For my dear EmmaTook. Happy birthday six months later, girl. 
Something stirred the pleasant juices his brain was marinating in. A mere ripple, thought or sound, over the thick surface and up to the wherabouts of his consciousness. His first move was to back away deeper into the lazy, tasty juices, like a snail withdrawing into itself. Quiet and good. He wanted more of that. Then a second wave ran through the pasty syrup bathing his mind, reconnecting it to its last surroundings. He wasn't supposed to indulge in such wallowing. John was very hurt – no John was mad with rage ; John had a baby now – John just had a baby, or rather Mary had, Mary and John together so why was John mad with rage it didn't make any sense! That was it. It had been abducted – the baby, female baby of 6.3 pounds and 18.8 inches. Gone. And that was dreadful beyond compare for John. A sound reached his consciousness this time, through the channel opened by the previous wave, and finally burst his mental bubble. His name – but the content was not the point : the medium, the voice! He knew that voice, it made him shudder, YES! Him! But impossible. Someone else. … No match. Switch back. Re-analyse intonation. Him. Definitely.
Sherlock came back to his hampered senses all of a sudden, in a big spasm of his whole body. His first sensation was that of the ground shifting and rolling and falling from under him. No sooner had he regained control of the vessel that it was already sinking in a see of unstable and fragmentary elements. It took him several seconds of helpless jerking to realize he was in a ball pool, the likes of which was found in playgrounds for children. Then his attention was drawn by the sound again.
“There you are! Look at you... Aren't you just aDOrable?”
He froze, and squinted the blurr away from his eyes as hard as he could. And when he distinguished the face of Moriarty his first reaction was a surge of incredulous, desperate gratification. After all these months! But he didn't understand and he didn't like that. He spoke and his mouth felt like a rusty pair of pincers.
“H-hOw? I saw you put... a bullet through your head. So how?”
His tongue tasted like a cotton ball. He saw Moriarty cringe with fake embarrassment and heard him say :
“Wrong question to ask... don't you think? But at least it is relevant, I suppose.”
He now perceived that the little man in suit was himself half-immersed in the ball pool, and that he was holding a bundle in his arms. Sherlock shook his head and tried to reach out in his general direction. His diction was still a bit unsteady.
“Wha-do... What do I have to do... for you to give it back?”
“Oh very good, Sherlock! … Don't worry your precious head about it, say but a word and I'll give it back. I just thought the happy event might be a good occasion for a little chat... 'assess our situation', that sort of thing.”
Sherlock looked around him and saw that they appeared to be in the empty premises of a fast food restaurant – Little Chef. The windows showed but the tip of a few poplar trees. He proceeded to sit up among the colored balls and Moriarty asked with a sudden seriousness:
“So. How have you been, honey?”
“I have to admit that you gave me some work to do but nothing I couldn't handle. I have been doing quite fine, actually.” he answered with as much dignity as possible.
“Pet ran away to find a mate, though... Who could blame him? I mean you were gone... Call of nature, right?! And there you are, squire of Dr and Mrs Watson! … Miss me, a bit?” Jim pouted.
He did. This absurd sense of consolation, this jubilation even, was that of an incorrigible Sisyphus. Yet he remained absolutely impassive. Moriarty lowered his gaze to the baby wrapped up in his arms.
“And a little Miss Watson, now! What a merry circus!”
He looked up at Sherlock with glee in his eyes.
“Did you get to have a look, just behind Daddy? 'I'm so bloody happy... God, I love you, mate! Aren't she beautiful?' 'Yes it-she looks very... healthy.' Oh my... I can just picture it!”
“Actually Mary knows I don't really get the point of infants. She spared me the ambush, I remained in the background while the family friends went into raptures... or had the courtesy to pretend to with more or less talent.”
“I'd thought by that time you'd be tired of the background, Sherlock.”
“What do you want from me?”
At that point the detective reckoned that he had regained enough strength to try and stand up, clutching at the net surrounding the pool. Moriarty freed his left hand from under the bundle and threw a ball at him.
“Do you want to leave, already? I've always loved ball pools... They're such fun!”
Jim shook his legs lazily with a cheerful smile on his face, making the balls roll over each other with a pleasant rumble. Suddenly he appeared genuinely upset and looked up at Sherlock with wide, doleful eyes, biting his lower lip.
“Did it hurt... having to witness the birth of this child?”
“Why would it hurt?” Sherlock frowned, on his way towards the exit.
Moriarty looked at one of the windows and his jaw clenched.
“Well that means you're stuck with me, now, aren't you?”
Holmes stumbled out of the ball pool.
“What can you possibly mean?”
He had left Moriarty in control of the intercourse for too long. This wasn't good. But he couldn't take his point for granted, could he?
The criminal mastermind got up, still holding the baby with one arm, and nimbly got out of the pool himself.
“Well, marriage... marriage is just a piece of paper and an understanding between to doofuses. Can be shattered to pieces in the blink of an eye. You could have done it already had you really felt the need to, God knows that wife gave you all the ammunition you could hope for!”
Jim rolled his eyes.
“You're not at the end of your tether yet, and you somehow persuaded yourself that you could participate in this unconvincing menage. But a child, now? A child is irreversible. It demands attention. And it's greedy... and you know it leaves no room for youuu, Sherlock.”
Holmes smiled.
“Isn't exclusion our lot? Don't you think I've made a habit of it a long time ago?”
“You got OUT OF THE HABIT, BLOCKHEAD!” Jim shouted to his face without warning.
