...But as amusing as it would be to watch everyone collapse at the second before the game is completed...Unfortunately, I've come to care about a few of the people trapped here.
[And then...he grins.]
Very well! My arm's being twisted off, and yet I barely feel the pain! I'll give some mana to your Master, Holmes.
...Of course, it may take a while - I'm not doing the normal disgusting methods mages use.
[Aka he's pretty much been running on his own power in Chaldea since Gudako summoned him, because he refuses to do anything else except handhold.]
[His lips tugged at the face the man made at his non-reaction, but he kept himself composed as possible, as it would bother the man as he follows after and then towards Watanuki's room]
He'll likely to not stir at all in his current state.
[He still doesn't answer, lying Watanuki down on the far side of the bed - thankful that the Witch is gone, at the very least - before staring down for a moment before lying down next to him, taking off both of his gloves.
....And then he just.
Pointedly stares up at Sherlock, and at the empty space next to him.]
[Moriarty grumps, as the other man slips beside him after getting himself settled in.]
If your master is bad enough that he needs my help, then what's the sense in pouring mana into him while you just siphon it away?
[He reaches out for Sherlock's hand, his own fingertips stained with the telltale black stains of ink - from when he was alive, constantly using the pens they had at hand.]
[There's a quiet sound, it seemed Holmes treated mana like regular food - something to put off until needed.
With a slight roll of his eyes, he reaches over to take the hand, his own had calluses from playing, writing, and other activities. As they touched - he felt a weird sensation in the back of his head, like staring into a serpent's eye for too long. He instinctively recoiled, wanting to let go of Moriarty]
Ngh-?
[But Sherlock forced himself to hold on, Watanuki needed the Mana more than he needed comfort]
[Sherlock actually winced as the icy cold hands tightened, it felt like a snake was wrapped around it. He glances from the corner of his eye, and saw the way Moriarty paused and clicked his tongue]
Indeed - I didn't quite expect it to be that unpleasant.
[The man exhales, as he closes his eyes, to try to settle his mind]
...It'll be a bit difficult to get some sleep like this, but I assume the feeling will become 'normal' to us in a bit.
[Moriarty is...surprisingly composed. Normally he'd yell and be energetic, but it's more that he's quietly ruminating about the feeling, his fingers occasionally shifting.
He looks over again, after a moment.]
If you see anything -
[He stops, then closes his mouth again with a harsh sigh.]
...Never mind. Have a good rest, Holmes.
[And almost resolutely, he closes his eyes - letting his breathing slow to try and hopefully have sleep come on faster.]
[He opens an eye, glancing over as the man cuts himself off. Normally, he'd quip it's unlikely Moriarty had anything that would surprise him - but since Caarcrinolaas first possessed his body, he had a vague uneasy feeling.
But slowly, despite the unsettling feeling, he manages to sleep, aided by the lingering exhaustion from yesterday's trial]
--
The falls of Reichenbach roared, reverberating and building on top of itself to a point where the man could easily believe that in ancient times that anyone living here might have believed there was a great monster dwelling in its basin, crying for its hunger to be satiated.
But there was no need to look for an imaginary beast when a man more dangerous than any chimera of the imagination could be was standing before him.
Man trembled but not by the chill mist that soaked him but from the growing heavy dread in his chest. His green eyes narrowing to shield it from the splash as he took in the sight.
Everything was laid bare, no illusions, no disguises, no misdirection – and in that moment he knew.
He Knew.
He knew what the man was to him.
Sherlock barely registered the sharp crack of gunfire as the shot went wide – deliberately so, the intention was a warning that he was not allowed to escape their appointed hour. With each step on the perilously slick path and the closer he came to the man – he felt that tug on his very soul. Escape didn’t come to his mind, neither did survival. All he that knew, all that he can do…
- Is to face his rival. The pistol clattered onto the ground, tumbling onto the watery abyss as the other man lunges at him, and he swung right back. In a tangle of limbs and voices, his mind twisting and tangling – rage, fear – and elation fills him even as hands grasped tight around his throat, his own fingers tried to gouge the man’s brilliant blue eyes out in defense. In a crystallized moment, his addled mind cried out ‘we’re the same’.
A sharp cry escapes from one of them – he did know who – as their brawling sent them over. The strange state his mind went over vanished as he clung to the side, his fingers desperately gripping at the water-drenched rocks as the other man clung to him. Sherlock groans from the strain as he tries to pull himself up, before sliding, his arms straining from the effort of holding the both of them up.
Moriarty’s eyes locked with him – and the man’s effort grew still, time freezing, and something. Something was said, but the cascading roar drowned it out.
