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fxndom-hoe · 4 years

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Ok I’m about to go on another late night/early morning (cuz it’s 6am and I still haven’t slept) Merlin rant because this thought has been in my head for about an hour.

I’m super tired of reading magic reveal fics where when Arthur banishes Merlin, everyone starts acting poorly towards Arthur. Like gwaine will either straight up leave with Merlin or start acting petty towards Arthur and all the knights will try to avoid Arthur as much as possible and Gwen and gaius will start acting cold towards him all until arthur decided to unbanish merlin and then they all act like his friend again. And I just... need that to stop. And not only bc it’s super ooc for most of them, but also, think about how damaging this would be to Arthur’s mental health.

Like Arthur’s already insecure and lonely, yknow, his father raised him to be king and in uthers mind that means having no friends and that his worth comes from being royal and not really anything else. Like Arthur wasn’t raised to live himself, he was raised to rule a kingdom and that the kingdom matters more than him. And uthers been shown on multiple occasions to not really care about Arthur’s safety when it comes to making Camelot greater or like only cares about his safety bc he’s the only heir to the throne and yknow Arthur can’t die cuz then camelot wouldn’t have a king after uther dies. And so Arthur’s never really felt any self worth. He’s never had friends before merlin and nobody seemed to really care about Arthur the person instead of Arthur the prince until merlin came along. And through Merlin, Arthur finally gains some friends (or for the sake of this post, people he considers friends)

So how must it feel for Arthur, who’s already insecure and lonely, to start having his only friends STOP being his friends after he just had to get rid of his best friend. (And I don’t want anyone to come @ me saying he doesn’t have to banish Merlin and blah blah blah bc I know that! This post is about if he does bc the law is to execute anyone who uses magic and yknow Arthur’s been betrayed by the people he’s cared about with magic so it wouldn’t be easy for to accept Merlin immediately yknow like it would take some time.) Imagine how betrayed arthur would feel. Bc these people are supposed to be his friends too just proving what his fathers always taught him. Kings don’t have friends. Kings can’t trust ANYONE. These were people that he cared about who just showed him that the only reason he has for people to care about him is apparently Merlin.

And yes he can unbanish Merlin to make everything better. And everyone will start treating him better and treating him like a friend and all that, but then he would always know. He would know, not even just think, but KNOW that all his “friends” would just leave him if he ever tried to get rid of Merlin, that his own fucking wife would give him the cold shoulder if he were to banish Merlin, and GOD how devastating for him. To have the evidence shoved in his face that he’s only worth keeping around if he had his manservant with him. That no one actually cares about him, even if they claim to. Imagine being forced to live like that. Cuz we know that Arthur wouldn’t be able to let that go. He would never mention it to anyone, not even Merlin. He would just suffer all alone.

And it would bring a whole new meaning to his “you’re my only friend” quote bc instead of it being like a light feeling of “oh I just kinda feel like the rest of them aren’t as close a friend to me as you are, you know everything about me” to “you’re the only person in my life who would stuck by me no matter what. You stuck by me when I banished your friend (Gwen) and nobody has ever done the same. Nobody else WILL ever do the same.” And that’s even more heartbreaking. But like also! What if he starts feeling resentment towards Merlin. Cuz he has magic and has kept a secret for as king as they’d known each other. Arthur would’ve brought Merlin back before he was actually ready to forgive him bc he was losing everyone dearest to him, so he wouldn’t have time to really accept his magic. But also, now arthur knows that everyone he cares about cares more about Merlin than they do about him. Bc of Merlin, Arthur’s second best and that would clearly never change. Arthur would feel lonelier than ever bc there’s no way he could mention it to Merlin, and he can’t mention it to his fucking wife and he can’t even talk to his friends because THEYRE ALL THE PROBLEM! No one would understand. If he were to tell any of his friends that he feels worthless to them compared to merlin they would be like fucking ✨obviously✨ like they wouldn’t ACTUALLY say it but their actions have proven that that’s how they feel.

