improbablenotimpossible | IC Inbox for daybreakacademy

[After all of that - after they've no doubt slept, trying to regenerate the energy they've lost and the return of their undead state - Moriarty blearily wakes up and automatically looks over to Sherlock, still looking like his opposite with blue eyes and gray hair.]

....Holmes...?

[It's a soft question, but -

After almost dying for good, and the utter despair and breakdown of all of his defenses - along with that ....being that had saved them at the last second before the being within Flat decided to revoke their curse -

He wants, oddly enough, to talk.

To really, truly talk - with no barriers or politeness in the way.

Like, perhaps, the brothers they apparently were.]

...Are you awake...?

[He didn't really dream - not in the usual way after it was over, just emotions and impressions, slowly he starts to awaken, hearing the subtle sounds of someone stirring close by.

Moriarty, he thought - even before hearing his name called out, his eyes fluttering open]

Yes... I believe so.

[His voice was thin, whispery]

...That's good.

[A part of him almost wants to cut it off there - to retreat, to act as if nothing happened.

But - not now. Not after everything they've been through.

To act like nothing changed - it would be a lie. One he wouldn't relish doing, and so -

With a soft groan - and shaky limbs - he rises up slightly from his bed, to prop up the pillows he has so he can be in a reclining position.

He always did recover fast, after all - though he is pushing himself a little.]

I - do you....feel up to....

[He pauses.

It's - so hard to make this next step, to admit that his mask is down. But...as always, he goes ahead, anyway.]

....Please. Talk with me. If...if you're able to.

[And in those few words, there's...a vulnerability that he's never really let Sherlock see before.

The cautious lowering of a barrier and a trembling extension of a hand.]

[His eyes open fully at that. The way he's lifting himself, the quiet groan, the reclining - recovering, but there's something about that is different from usual - the hesitation.

He pushes himself up, swinging his legs as he sat up, touching his forehead for a moment as if steadying himself, glancing away for a moment. The soft tones, the vulnerability - seems to hit something inside him]

...of course, I feel... this might be a long time coming.

[He turns his glance back, to look at him properly]

....A very long time coming, I think.

[There's - the way his shoulders sag, and his expression lightens just a little to show that he's relieved - as if he were expecting a full on rejection to his plea.

There's a silence, before he begins again.]

I - have realized something, during all of this.

...I do not want you to be my enemy anymore....Sherlock.

[That - would be unthinkable, normally. Using his name, stepping back from the rules of propiety - to say nothing of their pasts, and their history.

But, in truth - he hasn't thought of Sherlock as his Nemesis for a while.]

[His fingertips pressed together, steepling as he always seems to do when he's expected to mull over something.

The saying of his name - his hands parted, lips parting slightly in surprise.

No... was it really a surprise? After everything? Or was it...? The tension he didn't realize he was holding in starts to slip out of his form]

Let's. 'Nemesis' doesn't suit us anymore, mor-

[He hesitates for a moment, before trying a new kind of sound]

James.

[He takes in a slow draw of breath at his given name - before letting it out, slowly...and a small, thin, shaky smile crosses his face.]

Yes. That's - just fine with me.

...It doesn't mean, however, that we can't be rivals. Of a...friendlier sort, perhaps.

[Like...almost friends.

He doesn't say that, but he thinks it - it's too much for now to say that outright.

another pause - before the smile on his face wanes.]

I want you to know...I don't blame you for not telling me. About - that man.

[A smile, just as fragile flickers across his face, mirroring James']

We do have a bit of a competitive streak after all -... nothing wrong with a bit of healthy rivalry.

[There were more, lines hidden between lines - for later, when it becomes easier to process things.

Then at the mention of what happened, he shifted, his hand gripping his right arm, his gaze turns downwards, seeming to shrink within himself - seeming to drawback, but this was nothing he would have allowed the other man to see all those years ago]

If I had... [his voice wavers]

I almost killed Vivi, and Escardos - [he falls silent before picking back up]

And you... when I saw you that night, it made me sick to see it, to see him using you like that.

[It's - it almost feels like something he shouldn't be seeing, this shrinking. Everything he knew practically screamed that he should turn away, let the man be, and yet...

...He doesn't. He doesn't, because Sherlock is letting him see this, the gripping at where he most likely shot up his solution into his veins.

But more important, is -]

....Yes. I understand that it must have been a harrowing feeling through the link.

[There's a part of him still telling him to straighten up, to stop revealing so much - there's something strangely relieving to see that James is not looking the other way from this.