Then, the man let go with a smile, an arm extended as if he was a host directing his guest to entertain him as he disappears into the mists.
Why didn’t I try to grab for him? Sherlock thought numbly as he stared into the abyss, feeling the call of the void to loosen his grip - to let himself drop before shaking his head, shaking off that impulse.
Because, this was how it was supposed to be.
Only one of them could live.
This was where they were supposed to be in this space, in this time, with each other.
And – he was the one that is destined to survive.
Shivering, the man started to climb, his gray eyes never turning from the darkness below, as if expecting some dark miracle to occur, feeling as if something had been ripped from him.
[Somehow, sleep also came to Moriarty - even though the touch was unsettling, the fact that the two of them were asleep practically called him into dreams himself, his own memory suddenly blossoming into life...]
The roar of the falls was deafening, so much so that Moriarty could barely hear himself think.
Then again, there was no need to think. Not now, when all of his planning had lead up to this.
[X(2) - X + X = X(2) - X(2) = 0]
In the moments before he knew his Rival - Sherlock Holmes, the great detective who had been hunting him, seeking out his tangled web of crime - would appear, he checked the gun he had brought again.
A single bullet lay inside, and he was careful to shield it from the waterfall's spray as he held it in his hand. If it failed to fire during the most important time, then -
Ah.
But there was no more time to talk about it, because Holmes was there, staring him down. Even though his face was impassive, he could tell the detective was full of dread, his eyes narrowing.
And in that moment, with no tricks or guises between them...
He knew that Sherlock knew.
He knew that they both understood what they were to each other.
With an almost casual movement of his arm, he pointed his gun over Sherlock's shoulder - and fired, the bullet going wide.
Of course, the detective didn't stop, kept coming forward - and there was a delicious rush of delight and thudding fear at what this moment was, what it meant -
[X(2) - X(?) + X = ?]
The slickness of the path below them became a mere afterthought as they began to grapple, the now empty gun falling from his hand and clattering down the rocks. Moriarty's heart thrummed hard as he fought, trying to untangle the detective's limbs from his own, finding purchase around the man's throat even as his own eyes were clawed at, a wheezing, delighted noise coming from him.
Ah, in this moment - anger, delight, fear - mixed together to where Moriarty had no idea even where to untangle them. And why should he? This was the elemental form of them, locked in an eternal fight with no end, danger and death right there and yet never touching -
███ ██ ████ ████ ██ ████ ████, ███ █████ █████-
...Right. This had to come to an end, no matter what he wanted. Luckily, the end was right there, and as Sherlock shifted just the right way, so did he. Enough to unbalance them and send them tumbling off the edge, both of them falling off the edge, and in that moment there was only the thrill of destruction in his heart, the way it had always been from the moment he decided to traverse the path of Evil.
Life's end was a destruction, after all.
Yet, they stopped - and he found himself clinging to the leg of his rival, dangling off the falls precariously. Feeling Sherlock attempt to pull himself, and fail -
He saw the choices laid out before him in that instant, as he watched the trembling arms of his enemy, wearing from holding up both of their weights. The Equation was very nearly complete - all it took was deciding what variable at the end would result. He could choose to continue clinging, and let Sherlock lose his grip - and then the two of them would tumble onto the sharp rocks below and die together. A conclusion that wiped all variables.
Or...he could let go, and fall alone, and fade away in the mists of the falls, and...
...Then, he finally completed his long, long calculation.
[X(2) - X(2) + X = X]
He said something - loud enough to let the detective know that he'd spoken, but not loud enough to be heard over the rushing water.
His smiled widened, and then... he let go.
Keeping his arm extended - like a man ushering others in, like a desperate plea to be caught - he watched as his rival - his most worthy opponent, his ███████ - watched in numb shock, his eyes widening as he realized what just happened.
Ah, that was good. That look of shock in those green eyes...was something he could happily take with him to his grave.
Laughing, Moriarty fell...and fell, and fell.
-Until he impacted with one of the rocks below, instantly snapping his spine with a lance of pain, knocking the breath out of him even as he bounced off and into the chilly water below.
...He couldn't move - couldn't even attempt it, as he sunk into the vast body of water.
His lungs burned, but he had no air - and it only took a few spaces of his still beating heart to suck in water automatically, feeling the agony of drowning.
Yet, despite that - despite the agony, the pain, even as he was beginning to float back up, propelled by the currents in the water from the falls - he still kept gazing at the surface of the water.
Even as his consciousness began to dim, the light from the outside world still was the only thing he focused on, his still extended hand grasping as if for that light.