(TW FOR SUICIDAL IDEATION IN THIS NEXT PART!! I WILL MARK WHEN IT IS OVER)

Like maybe I’m self projecting bc it’s how I would feel if I were Arthur but I can imagine him becoming suicidal over this. Like he would just feel so worthless after this. Like this is worse than his father prepared him for. Like he can’t even trust his own queen! And he still feels betrayed by Merlin bc he didn’t have enough time to process what happened and forgive him. He was forced to bring Merlin back to stop everyone from treating him so horribly. And the only reason he wouldn’t actually kill himself would be bc Camelot needs a king. He doesn’t have an heir yet, so he couldn’t really leave camelot like that. AND HE WOULDNT BE ABLE TO TALK OUT THESE FEELINGS WITH ANYKNE BC EVERYONE BETRAYED HIM!!!

(TW OVER!!!!!!)

And also! Imagine the trust issues he must have now. Like he’d already had trust issues bc of morgana and agrivaine but now it’s like 10x worse. Like at first he used to think that he could trust very few people, but now he would feel like he couldn’t trust ANYONE, not even Merlin. Not anymore. Like it’s over. He really can’t trust anyone in his life anymore. They’ve all betrayed him. And not as an over exaggerating “hmf I can’t trust people, people are mean” way but like they’ve all actually betrayed him. Merlin has magic, his knights were just about ready to leave camelot bc of his decision, his wife withdrew from him. Like, he’d have no one.

And don’t tell me that the others, at least merlin and Gwen, wouldn’t notice Arthur’s while change in mood. Except now, he would never even CONSIDER opening up to them about how he’s feeling bc HOW CAN HE?? He’d revert back to S1 Arthur but quieter. Like any character development he’d have had at that point, down the drain (but the writers didn’t really need a magic reveal to do this oop—👀🤭)(and yes I needed that joke I’m crying while writing this leave me alone)

But seriously, Arthur would feel like he had no one. And even if he could eventually find it in himself to forgive Merlin having magic/lying about it (bc we know he will) he could NEVER trust the rest of them again. They’ve all proven to him that they DONT CARE ABOUT HIM. They don’t.

And yknow I wanted to get into this earlier BUT!!! It’s all very ooc for them to do that. Even gwaine. Like they all kept quiet when he banished Gwen, and she was going to be queen! And I don’t want to hear anyone say it’s bc Gwen wasn’t as important as Merlin bc a) fuck you and b) shut up yes she is and c))) she was GOING TO BE QUEEN!! OBVIOUSLY SHES MORE IMPORTANT THAN MERLIN (for Camelot and Arthur at least). Merlin is being promoted to anything, Gwen is clearly the more important one in this subject of banishing ppl alr??? And let’s say alr! For the sake of argument Merlin is more important than Gwen in camelot. Elyan was her brother! Do you think he would sit silently back while Gwen got banished but give Arthur the cold shoulder when Merlin gets banished?? No! So fuck off! This behavior is ooc for all of them.

Anyway!!

TL;DR stop writing magic reveal fics where everyone turns against Arthur for banishing Merlin. It’s damaging to his mental health and MY mental health. Goodnight.

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seertale · 4 years

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Talking colors: PaperJam(PJ). Omni. Killer. Nightmare. Dream. Cross. Ink. Error. Stain. Hope. Fade.

Call It A Game Night.

They decided to have a game night together. It had been forever since they’d last done so, so they figured it’d be a good idea. Ink was helping Error set up the first board game, Life. Dream and Nightmare were working on some food while Cross was looking for some other games stored in the attic. They were in Nightmare and Killer’s mansion. Stain came in with some nerf guns, Hope in tow with Fade, and an armful of bottles of alcohol. Fade had their own armful, mainly because they owned the most alcohol and would be able to help everyone find something they liked. They set everything on the kitchen counter and Fade made sure they had all the alcohol they’d brought.

