A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

5) Snitch

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Sherlock grabbed his belongings from the coat hooks and forced himself out of the house, barging past all of the drunks. He stumbled out onto the pavement and slammed the door behind him, his breath quickening and becoming more shaky. Sherlock hadn't felt like this for a good few years, and that wasn't a good sign. The skinny boy pulled on his coat and wrapped himself quickly in his blue scarf, running towards the nearest taxi rank. The two from earlier were now long gone, however that didn't ease Sherlock's anxiety. A black cab gently rolled up against the kirb and he clambered into the back, slumping back against the leather.
"Baker Street," he said curtly and pulled out his phone.
The car slowly began to depart and the screen suddenly lit up, displaying an oncoming call from the oldest Holmes brother. Sherlock gave a loud groan and hesitantly pressed the answer button. He held the phone to his ear and closed his eyes.
"Evening," Mycroft said simply.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared out of the car window, watching as all of the buildings whizzing past in a grey blur.
"What do you want?" He asked spitefully.
Mycroft cleared his throat.
"Actually I'm just having a cup of tea with an...acquaintance."
The curly-haired boy froze dead in his spot.
"Who?" He whispered.
"A Mr James Moriarty," Mycroft explained casually, the pouring of drink could be heard in the background.
Sherlock scowled suddenly.
"You're with Moriarty!?"
A chuckle could be heard in the background, seemingly belonging to the unwanted guest. The conversation was evidently on speaker phone then.
"I happen to know him Sherlock," Mycroft said impatiently.
Sherlock ran his bony fingers through his hair as the taxi began to slow down.

"He's a psychopath, can't you see," Sherlock growled, frustrated.
He swung open the door of the black car and climbed out, ending the call.
He slipped his phone into his coat pocket and huffed into the air. However as he made his way towards the oak front door, he noticed something odd. The brass knocker had been corrected, someone had straightened it.
"No!" Sherlock yelled into the night and burst open the door, charging upstairs.
"Mycroft!"
He ran into his living room to find both his older brother and Jim sat in the armchairs, cups of tea in both of their hands. The Irish man was even sat in John's usual armchair.
"Ah Sherlock how nice of you to join us," Mycroft said patronisingly, taking a sip from his cup.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock said, trying to regain his coolness.
Jim took a long sip from the crown patterned tea cup before placing it back down onto the tray.
"Jim here has been telling me about your recent..social outing! Even about your little upset."
Sherlock stared at them in horror.
"You snitched to my brother!?" He hissed, watching the tedious man.
"It was obvious brother mine," Mycroft explained in a bored tone.
"Your clothes stink of sick."
Sherlock's lip quivered for a second and he held his hand over his mouth.
Jim chuckled.
"I'm asking you to think through my offer from earlier Sherlock," he said with a smirk, leaning forward out of his chair.
Mycroft watched on silently, a slight look of discomfort on his face.
"You were right, Seb's a sniper, I don't like to get my hands dirty. But we could really do with someone like you. You've got brains. "
Sherlock's face drained.
"And what if I decline?" He asked with a mutter.
The whole room was deadly silent now, you could probably hear a pin drop.
"Of course nothing would happen to you, wouldn't want to hurt you pretty face," Moriarty answered.
"Matters will be taken care of."
He got to his feet and gave a devilish grin.
"Until we meet again Sherlock."
The man strode towards the door and closed it gently behind him, footsteps from the staircase echoing loudly.

Sherlock's head immediately snapped towards his brother, a look of disgust on his face.
"You," he cried sharply.
"What the hell was that!?"
"I need to make sure you're okay," Mycroft replied calmly.
Sherlock began to pace down the nearly empty room.
"And you thought that Jim Moriarty would be the way to do it?"
To say that the boy was angry was an understatement, he was close to boiling point. His whole life was slowly turning on it's head and he couldn't stand it much longer.
"I need to get out," Sherlock hissed quietly, facing away from his brother.
He dug his hands deep into his coat pockets and stormed out of the flat, ignoring his brother's calls after him.
Sherlock needed to call Greg.
Hastily the pale boy retrieved his phone and brought up Greg's contact.

Need to get out. Got any murders for me? -SH

Sherlock leant back against the building wall and waited for the reply, the minutes dragging on forever. But nearly ten minutes later his phone gave a loud ping.

New one's just come in. Meet me at my office.

The boy punched the air in satisfaction and grabbed the closest method of transport he could to Scotland Yard. There Lestrade was waiting for him, his arms folded.
"I thought you were at a party?" He asked with a frown, walking Sherlock towards his office.
"Didn't work out things got a bit messy," Sherlock replied casually.
"Anyway what have you got for me?"
"New body's just come in, but it's so disfigured we can't find out anything."
Sherlock's chapped lips curled into a small smile.
"Do you have a name?" The skinny boy asked.
Lestrade shook his head solemnly.
"We have nothing, our boys only found her an hour ago."
Sherlock placed a finger to his lip.
"Can I see the photos?"
Lestrade cleared his throat.
"Be my guest." He replied, holding out a stack of prints.
Sherlock filed through them all, a look of deep curiousness on his face.
"The facial features have all been messed up and distorted, the rest of the body not much so."
He squinted slightly, trying to take a closer look.
"It's Botox isn't it?" Sherlock glanced up at Greg.
"Something went wrong with the injection, making them end up like this-"
Greg leant back against the wall and watched on in fascination.
"Good, that's brilliant Sherlock." 
But something strange had taken a presence in the room now, and it only took Lestrade a few seconds to catch on.
"Sherlock?" He mumbled suddenly.
"Sherlock are you crying?"