Then slowly, he shook his head]

I didn't feel anything through the link, beyond the calm of a trance.

[Then slowly, he makes the motions of exhaling]

...It's the sight of that monster using you as a puppet is what made it sickening.

[They were both fighting with what'd they'd learned, what they'd grown up with - but when Sherlock admits to feeling sick at seeing him being used as a puppet, instead of the feeling through the link...

He practically makes a short, choked sound - not one of derision, but something closer to pain.]

I - Truly? You...felt like that? Even though I'm...

['James Moriarty?']

[He gave a quiet nod]

Yes - I wasn't sure why or when I started feeling this is more than just a truce - perhaps seeing you in the class with the children, horsing around with the other faculty... you weren't the man I had known back then.

[There's almost a sheepish tone to his voice]

There were a great many things I did not know. And many more I... I'm trying to understand.

[He nods, listening quietly - going from surprise to calm, understanding the issue.]

Yes, I...believe I understand. You had only ever seen a single side of me - a man who attempted to chase off someone from the small, pitiful happiness he'd managed to snatch from life.

[There's a hint of sarcasm in there, but it's not directed at Sherlock - no, it's at himself, as it always is.]

...In truth, I would have been happy being a professor back then, too - if it were not for the censure of my book, and the disdain of my fellow professors...we would have most likely died when we were supposed to.

[He laughs, quietly.]

....Then again, most never could tolerate that a young man - barely out of college age himself - from Yorkshire of all places could show them up or easily comprehend things they thought were out of the grasp of 'country folk.'

...No. Eventually, there would have been some sort of scandal - something to force me into early retirement to save face.

I knew there was some scandal... but -

[He had looked, there was a reason but it was lower on his priority than finding Moriarty's then-current operations, and academia has always been so damned frustratingly secretive... one of the reasons he never had an interest in staying on]

Fragile egos, not wanting to show up how little they actually knew, especially when it's from someone they had written off - ...and after what happened... you turned to crime... out of desperation?

[his voice lilts, questioning - seeing if he understood James right]

[A question, not a deduction.

That alone meant more than he could say. Still...

He shakes his head, giving a dull laugh.]

...Nothing so potentially forgivable as that. I did have issues with finding employment in teaching - though I was retired, most of those that would hire me would make inquiries of the college, and learn of the censure...and, of course, once I was identified as a man who had such ideas they had to be quelled....well. I would politely be told my services were no longer needed.

[He takes in a breath, smiling sadly.]

Yet, I could have gone home. My family wouldn't have minded, honestly - and no one in the area I grew up in would have cared. I could have easily become a teacher there, or a shopkeep in a small village.

...But, I didn't. My pride wouldn't allow me to return home, disgraced in all but name - all the more painful than if I had just been told to get out without any subterfuge. And in the end...

...The thing that brought me to the path of crime was not desperation, but a decision to go into a seedy-looking pub during a particularly melancholic mood, and by listening into the conversation of a certain group of men and having the courage to point out the errors in their plans.

[Sherlock had been picking at their society since the era had changed, from Victorian to Edwardian to when he stopped caring who was on the throne, there were flaws - which is what as Watson had put it that 'he hated society with all his bohemian soul', but as he listens his lips pursed.

There was desperation, not for financial well-being, but acceptance, but to do what comes naturally to him - and society turned their back on James Moriarty thanks to academic jealousy.

Though he shook his head, with faint amusement]

Somehow - that seems like such a 'you' way of ending up in crime.

Edited 2020-03-18 00:44 (UTC)

Hahaha....perhaps. At the time, I assumed it was just idle fantasy - and speaking of the proper way to break into a place took my mind off of other things as an entertaining diversion. Imagine my surprise when, in a few days, they came back into the same pub and paid me for my advice.

[Let's ignore he was drinking at the same shady pub in the space of a few days, whoops.]

From there...well. I dove into crime, and managed to distract myself with fun, happily placing my wits and mettle against other men much more willing to kill than I at the time. Before I knew it, I had become a grand leader, a man who other men served with loyalty and a little fear.

Until, of course, everything came crashing down around me once more.

[There's another pause, before he suddenly begins to recite something.]

'On the strength of it, he won the mathematical chair at one of our smaller universities, and had, to all appearances, a most brilliant career before him. But the man had hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind. A criminal strain ran in his blood, which, instead of being modified, was increased and rendered infinitely more dangerous by his extraordinary mental powers.'

...Though I read it much later, once my mind had recovered - well. I laughed, because it was as if you opened the book that was my own mind and read everything I'd ever thought on myself.