“How much did you need?”

“It’s fine, I have a lot. Besides, I know everyone’s tastes vary. Do you want help with that food?”

Nightmare nodded, moving to let Fade join in helping them cook.

“Sometimes, I’m surprised that you became a rock star instead of a chef.”

“Well, do you blame me? I picked up my first electric guitar at 12, I think I’d like to learn how to play it.”

“Whatever. How are the spouses doing?”

“They’re doing good. Nel’s out helping shop for baby stuff while I’m here. I hope she doesn’t cook.”

“Why would you hope your wife doesn’t cook?”

“Have you seen how badly she burns her food?”

Nightmare just chuckled as he plated what he was working on and brought it out to the living room. He set it on the big buffet table they’d set up for the game night. As soon as Ink saw the food, he moved to take a bite. Despite their past, he couldn’t help still being on good terms with Nightmare and would definitely admit to how good he thought Nightmare’s cooking was.

“Oh my god, Night, this is so good.”

Nightmare passed it off with a wave of his hand, “Just wait until Fade brings their food out. They’re a better cook than I am.”

“Still. This is really, really good.”

“Ya, ya, I know.”

Dream came out with his food next. He’d spent all day roasting a ham since he knew how hungry everyone got while drunk. Cross came down after with a few more games and, after setting them next to the now set out Life, moved to hug Dream. Dream giggled a bit and hugged him back.

“Hey, Love.”

“Hi. Having fun?”

“Oh, plenty. Wanna try the ham?”

“Sure.”

Dream picked up a fork, taking a piece of ham and feeding it to Cross, who immediately hummed in appreciation, “That’s really good.”

“You think all my cooking is good.”

“Ya, but this is really good too.”

He giggled a bit before Cross led him over to the game table. Fade was coming out with their food. Stain and Hope had already sat down.

“Alright, who wants something to drink while we wait for arntul Omni and PJ?”

Multiple hands went up and Fade asked them what they thought they wanted before grabbing them. They grabbed wine and whiskey glasses and poured things accordingly. Killer quickly came with some cases of beer and set them down next to the game table.

“Sorry it took so long, a Karen was arguing with the shopkeep.”

“It’s alright. Sit, Fade’s getting us some alcohol.”

Killer nodded and sat next to Nightmare, opening himself a can of beer as Fade started bringing drinks out. Once everyone had their drinks, they took a quick portal to their house and came back with an alcohol-smoked turkey, just as PJ and Omni arrived.

“Oh, just in time. We were just about to start,” Killer was shuffling the different decks of cards. “Want anything to drink?”

Omni shook their head, though looked at PJ.

“A beer for now, please.”

Killer nodded and got PJ a beer from the case. They cracked it open as they sat and Omni moved to get a large plate of food for them both. Fade sat down next to their adoptive dad, Stain.

“Ok, so we got the expansion pack so we could all play. Everyone chooses a color.”

They gradually chose their own colors and started the game.

~~~

Everyone but Ink and Omni were at least somewhat inebriated by the time they finished playing Life. Ink not being inebriated was a bit strange, seeing as he’d had at least fifteen beers and three glasses of whiskey. Omni hadn’t drunk anything but they did munch. PJ was leaning against them, waiting for the next game. Stain, who'd already finished his last turn, was working on the next activity. Dream seemed the drunkest, but he hadn't passed out yet, so it was probably fine. After a moment, Stain came back with nerf pistols.

"There's enough for everyone to have one. Who wants to play nerf hide and seek tag?"

Everyone was immediately in agreement.

"Alright, so someone is the seeker and carries a nerf pistol. Every time a seeker finds someone, they need to be shot by the seeker or they aren't tagged. If they are tagged, they then become a seeker too. Anywhere is free game for hiders. Who wants to seek first?"

Nightmare raised his hand.

"Alright," Stain handed him a nerf pistol and set the rest on the table. "If you become a seeker, pick one up. Pops, count to 60."

Nightmare nodded and closed his eyes. Shuffling could be heard. Cross currently had his husband on his back, carrying him to a closet on the highest floor. All the kids Nightmare had were being watched by Red and Blue at Ink's mansion since it had a surplus of rooms. They had plenty of rooms. He took Dream into the farthest room from the staircase, carefully setting him down in the walk-in closet.

"Alright, Dreamy. You've gotta stay quiet or they'll find you."

"Is that bad…?"

"No, but you'll lose the game."

He nodded with a small giggle and Cross closed the door, going to find his own place to hide.

