I am not dead, are you? (SherlockXMoriarty PostRBF)

Sherlock wasn't expecting things to last forever. He knew happiness was always temporary, and the time they were sharing now was out of this world.
Reality was different, and they didn't belong together.
He had gotten used to believe it was real though.
He had been successfully fooling himself for ten days.

When Jim sat on the bed that day, he noticed the nervous unhappy posture, but the words were still a blow he had difficulties recovering from.

He sat up, colour leaving his face.
He wanted to shout and growl that there was no way he would let him go, but he never did that, he never did that for the things that really mattered.

"Very well," he said coldly, looking away. He was rather sure his heart was broken.
He was so silly. So silly.

Somewhere he knew Sherlock would be reacting like this, but on the other side he'd hoped he was wrong. Deep down he had hoped Sherlock would stop him. The bed seemed to appear from under him and he felt dizzy. "Sherlock.." He said, voice raw from having a dry throat. "I'm sorry." He almost pleaded. The detective'd face wasn't helping much either, it only made his heart sink deeper into his shoes.

Sherlock consciousness was drowning in cold, no changes on the surface, his pale face was an impassive statue. He was supposed to be ready, but it just hurt too much.

There was just a scoff in his voice at the apology. "Are you," he commented sarcastic, he couldn't help it, and it said a lot about what he was feeling.


((I am sorry, Sherlock just clams up when hurt... not like John who shouts >> ))
((Gotta go to bed now >> sleeepy~))

James helplessly sat on the edge of the bed, his body seemed to be frozen by the coldness of Sherlock's reaction. "Yes, I am." He whispered, mostly to himself. His flight was at 11.30pm the next day, meaning he had to leave early in the morning. But he couldn't just leave all of this behind him, could he? He'd worked so hard to built this all up and now one e-mail was completely breaking it down. But what other did he had? He couldn't take Sherlock with him, could he? And even if that was a possibility, would he even want to join James to the other end of the world to /save/ something he desired to break down?


(no problem, I see Sherlock in that reaction. Goodnight! x)

Sherlock felt his whole body numb, but at some point when Jim spoke, he felt something slide on his cheek.
It felt surreal when he reached up his hand and found a single tear.
He looked at it, shocked, he couldn't believe he could cry because Jim would leave.

He took in an unsteady breath, anger boiling inside him.
"Then go. Just fucking go," he shouted, his hand balling into fist and punching the bed.
It had all been a lie, Jim had not left his organization, Jim was not like him.

James watched the whole scene with eyes widened. What was he supposed to do? Stay? He couldn't stay... But leaving didn't seem like an option either. Not with Sherlock this upset. Not without a decent goodbye. His mouth opened but lacked of words. Instead he buried his face in his own hands, Think James, THINK.

Only one thing popped up in his mind. Something he knew would be most impossible, but it was worth the try. He had nothing now and it could only stay the same in the worst case. In the best case he'd leave with the man he loved by his side.

"Come with me." He stumbled out, eyes now traveling to face Sherlock.

Sherlock finally looked at Jim, the words ringing loudly in his head. Jim wanted him to go with him?

"Why?" he asked, his voice shaking, betraying his feelings, his need, he hated himself in that moment for being so weak. This was not Sherlock Holmes, this was a shadow following love as if it was the last thing he possessed.
Maybe it was true. It was all he was now.

"Why?" James repeated quietly and with narrow eyes. What a silly question to ask. "Because I couldn't stand being without you." He replied. Knowing Sherlock now probably something as "Then don't leave." Would follow so James decided to answer that before he had even said it. "And not going isn't an option. I have to be there. Even if it's just to see how it breaks down." He lifts himself off the bed to walk over to his suitcase. His mind getting ready to accept the fact Sherlock would reject his offer to come along.

Sherlock was staring at him, his mind registering data.

Jim was sad, he was upset, he thought he'd refuse.

The detective knew he should refuse, but his mind was made up and there was no way he could.

"I am not going to help you," he said, as if it was obvious he was going. "And if I can help ruin your organization, I will," he added, biting on his lower lip, his eyes moving quickly, as if he was going through the information in his head.

Lightning stroke his body and made it block off any ongoing movement. Sherlock was coming with him?! He didn't misunderstood? With a shiver running along his spine he turned round, to face Sherlock. A brief smile managed to curl up the corners of his lips. "Thanks." He whispered, in lack of better things to say.