[He noted, but does not comment - the fact he said it at all told Sherlock enough.

It did match up with what he had known, the crime rate went up overall but murder had gone down. Though Moriarty still had Moran...

His eyes widen slightly, as James parroted his words back at him, feeling the internal cringe before what he said next snapped him out of it, sending a jolt of shock through him.

Is that why? Is that why he was so certain of the Napoleon of Crime's evil? In sharp relief to the man he had come to know - that he thought that because he had picked up on the other man's despair and self-loathing]

It seems we might have been both wrong.

[He's silent, for a moment - before a shake of his head.]

...Perhaps.

[Not willing to admit it? maybe. Or just that....for so long, he's only ever thought of himself as someone who willingly threw away a chance at a happier life out of fear of rejection.

...It's clear, now, why he reached out so intensely to Flat, and refused to let go far past when he should have.]

May I....tell you something?

[Though it's hesitant, he doesn't wait for an answer - quickly speaking the next bit.]

Even now....Yes. Even now, I am forever waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were. When will I be hated, and cast out? After all, as I have learned so acutely...happiness is a fleeting thing, as much as I attempt to hold onto it.

[He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, gritting his teeth.]

And though I should...just accept it, as I have always done....I....I....

[The next words are small, barely more than a whisper.]

...I don't want... to lose anything anymore....

Edited 2020-03-18 19:02 (UTC)

[His fingers curled together in his lap, a silent nod of assent - even if James continued on, lips pursed in thought.

That had been the other man's life, hasn't it? Misfortune and malice coming to rob him of what happiness he could get.

And in a way... he can understand the feeling - as a vampire, he is a fleeting presence, moving constantly avoiding getting close to others, and the few times he let his guard down, it didn't end well. It was only at Daybreak things change...

And he can't even imagine how much worse it would've been for Moriarty all this time, and now finding a reason to live - not just existing.

As the other man's voice drops - and the tears... he didn't know why, but his hand slowly reached out, tentatively, uncertain if it'd be welcomed, to touch his shoulder]

[He feels it - that hand on his shoulder, grounding him, trying to comfort - and he gives a sob before choking it back in.]

Ha - I-I'm sorry, I've only...been talking about myself this whole time...I know these years m-must have weighed on you as well....

[It's an out - an attempt to run, for even in this vulnerable state he's violating everything he's ever been told or told himself through the years.

Keep it up, don't let anyone know, just forget those issues, you have to be strong enough to handle them yourself.]

Listening to me prattle on like this....I'm sorry, it must be boring, if not infuriating.

[He gave the shoulder a squeeze]

Don't apologize.

[The words came out much firmer than he planned, pausing before closing his eyes, continuing to push through. Part of him feels like he's doing something wrong, pushing through even when given the signal of their time that they're on the dangerous ground called vulnerability.]

I - had my share, of things... but, you needed someone to hear this, that's why we're talking. There is nothing infuriating about it.

[For a long moment, he just - stares, eyes wide, shocked into silence.

He'd never allowed anyone to hear this, fully - Jolyne had gotten the careful version of events, the gentler recounting that didn't have his emotions wrapped up in it - but being told by someone who had also grown up in the same time period that it was okay to talk about it, to not have to apologize for the gross breach of misconduct....

It's enough to break that final straw, and he...just lets go, breaking down into great heaving sobs as he can't stop himself from finally just crying about everything that's happened.

Even though he's physically fighting against it - gritted teeth, firmly pressing his hands over his eyes - it's like trying to stop an open dam with just yourself.

He can't stop this anymore, even if he tried.]

[Even with opening up, and everything - seeing Moriarty break down was startling, the sobs, the way he curls up. The part of him that had fallen back on their upbringing, the thing he clung to was recoiling from the sight.

No - he told himself, that has to stop. They had to stop it, or less nothing will ever change. Another hand reaches out, more firmly - though he can't quite get rid of the uncertain tremble, reaching to hold the man steady.

Damn it - he could feel his own eyes starting to burn... not now.]

[And with that, Moriarty does something that's practically unthinkable - something that he would never do if his barriers already weren't completely down.

He gives a loud cry and pitches forward, heedless if he ends up on the floor of the infirmary - to rest his knees on the floor and wrap his arms around Sherlock, burying his head into the other man's shoulder and sobbing like a child.

...Because, well...he was a child when he was allowed to cry like this, clinging to someone so tightly as if he never wanted to let go.]

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So we almost died for real and we should probably genuinely talk, a thread

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