~~~

Knowing his husband really well, Nightmare was able to find Killer first. He was hiding in the library, small enough to fit in the shadows of one of the towering shelves. Nightmare just examined the shelves, debating on which one Killer was resting on, before letting off a bullet at random. He heard a small, boney thunk and a whisper of an ow.

"Got you."

"Fine, you got me."

Killer started to climb down. Nightmare moved a tentacle to help him. He couldn't have his husband getting hurt. Not since he was the only doctor that could fix him immediately.

"Alright, go grab a pistol."

Killer nodded and ran off.

~~~

Stain took a deep breath as he finally situated himself with Hope. They were hiding in the tub in one of the bathrooms and it was obvious Stain may have to carry Hope once they were found. Hope, having lower magic, was much more affected by alcohol, so even just a can was pretty much half a bottle of whiskey to him.

When Killer inevitably pulled the curtain back to reveal the two, he immediately became a put worried, seeing as Hope was heavily passed out against Stain.

“We should be alright… we can get him on the couch and we can get him water when he wakes…”

Killer nodded, simply shooting Stain and running off to continue what he was doing.

~~~

He quietly padded down the hall, pistol in his hand. Out of all the places he would know Fade would hide, he could not, for the life of himself, find his adopted child. Stain guessed he would have to look in different places. His first place of search? The kitchen. Fade always loved the kitchen and, with how small they were, he wouldn’t doubt they’d shoved themselves in the pantry. He took a quick peek… only to find out he was wrong. They weren’t hiding in the pantry. So then where were they?

They couldn’t fit in any cupboards. But Stain’s partially inebriated mind definitely thought so, and he started searching the cupboard like he was raiding the kitchen. Fade was in the cupboards! Specifically, the cupboards under the sink. Fade had moved it all to a separate cupboard and squeezed themselves in. Stain quickly shot them and moved to help them out.

“How did you fit in there?”

“I’ve always been small.”

"Still. Wow."

They just nodded and went to get a nerf pistol.

~~~

In the meantime, Killer had found PJ and Omni. It hadn't been hard, since Omni had agreed to make out in the room they were hiding in while waiting. Now, they were teamed and hunting for others. Their first go-to would've been Ink since he was usually easy to find depending on the person. But even then, years of Ink having learned how to hide made him even more dangerous for the seeker. They paused their search for him when they heard a yell and realized that it probably wasn't a good idea for Ink to be hiding from Nightmare. They quickly followed the yell.

Nightmare had Ink restrained, mostly because Ink had gone defensive and currently had his hatchet in his hand. He was struggling to be let go and PJ set their pistol down to comfort their dad.

"Dad, calm down. It's ok. It's just hide-and-seek. No one's gonna hurt you."

"H-How do you kn-know…?"

"Has Nightmare actually hurt you…?"

That's right. It was Nightmare. Not Dark. He hadn't been hurt. It was just a game. Ink took in a breath and Nightmare carefully set him down.

"Sorry…"

"It's ok… I'm just… not gonna play for now…"

Nightmare nodded and PJ picked their pistol up again, going with Omni and Nightmare to find the last ones hiding.