He was almost up, his chest heaving from adrenaline and exertion, when he heard a loud crack, instinctively clinging against the side, feeling something fall past him.
Then a voice, yelling in rage follows after.
As fast as he could scramble down without slipping, he hurried down as stones of various sizes were hurled down his way.
Moran? Holmes thought as he peered down as another rock dropped. The man swallowed a deep gulp of air before he let go.
Even prepared and from a much shorter drop, the current seem to threaten to steal him away as he forces himself to surface, wading to shore, shivering from the chill.
If the currents sent him this way - Sherlock raised his head, gray eyes searching down river.
Caught against a rock was a slumped figured, white shirt almost transparent from being soaked, and tinged pink from diluted blood.
The detective waded, gripping the body by it's shoulders, leaning it back into his arms to pull it to shore.
Moriarty's eyes stared unblinking, unseeing into the skies above, having lost it's brilliant hue, his mouth hanging open. For a moment, it almost feel like it would move - to give that familiar, obnoxious laugh. Probably followed by a knife pressed to his throat, laughing at Sherlock for falling for a ploy.
But that sound would not come from a dead man's lips.
He can't remember the last time he felt such revulsion from a corpse that he did now, staring at the too familiar, now lifeless visage.
It took all his willpower to not drop the man back into the water, grunting as he works against the current and dead weight to pull him up on the bank.
With a purse of his lips, Sherlock sighs softly, as he pulls the man's lids down, letting them close for the last time.
Again, he trembled at touching the man, feeling a wave of some kind of illness - a voice in his head telling him that he had to go now.
It wasn't because of the man who had tried to kill him.
It wasn't the man who now laid dead before him.
No it was - but, it was because looking at it made his head hurt as if soemthing's trying to fit inside the crevices of his brain, as his chest grew heavy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
improbablenotimpossible) wrote2019-04-29 04:06 pm
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[He might as well get right to the point, though he knows Moriarty has no obligation to agree to his request]
1/2
..I don't have an obligation towards you or your Master, Holmes. In fact...You're just incurring another favor by asking me to help you.
[And there's the unspoken statement that eventually, he'll come to collect. Most likely when it would be the least convenient for Holmes to do so.]
I could laugh in your face and walk out the door - and I've half a mind to do that right now.
[...Yet, he doesn't make a single move towards the door.]
...Hm.
no subject
...But as amusing as it would be to watch everyone collapse at the second before the game is completed...Unfortunately, I've come to care about a few of the people trapped here.
[And then...he grins.]
Very well! My arm's being twisted off, and yet I barely feel the pain! I'll give some mana to your Master, Holmes.
...Of course, it may take a while - I'm not doing the normal disgusting methods mages use.
[Aka he's pretty much been running on his own power in Chaldea since Gudako summoned him, because he refuses to do anything else except handhold.]
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I am not going to ask you to do those methods, and Watanuki nearly had a conniption fit over holding hands.
[Among other reasons that they're not using those methods]
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Well then! Shall we go and visit the sleeping beauty in question?
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He'll likely to not stir at all in his current state.
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...So I see.
[There's another moment, and then -
....He picks up Watanuki in a princess carry??
And starts walking out of the room with him??????]
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[What. Is he carrying him... he is. Sherlock quickly follows after]
Moriarty, what are you doing?
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Because that's all you're getting as he goes into the foyer and goes up the stairs, heading for -
...The master bedroom?]
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[Unless...]
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....And then he just.
Pointedly stares up at Sherlock, and at the empty space next to him.]
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What on earth are you getting at?
[Sherlock internally groan - and hoping his suspicion is not correct]
1/3
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GET ON THE DAMN BED!
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Even me?
[Sherlock questioned, not expecting to get dragged into the mana exchange]
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[Moriarty grumps, as the other man slips beside him after getting himself settled in.]
If your master is bad enough that he needs my help, then what's the sense in pouring mana into him while you just siphon it away?
[He reaches out for Sherlock's hand, his own fingertips stained with the telltale black stains of ink - from when he was alive, constantly using the pens they had at hand.]
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With a slight roll of his eyes, he reaches over to take the hand, his own had calluses from playing, writing, and other activities. As they touched - he felt a weird sensation in the back of his head, like staring into a serpent's eye for too long. He instinctively recoiled, wanting to let go of Moriarty]
Ngh-?
[But Sherlock forced himself to hold on, Watanuki needed the Mana more than he needed comfort]
no subject
As they gripped hands, Moriarty also instinctively arched himself away from Sherlock for a moment - yet, his ice-like hand merely held on tighter.]
