Falling For You

Can't Stop the Moriparty

John had to go back to Mary.  He had to break things off with her, but it took him three days to muster up the courage to tell her about his feelings for Sherlock.  During this time, Sherlock wondered what it would be like to have a boyfriend.  The thought of a romantic relationship had never actually occurred to Sherlock until he met John.  Then, the idea sounded better than any murder.  And Sherlock loved murder.

The day that John finally left Mary, he returned to 221B Baker Street with his bags of clothes.

"Sherlock," John said upon arriving at the flat.  "I'm back. For good, this time."

He expected Sherlock to greet him, maybe even with a kiss, but there was no reply from within the flat.  John was confused.  Sherlock wouldn't have left the flat without dropping John a text because John had said he was coming back when he was in the cab to Baker Street and Sherlock replied to his text with a smiley face.  So, Sherlock knew he would be coming home.  But where was he?

"Sherlock?" John asked as he dropped his bags off at the front door.  He scanned every inch of the flat looking for his love, and he found Sherlock in his bedroom on the floor.  Unconcious.  John rushed to his side and scooped his head into his arms and looked down at Sherlock's limp body.  He checked for a pulse.  It was faint, but it was there.  

"Jesus, Sherlock.  Can you hear me?" John asked.  Sherlock remained unresponsive.  John started to sob while looking around for the thing that did this to him.  The only thing he saw was a broken mug on the ground with the contents of the mug around it.  What had caused Sherlock to be unconscious, then?  John wished that Sherlock could have just told him what to do.

John lifted his head because he heard footsteps.  He looked up and saw Moriarty, not dead at all, standing in the doorway of Sherlock's bedroom.  

"Oh, how romantic," he jeered.  John wanted to jump up and kill Moriarty right then and there, for real this time, but he refused to leave Sherlock.  

"What the hell did you do to him?" John asked, choking back more tears.

"Me?  Nothing.  Sherlock brought it all on himself," Moriarty grinned like this was some kind of cruel joke.  Like Sherlock wasn't unconscious and probably drugged or something.

"Moriarty, if you even hurt him, I swear to God-"

"Yeah, I know.  You'll kill me.  I've heard it all before, John.  That's what they all say," Moriarty said as he moved around the room like he owned it.   

"Say when?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock's greatest enemy.

"Before their loved ones die," Moriarty replied.  

"Shut up.  Shut up right now," John threatened, waving a warning finger at Moriarty.  Moriarty chuckled, amused by John's pathetic attempt at being threatening.

"I will.  And Sherlock will be fine, I promise.  Just needed him out of the way," Moriarty said in his usual tone.  John was trying to piece together what was happening, but as always, he didn't understand.  What did Moriarty mean?  Why was this happening?  

"O...Out of the way?  Why?" John asked.  Just then, something landed in his back.  A dart or something.  Something laced in enough shit to knock him out cold for quite some time, but he wouldn't be injured.  Moriarty let out a satisfied laughed before walking over to Sherlock and stepping on his unconscious hand.

"I owe you a fall, Sherlock.  Only this time, it's not about the landing."