
"So it is yours! You admitted it yourself. Now we’ve got you, you psychopath!" Sally continued in her usual sweet way.
Sherlock flinched as if someone had stuck a needle into him. “Stop calling me that. I am not a psychopath," he hissed furiously.
"Sergeant Donovan. Let me..." Lestrade interrupted her and continued gently to Sherlock.
"We got an announcement from your neighbor some time ago. There was shouting, and after that he heard a gunshot. Because you have, er, an inclination, to shoot in your flat, I thought that it wasn´t anyhting serious- although that’s not advisable, Sherlock. But we had to come and look it over. But what is this? Can you explain it to us? You usually have good theories. "
"I don’t know yet, Lestrade. We’ve just come in and seen this. I haven’t had time to form any theories. "
"The neighbour heard you, you were at home."
"Who said that? Which neighbour?" John interrupted, but nobody paid any attention to him. John started to feel very uncomfortable.
"Lestrade, let me check the corpse,” Sherlock suggested.
"No! You step away from the corpse and I will check it!" Anderson ordered Sherlock. He emerged from the blackness of the room around him.
"You? You couldn’t find yourself in a dark room." Sherlock said calmly.
"You are a suspect, Sherlock", Lestrade sighed, sounding apologetic. "I cannot let you go near the body. Could you step away from it, please? Anderson, do your job - be thorough."
"That’s stupid!" John started to shout with pure frustration. He felt totally exhausted, he needed sleep. His life had just been threatened by a maniac, and now this. He couldn’t handle this calmly and rationally, he couldn’t be civilized. He didn’t know how it would be possible to handle this well. "He has always helped you! You would be totally lost without him! How COULD you suspect him as a murderer! Don´t you… Don´t you even want to know what we have just been through?"
More policemen filled the room. They all want to see Sherlock crumble. What a bunch of vultures, John thought bitterly. They didn’t listen, they didn't believe what had just happened to him and Sherlock. This was Moriarty´s plan. He had framed Sherlock as a murderer. Even Lestrade had swallowed it. He heard Lestrade giving orders to the forensics team in the distance.
"Lestrade, do you really think that I could do such a thing? I wouldn´t kill anyone. It’s not my area. This is a setup. How many times have I helped you? Lestrade! You have to listen to me. Let me show you." Sherlock tried to talk calmly, shouting wouldn’t help him.
"I am so sorry, Sherlock. I don’t really know what to believe. I just know what this looks like. And I cannot make any exceptions, even with you."
"Oh, I understand too well. You are worried about your career. If you let a criminal like me to look at the crime scene, it wouldn´t look good on your record. Your superiors would mark you down." Sherlock said sardonically.
"Your attitude isn’t really helping you."
"Listen, Lestrade, we just came in. Don’t you see? We still have our coats on, and we came here by a taxi. John, do you have a receipt for payment?"
"I am sorry, Sherlock, I didn´t take it, I was trying to follow you. John said apologetically. He felt terrible. Just one piece of paper, and they would have been cleared. It would have proven that they weren’t here, when Mrs. Hudson was shot."
"I’ll check the taxi, I’ll ask after the driver,” Lestrade said.
"This is very clear,” Anderson explained eagerly. “You have coats on because you were going to hide the body. You sat on the sofa. There might have been an argument, and then this psych- I mean, Sherlock grabbed the gun and shot her in cold blood. Psychopaths don’t need a reason to do that." Anderson seemed very proud of his analysis.
They all waited for what Lestrade would do next. He sighed again wearily, but he couldn´t make any exceptions. "Have you found the murder weapon? Check everything, specially him."
They found the weapon quickly from Sherlock´s clothes, and the powder burn from his fingers. Of course. He had fired, that much is true, but not here. Moriarty´s timing was perfect.
"Take him! Handcuffs! He is dangerous." Donovan ordered. John was frozen when he heard how Sergeant Donovan and Anderson talked about his friend. Why didn’t they listen to him? And why didn´t Lestrade interrupt them?
"Lestrade! Look…look at me! You know me! Moriarty is behind this. Give me time, so I can prove it. This is ridiculous, even from you! You cannot be serious." Sherlock was shouting now but without effect. Lestrade turned his face away.
Two policemen grasped Sherlock and forced the handcuffs onto his wrists. John watched, stunned, and felt more helpless than he had ever felt in his life.
"You are under arrest.” It was Sergeant Donovan. She seemed very pleased. This was just as she had predicted. As she had dreamed.
"Give me time! Don’t do this."
"Time to run away or what? I knew that something like this was going to happen. I told you." Donovan said.
John took a last look into Sherlock´s eyes before they pulled him out into the dark staircase. He looked baffled just for a second, then he vanished. John stayed watching after them.
"By the way, John, you should be at the Scotland Yard at nine o´clock tomorrow morning. I have some questions to you." Lestrade said before he left too. "And you have to find some place for the rest of night. You cannot stay here. I hope that you understand."
"Yes, I know. As if you need to remind me." Understand? John decided not to even try.