....Hrn. This -
[he pauses in the middle of speaking, shutting his mouth with a click before shaking his head.]
...I should have known holding hands like this would be intolerable.
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Indeed - I didn't quite expect it to be that unpleasant.
[The man exhales, as he closes his eyes, to try to settle his mind]
no subject
[Moriarty is...surprisingly composed. Normally he'd yell and be energetic, but it's more that he's quietly ruminating about the feeling, his fingers occasionally shifting.
He looks over again, after a moment.]
If you see anything -
[He stops, then closes his mouth again with a harsh sigh.]
...Never mind. Have a good rest, Holmes.
[And almost resolutely, he closes his eyes - letting his breathing slow to try and hopefully have sleep come on faster.]
no subject
But slowly, despite the unsettling feeling, he manages to sleep, aided by the lingering exhaustion from yesterday's trial]
--
The falls of Reichenbach roared, reverberating and building on top of itself to a point where the man could easily believe that in ancient times that anyone living here might have believed there was a great monster dwelling in its basin, crying for its hunger to be satiated.
But there was no need to look for an imaginary beast when a man more dangerous than any chimera of the imagination could be was standing before him.
Man trembled but not by the chill mist that soaked him but from the growing heavy dread in his chest. His green eyes narrowing to shield it from the splash as he took in the sight.
Everything was laid bare, no illusions, no disguises, no misdirection – and in that moment he knew.
He Knew.
He knew what the man was to him.
Sherlock barely registered the sharp crack of gunfire as the shot went wide – deliberately so, the intention was a warning that he was not allowed to escape their appointed hour. With each step on the perilously slick path and the closer he came to the man – he felt that tug on his very soul. Escape didn’t come to his mind, neither did survival. All he that knew, all that he can do…
- Is to face his rival. The pistol clattered onto the ground, tumbling onto the watery abyss as the other man lunges at him, and he swung right back. In a tangle of limbs and voices, his mind twisting and tangling – rage, fear – and elation fills him even as hands grasped tight around his throat, his own fingers tried to gouge the man’s brilliant blue eyes out in defense. In a crystallized moment, his addled mind cried out ‘we’re the same’.
A sharp cry escapes from one of them – he did know who – as their brawling sent them over. The strange state his mind went over vanished as he clung to the side, his fingers desperately gripping at the water-drenched rocks as the other man clung to him. Sherlock groans from the strain as he tries to pull himself up, before sliding, his arms straining from the effort of holding the both of them up.
Moriarty’s eyes locked with him – and the man’s effort grew still, time freezing, and something. Something was said, but the cascading roar drowned it out.
Then, the man let go with a smile, an arm extended as if he was a host directing his guest to entertain him as he disappears into the mists.
Why didn’t I try to grab for him? Sherlock thought numbly as he stared into the abyss, feeling the call of the void to loosen his grip - to let himself drop before shaking his head, shaking off that impulse.
Because, this was how it was supposed to be.
Only one of them could live.
This was where they were supposed to be in this space, in this time, with each other.
And – he was the one that is destined to survive.
Shivering, the man started to climb, his gray eyes never turning from the darkness below, as if expecting some dark miracle to occur, feeling as if something had been ripped from him.
no subject
The roar of the falls was deafening, so much so that Moriarty could barely hear himself think.
Then again, there was no need to think. Not now, when all of his planning had lead up to this.
[X(2) - X + X = X(2) - X(2) = 0]
In the moments before he knew his Rival - Sherlock Holmes, the great detective who had been hunting him, seeking out his tangled web of crime - would appear, he checked the gun he had brought again.
A single bullet lay inside, and he was careful to shield it from the waterfall's spray as he held it in his hand.
If it failed to fire during the most important time, then -
Ah.
But there was no more time to talk about it, because Holmes was there, staring him down. Even though his face was impassive, he could tell the detective was full of dread, his eyes narrowing.
And in that moment, with no tricks or guises between them...
He knew that Sherlock knew.
He knew that they both understood what they were to each other.
With an almost casual movement of his arm, he pointed his gun over Sherlock's shoulder - and fired, the bullet going wide.
Of course, the detective didn't stop, kept coming forward - and there was a delicious rush of delight and thudding fear at what this moment was, what it meant -
[X(2) - X(?) + X = ?]
The slickness of the path below them became a mere afterthought as they began to grapple, the now empty gun falling from his hand and clattering down the rocks. Moriarty's heart thrummed hard as he fought, trying to untangle the detective's limbs from his own, finding purchase around the man's throat even as his own eyes were clawed at, a wheezing, delighted noise coming from him.