It started him out of the remnants of his stupor. The bundle in Moriarty's arms uttered an odd grinding noise, followed by wailing. He laid it on the counter of the restaurant next to the till, turned back to the detective, and they both walked to the other side of the room. Sherlock replied:
“I did, and I'll get back to it. It will be easier than you think.”
This he hadn't even confessed to his brother – to himself, hardly.
“I wouldn't like to be in your shoes, sexy... Damned John Watson. Pets and people...” Moriarty pressed his lips together and sighed, letting them flap. “I'm not as proud of myself as you could imagine.”
They stopped by a window, and he gently caressed Sherlock's neck with the back of his hand. He didn't flinch.
“Back to the game.” Holmes articulated, looking down at his opponent. “Something truly stimulating to sink my teeth in. Before long John will be irrelevant. And hurting this child wouldn't affect me the slightest, you should know that.”
The baby was still crying. Moriarty offered Sherlock a sweet smile and it was truly a solace to have this unique, crazy face in his presence. His nemesis went back to the counter, where he picked up the bundle and started to rock it with shushing sounds.
“It's all good, little maggot. Mean Sherlock just angered Daddy a tiny bit. But he seems to have to come back to his senses now, everything is going to be just fine... Yeees you shut up now, what a clever girl!!”
The infant indeed calmed down and Jim got back to his favorite detective.
“I won't hurt John's child, Sherlock.” he declared quietly with his usual pout, unconcerned and vaguely nauseous. “It is rather unfair, still. You've known Dr Watson for years now, and you conquered him, with your bad, bad self. This sort of toy-person on the other hand... it just happened to share his blood, and this will make him first in line. I mean how bestial can people be? Look at this! Do you think it deserves all the fuss?”
He laid the baby on one of the tables, and it started wriggling and bobbing its overgrown head and twisting its twiggy arms towards Moriarty, while uttering little gasps. Holmes frowned. He indeed found it slightly repulsive but the reaction was nothing personal. The dire helplessness of infants made you want to put them out of their misery.
“It will make John very happy, and be safer for him. He deserves that, unlike the vast majority of parents.” he answered honestly.
“Please...” replied Jim before picking the baby from the table to rock it again. “Are you going to throw movie quotes at me, now? Or have you finally turned into an angel?”
Sherlock gazed at him, reveling in the resuming of their little walz.
“Well it is there, now. I might as well be aware of the advantages it will undeniably bring. I have no use for a broken John, we wouldn't be able to even play at 'solving cases' together once in a while.”
“You have every use for a broken John and you know it.” replied Moriarty. “Broken things can be rebuilt in a more convenient way. With your own hands. I say down with the blue bloods and their privileges!”
With this he opened a window and threw the infant out of it.
Once again, Moriarty had managed to completely astound him. Sherlock's very first instinct assaulted his mind in the form of a deep relief, immediately drowned by the thought of the devastating effect it would have on the most exceptional creature he had ever met, then colored by the bad taste of the whole situation – the strange crossing of a horrid reality with all the jokes about defenestrated babies. It all left him staring at the window with dismay.
“Oops. Well, it is gone now. You might as well be aware of the advantages THIS will undeniably bring to your future.” Moriarty continued in a sing-song voice. “Mummy and Daddy at each others' throats, tearing each other apart, pointing fingers – maybe at you but mostly at each other... Pet back at his bachelor's home, ravaged and licking his wounds but unconsciously sooo eager for assistance, distraction, and the less definitive affection of someone strong enough not to be under his direct responsibility...”
“You told me you would not hurt it!”
No plea, no outburst of violence would have been relevant. So Sherlock hold to the last grip he had on the situation to react, somehow, and this was Moriarty's words. There were no petty lies between them! The little man gazed at him.
“Not happy, then?”
“What do you care if I am happy or not?” replied Holmes on a level tone.
“Oh but I do care, Sherlock. It's true I'm not exactly the altruistic type but... You are the jewel of my crown, and I love to see you gleam and twinkle and reflect all kinds of light so SO MUCH!”
Moriarty ended his sentence clenching and gritting his teeth, but appeared to compose himself immediately after. Eventually he made a face and said:
“Relax, sexy, I haven't offed John's nipper. Sebastian's got it.”
He snapped his fingers, and a large man with dirty blond hair and armed to the teeth entered the room, holding in his scarred and leather-covered arms a female baby of 6.3 pounds and 18.8 inches. Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat, then pulse doggedly.
“How can I be sure it is the right one, this time?” he said coolly.
Moriarty answered in a voice that oscillated between gravity and enthusiasm.
“Well, perhaps you should have looked harder in the first place. Dear me, I guess you'll have to trust me on that one! I'm offering you to keep it, Sherlock. I simply thought beginning with a live simulation could help you make up your mind. Sometimes the proof of the pudding is in the eating!”
Jim got closer to the priceless man standing near him like a tall shard of glass, and whispered in a very low voice:
“A smart cookie like you... but SO sentimental! Is it going to be you and me till death do us apart? Not that I wouldn't be flattered but... I thought you had become one of them now.”
“I certainly haven't.”
Holmes turned to Moriarty, who looked up at him adoringly, his head almost on his shoulder.
“Are you sure that John Watson isn't an essential cog of this little wheel of yours?”
The detective turned his attention back to the baby and his nemesis followed his gaze.
“Oh look,” said Jim. “It is in good hands. It almost fits in one these big mitts, actually!”
The man named Sebastian smirked.
“I'm sooo curious to see what you're going to do! I know you can row your own boat but still... there's this tiny chance that you will act all selfless about it. How exciting!”
“There is no such thing as a selfless act.” Sherlock rectified matter-of-factly.
And Sherlock was right.
Accueil 
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