Sherlock dragged his eyes away, he didn't like the gratitude on the other's face, he knew it would bring guilt for him if he actually managed to destroy whatever was left of his organization. He really didn't need that.

"You are paying for everything," he pointed out coldly, laying back down on the bed, touching the pillow under his head with nervous fingers. It still smelled like Jim, and it still smelled like sex.

He nodded and smiled weakly. 'Yes I will.' he spoke.

For the rest of the night they spend packing their suitcases. Not many words were exchanged and there was a certain tension between the both of them. After a restless night the alarm clock started beeping. It was only 6.30am but they should be leaving soon. James had ordered a taxi and he'd arrive at 7.30 precisely. With a heavy head from the lack of sleep he lifted himself off bed "Sherlock wake up." He mumbled before heading into the bathroom for a shower.

An hour later both of them were ready to step in the cab. A strange feeling turned James stomach around. He remember the first ride to the hotel. The tension, the words, Sherlock's bitter face. As he looked up to the taller man he could see the same bitter expression and it felt as if nothing ever happened between them.

Sherlock felt torn in between all kinds of feelings, he knew he was supposed to go back to his self-appointment mission, the only way that would bring him back to London and his old life, but at the same time his heart was clinging to what he found these days, in Jim's arms.

He sighed after a while, he needed this for a short while more, just a few hours. He needed them.
And he found himself turn towards Jim, slowly sliding into the other's arms, wrapping his own around his waist, resting his head on his shoulder and nuzzling the skin he could find at his collar.
He needed this love for a bit more.

James watched with surprised eyes, he had expected Sherlock to be his old bitter cold self again. His own hand reached for the dark curls that tickled against his neck and he ran his fingers through them.

"This won't change anything, at least not for me." James pleaded. He didn't want to feel different, he didn't want to go back to the start again. He just wanted things to last as they were before he'd mentioned leaving.

Sherlock nuzzled his cheek, and then he cupped his face, making him look at him. He could see in his eyes that what Jim said was the truth, that he was honest.
And the feeling that bloomed in his chest in that moment was unmistakable. For the first time in the last two weeks something was clear and nitid in his heart.

"I am sorry," he whispered, his eyes were dark, his fingers were kneading the bone behind Jim's ears, keeping him still.

"In these last two weeks, I've met a different James Moriarty, I met you, the real you, I fell in love with you," his eyes were confident with what he had now understood about himself.
"I love you," he repeated, honest.

His expression was sad though, he was not done.
"But I don't think I can love my enemy, Moriarty, I cannot love the evil things you did and you will do, I cannot love what you are in your organization," he whispered, and looked down.

"I am sorry."

Once more the floor got ripped from underneath him. Sherlock loved him and he was now on his way to destroy every feeling for good? But how did it even made him a different person?
"I don't understand. I'm still me... How does it make me a different person? I'm still real, you knew who I was before." doubt and sadness edged his voice.

He just wanted to scream, scream as loud as he could to relief the tension, to get out his anger. Was he even feeling angry? What was he even feeling? Everything at once struck him. If Sherlock couldn't carry on than why was he still coming.

Then there were the blurry circumstances of this whole situation. He received an email that he was needed in Canada because his cell was about to fall apart. Was he even able to save it at all? Perhaps they just needed him there to secure their own life in case it indeed all fell apart. His eyes had turned red from holding back tears and he had ripped himself from Sherlock's touch. He didn't felt the need of it when Sherlock was only bringing him down.

Sherlock frowned when Jim pulled away, he was expecting that, it made sense that he would get rejected, but it still hurt somehow, especially now that he just wanted to feel Jim closer for the small time they had left together, alone.

"You are not evil, Jim, you aren't when you are with me, when you love me..." he whispered, and bit on his lower lip. "Maybe I am just fooling myself, but it is what I felt these ten days... the reason why I fell in love with you..."

He slid back on the seat, his eyes unsure where to rest. "I cannot be silent by your side when you bring more suffering, when you make this world a worse place..." he looked outside finally. "I can try... but I fear you'll be disappointed at the end..."

