A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

14) Miss Me

"What is it!?" The young, curly-haired boy cried excitedly, tearing eagerly at the blue wrapping paper. His older brother Mycroft sat quietly at the end of Sherlock's bed, watching him closely.
"Oh thank you Mycie!" Sherlock suddenly cooed, unveiling a fresh new book on Jack The Ripper. The little boy gazed at his new present in awe before placing it down gently on his lap. Mycroft managed a weak smile before glancing his little brother up and down.
"So brother mine," he began.
"How are you feeling?"
The curly-haired boy bowed his head shyly. His appearance had certainly changed a lot ever since he had been admitted into hospital. His weight had all of a sudden plummeted, leaving Sherlock with a slim, skeletal body. His movement in his legs had become very strict and limited, and his face was now gaunt and pale, as if there was no life left in him.
"I'm fine," Sherlock mumbled reassuringly. He gazed up at the older brother and gave a small smile.

"Yes well," Mycroft replied in a solemn manner. He carefully got to his feet and slipped on his blazer.
"Enjoy the present little brother."
He gave Sherlock a last dismissive nod before making his way out of the room. Both Holmes brothers were good now at hiding their emotions; Sherlock was a pro at hiding his worries and fears, whilst Mycroft was good at hiding his deep concern for his younger brother.
"Mycie wait!" Sherlock cried suddenly, watching as Mycroft stopped and turned to face him, his eyebrow slightly raised.
"I'll miss you."
The oldest brother's eyes widened for a second and his cheeks turned a deep shade of red.
"Well," he mumbled in a surprised manner, stepping forward and gazing at Sherlock.
"I guess I'll miss you too, brother mine."

••••••••••••••

Sherlock sat there for a moment, staring at the screen, his expression that of pure-shock. Hastily, he slammed the lid shut of his laptop and knocked on the bathroom door.
"John!" He called loudly, listening as the water suddenly shut off. There came the sounds of wet footsteps splashing against the tiles before the door creaked open and the blonde boy appeared; crouching behind the wood his hair still wet with shampoo.
"What's up Sherlock?" He asked casually, gazing up at the skinny boy. Sherlock's mouth dropped in to a simple "o" shape as he glanced John up and down, his heart racing slightly.
"Sherlock?"
The curly-haired boy quickly shut his mouth and for a second John's eyes met his own.
"Yes sorry," Sherlock mumbled, his cheeks blushing slightly.
"I'm just going on a...walk, that's all. I won't be too long."
He sheepishly watched as his roommate closed the bathroom door again before grabbing his coat and sliding his phone into his pocket, hurrying down the stairs towards the front door.

The curly-haired man stepped out into the bitter evening air before slamming the door behind him; he didn't want Mrs Hudson to shine any attention onto him. Sherlock waved for an oncoming taxi before there came a sharp ping from his pocket. Slightly disgruntled, he pulled out his phone to see a new text message: one that he had unfortunately been expecting.

Come and play, Saint Mary's Cathedral -JM x 

Sherlock stiffened slightly as these words, glancing up to see the slick, black cab rolling towards him. Hastily he clambered inside and gave the driver directions, slumping down into his seat, phone gripped firmly in his hand. Both men sat in silence for the journey, Sherlock giving the occasional glance out of the window, watching all of the passing cars thoughtfully. Eventually, the taxi pulled to a stop outside of the cathedral and the skinny boy got out, beginning to feel slightly uneasy.

The cathedral was a huge building in size, gleaming eerie in the street lamp glow surrounded by countless tombs and gravestones. Sherlock made his way down the cobbled path, making sure to keep his footsteps inaudible, before slipping through the door. He carried a gun tightly in his pocket but had in-fact no wish to use it (no violence tonight.) Sherlock rubbed his eyes and gazed around the magnificent building, daring to take a step forward.
"They buried my mother here you know."
The Irish voice echoed it's way through the cathedral, causing Sherlock's head to dart around the room anxiously, his hand reaching for his gun.
"They say sticks and stones won't break your bones however a lighter and a tub of gasoline can do the trick."
Sherlock waited in silence for a moment before there came footsteps from behind the row of pews and out stepped Jim Moriarty, his figure ghostly in the shadows. The curly-haired boy turned to face him, trying to keep his calm.

"Getting a little ahead of ourselves are we?" Jim hummed, turning his sadistic gaze to the gun in Sherlock's hand. The curly-haired boy bit his lip, his blood pulsing furiously.
"So then," Sherlock muttered, watching the Irish man with a close eye.
"What is this then..a little get together?"
Moriarty couldn't help but laugh at this; leaning back against the wall a smirk tugging at his lips. He pursed his lips and slicked back his raven-coloured hair.
"If only," he replied smoothly, taking a step forward.
Sherlock's grip tightened on his revolver and Jim held his hand up in defence. He chuckled slightly, digging his hands into his pockets and raising an eyebrow.
"It's about our little deal."
A deep frown suddenly came over the skinny boy's face.
"Your deal, you said nothing would happen to me," Sherlock uttered in a deadly whisper.
Jim made his way up to the curly-haired man, stopping right in-front of him, gazing up and waggling his tongue.
"Of course," the Irish man whispered, his black eyes glimmering.
"Nothing to...you."

Jim stepped back in his spot, turning around and giving a short whistle. Sherlock watched this, his eyes darting around anxiously.
"Oh Sebby!" Jim cooed, his face immediately lighting up.
"Showtime!"
Sherlock watched in silence, his expression solemn, as Sebastian Moran strode through the double doors of the Cathedral. He made his way inside with a small smirk tugging at his lips, his blonde hair sat in a shaven messy clump on the top of his head and a figure trudging reluctantly by his side, gun against his temple. John.

•••••••••••

Thanks for reading if you enjoyed them please comment and vote!