Ah, in this moment - anger, delight, fear - mixed together to where Moriarty had no idea even where to untangle them. And why should he? This was the elemental form of them, locked in an eternal fight with no end, danger and death right there and yet never touching -
███ ██ ████ ████ ██ ████ ████, ███ █████ █████-
...Right.
This had to come to an end, no matter what he wanted.
Luckily, the end was right there, and as Sherlock shifted just the right way, so did he.
Enough to unbalance them and send them tumbling off the edge, both of them falling off the edge, and in that moment there was only the thrill of destruction in his heart, the way it had always been from the moment he decided to traverse the path of Evil.
Life's end was a destruction, after all.
Yet, they stopped - and he found himself clinging to the leg of his rival, dangling off the falls precariously. Feeling Sherlock attempt to pull himself, and fail -
He saw the choices laid out before him in that instant, as he watched the trembling arms of his enemy, wearing from holding up both of their weights.
The Equation was very nearly complete - all it took was deciding what variable at the end would result.
He could choose to continue clinging, and let Sherlock lose his grip - and then the two of them would tumble onto the sharp rocks below and die together.
A conclusion that wiped all variables.
Or...he could let go, and fall alone, and fade away in the mists of the falls, and...
...Then, he finally completed his long, long calculation.
[X(2) - X(2) + X = X]
He said something - loud enough to let the detective know that he'd spoken, but not loud enough to be heard over the rushing water.
His smiled widened, and then...
he
let
go.
Keeping his arm extended - like a man ushering others in, like a desperate plea to be caught - he watched as his rival - his most worthy opponent, his ███████ - watched in numb shock, his eyes widening as he realized what just happened.
Ah, that was good.
That look of shock in those green eyes...was something he could happily take with him to his grave.
Laughing, Moriarty fell...and fell, and fell.
-Until he impacted with one of the rocks below, instantly snapping his spine with a lance of pain, knocking the breath out of him even as he bounced off and into the chilly water below.
...He couldn't move - couldn't even attempt it, as he sunk into the vast body of water.
His lungs burned, but he had no air - and it only took a few spaces of his still beating heart to suck in water automatically, feeling the agony of drowning.
Yet, despite that - despite the agony, the pain, even as he was beginning to float back up, propelled by the currents in the water from the falls - he still kept gazing at the surface of the water.
Even as his consciousness began to dim, the light from the outside world still was the only thing he focused on, his still extended hand grasping as if for that light.
Ah...
...The Variable known as 'X'...
...Had survived....in the end...
...th...at...w...a...s...
....
no subject
Then a voice, yelling in rage follows after.
As fast as he could scramble down without slipping, he hurried down as stones of various sizes were hurled down his way.
Moran? Holmes thought as he peered down as another rock dropped. The man swallowed a deep gulp of air before he let go.
Even prepared and from a much shorter drop, the current seem to threaten to steal him away as he forces himself to surface, wading to shore, shivering from the chill.
If the currents sent him this way - Sherlock raised his head, gray eyes searching down river.
Caught against a rock was a slumped figured, white shirt almost transparent from being soaked, and tinged pink from diluted blood.
The detective waded, gripping the body by it's shoulders, leaning it back into his arms to pull it to shore.
Moriarty's eyes stared unblinking, unseeing into the skies above, having lost it's brilliant hue, his mouth hanging open. For a moment, it almost feel like it would move - to give that familiar, obnoxious laugh. Probably followed by a knife pressed to his throat, laughing at Sherlock for falling for a ploy.
But that sound would not come from a dead man's lips.
He can't remember the last time he felt such revulsion from a corpse that he did now, staring at the too familiar, now lifeless visage.
It took all his willpower to not drop the man back into the water, grunting as he works against the current and dead weight to pull him up on the bank.
With a purse of his lips, Sherlock sighs softly, as he pulls the man's lids down, letting them close for the last time.
Again, he trembled at touching the man, feeling a wave of some kind of illness - a voice in his head telling him that he had to go now.
It wasn't because of the man who had tried to kill him.
It wasn't the man who now laid dead before him.
No it was - but, it was because looking at it made his head hurt as if soemthing's trying to fit inside the crevices of his brain, as his chest grew heavy.
The detective took one step back, then another.
Then he was gone, running into the night.
no subject
-and then Moriarty catapulted forward, taking in deep breaths of air as he suddenly woke up, groaning in pain as his 'back' acted up again.]
God - damn it -
[It took a moment to convince himself he wasn't under the water, dying slowly - that he was breathing air and his lungs could work properly.
Yet, he gives Sherlock a frenzied sidelong look, as he begins to try and calm himself down.]
...
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