James bit down his lower lip. Of course these 10 days had been too good to be true. It was as if James just woke up from a dream. He fell back onto earth after drifting on a cloud for more than a week. And it hurt, a lot.

Restless eyes traveled through the whole car but only had one destination. They sank into Sherlock's beautiful blue eyes. "You knew who I was. It still doesn't make me a different person. I can still be /that/ same James Moriarty" He pleaded, most likely just in vain.

He shook his head as he couldn't believe his own ears. Were they really doing this here and now? Could Sherlock bring this up earlier? James turned cold as he spoke the next words: "Then why did you even come?"

Sherlock looked at him sadly: "Can you?" he whispered, wondering if they were just being foolish together, wishing for something that could ever be. He was wishing for Jim to turn good, and he was wishing for Sherlock to ignore his evil.

The rest of the words were cold, freezing, making his body shiver. "You asked me to come," he muttered, and closing his eyes for a moment. "I couldn't say no..." he admitted, his voice shaking for the feelings he could not control.
"I don't want to part... I don't want to be away from you..."

Once more James shook his head. Sherlock was confusion him. First he says he can't be together and now he's saying he can't be apart?

"Well then make up your damn mind." James snapped cold as he remembered a fight they had in the hotel. He remembered him telling Sherlock how he always lifted him up, to let him fall afterwards. He huffed as he slightly laughed to himself.

"I am trying to be with you," he hissed, James snapping only aggravating him further. "You say things will not change for you... but they will for me, I know they will, because reality is not me and you in a hotel room, it's about responsibility and suffering," his voice raising.

"I cannot guarantee my feelings will stay the same, I cannot promise I won't run away on the first day, but I know now what I was not able to tell you two weeks ago. I love you. I love who you were these two weeks," he groaned and turned the other way, frustrated. "I don't know why I am even saying it, it won't change you, it won't make you leave everything to stay with me."

He sighed loud but remained silent for another painfully few minutes over thinking everything sherlock just said. He stored out of the window, seeing the same fields he did 10 days ago, with the same helpless feeling.

After a few minutes he started to talk; "let's turn this the other way around, sherlock. Let's say you got a phone call fron lestrade, saying he needs you on a case straight away, even though he believed you're dead. Would you stay?"

James didn't even need to hear sherlock's answer, of course he wouldn't. He would leave james that very second, not even caring about what he'd think.

"I don't know what's happening. My cell might already have fallen apart from all I know. I probably can't even save a damn thing anymore."

Sherlock scoffed at the words: "Don't you see my point at all Jim?" he asked, his voice still shaky. "I save people, I help people!" Or at least he used to. "I don't murder them, I don't steal from them, I do not blow them up!" he hissed, feeling exhausted just by talking.

"Maybe I would go yes, I don't know, maybe I wouldn't, I have been known to be a very selfish man," he said, running his fingers down the leg of his trousers. "But we both know that won't happen... I am dead to them and you are the one who killed me."

He looked ahead at the road. "I don't even know why you bother, why this is so important for you..."

((beeed~~ <3))

" I do see your point, sherlock. But in all your selfishness you forgot to see mine." He now faced sherlock again. Or at least sherlock's back. Sherlock would never understand.

"They think I'm dead as well. That's the whole point. Why would /anyone/ email me knowing I'm dead? Don't you see? I need to go, I need to find out." The more he explained, the more he felt as if sherlock didn't care to understand. He felt so desperately, carving for understanding.

"We're both dead, yes." He nodded as he nervously licked his lips. "There's only one difference, you can pick up everything when you go back. But I? I have nothing to return to once my whole network came down." He paused for a second. " I wouldn't think twice to actually put a bullet in my brain." He meant every word. He'd had nothing, no one. He'd be all alone, not controlling anything. He would slowly go insane. No, this was not how he wanted to live.

Sherlock frowned, he had never been really good at putting himself in other people's shoes, unless it was for a case, but even as he tried to understand, he still couldn't.

"You think I can just go back? How? They lived on without me, they think I am dead! I don't have a space in their lives, even if I go back, I am not going to be able to have what I had," he bit on his lower lip. "You don't have to have your organization, you could stay with me... we could build a life together," he looked to the side, swallowing hard, what was he saying.

"You are just curious about this, that's why you want to go... you want to know..." he shook his head, curiosity was something they would always share. They were just mad, weren't they?