~~~

Error now knew why Ink always felt so safe hiding under the bed whenever he got scared. It was small and cozy and it would be hard to get him out without lifting the bed or him getting out himself. Despite that, he held his breath when he heard a couple of sets of footsteps and a door open. Someone was searching the room for him. It was Stain and Fade. There was the sound of something being set on the desk in the room before the bed creaked, being lifted up.

"Good morning," a nerf bullet hit him smack-dab in the forehead and he giggled a bit, moving to carefully push himself out.

"Why hello there."

"Did you sleep well?"

Error stood, "Very."

"Dad's downstairs on the couch next to Hope. Otherwise, we found Cross and we're gonna gang up on Dream."

"I think I'll go to Inky. What happened?"

"Got a bit scared by Pops, but he's ok."

Error nodded and went to find Ink.

~~~

Nightmare put a finger to his lips as Cross led the way. They were all locked and loaded. Once they got to the room, Cross went over to the walk-in closet door. He put his hand on the handle and carefully ripped it open. They were all quickly met with Dream's shrieking laughter as they fired everything at him. Once they were all out of bullets, Cross moved to check on him while the others picked up the bullets. He pulled Dream gently against his chest and Dream started to drift to sleep. He hadn't had alcohol in forever, so it wasn't surprising.

He picked up his husband and took him downstairs to rest. Error and Ink had set up Monopoly while waiting. Cross sat at the table, holding Dream in his lap. After a minute, everyone else took their spots to play. Killer made sure Hope had something to drink upon waking. Dream had easily fallen asleep against Cross. Cross just smiled as they played.

Dream was passed out for about an hour before he started to wake up a bit. The game was still going and he seemed confused since Killer was now yelling at PJ for making him go bankrupt. Ink laughed a bit from next to Error.

“Monopoly, the game that tears families apart.”

Dream giggled a bit and Cross looked down at him.

“Well, hello there, Dreamy. Sleep good?”

Dream nodded and moved to get up. He was kinda hungry. Cross let him stand, watching him go over to the food table and get himself some turkey. He seemed content as he sat down again, this time next to Cross, and ate. Once he was done, he went to put his dishes in the sink and seemed to just completely disappear. Cross was a bit concerned but kept playing.

15 minutes after Dream disappeared, he came back, holding one of the nerf pistols. He pointed it at Nightmare, the banker.

“Gimme the money.”

Ink was starting to laugh. Nightmare didn’t respond at first, earning him a nerf bullet to the nose.

“I said gimme.”

Once Nightmare seemed to process what Dream meant by money, Nightmare took a one-dollar monopoly bill and gave it to Dream. Dream pretty much threw the pistol down.

“Crossy, we’re rich now!”

Ink burst out laughing and Cross stood, hugging Dream.

“That’s great, Dreamy. Now, why don’t we get you some water and go home?”

“Ok!”

This is based on a roleplay with @star-gamerxox

It was an idea we came up with but never got to inact so I had some fun(it's 2206 words, fite me-). It's been in the works for well over two weeks.

Credits:

Nightmare and Dream belong to (insert name everyone knows and I don't wanna say)

Cross belongs to jakie95

Error belongs to loverofpiggies

Ink blongs to comyet

Omni belongs to cereusblue

PaperJam belongs to 7goodangel

Killer belongs to rahafwabas

Hope belongs to pepper-mint

Stain belongs to nimaruu

Fade(a technical fusion but not quite) belongs to me(seertale)

Nel(laya) is the wife in Fade's poly, mentioned as the one they hope doesn't cook, and belongs to @star-gamerxox

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janeofcakes · 4 years

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KYFC..: Chapter 19 (yes, it’s Johnlock on skates)

Hello, hello, my friends! I’m so sorry it’s been so long since our last meeting. God, I’ve missed you all. It’s been a hell of a couple of weeks, but all is well. I’m sorry to have left you dangling over the cliff all this time. Trust me when I say it was not intentional. Please forgive me. I certainly can’t wait for you all to read this next, long-awaited chapter, so I’ll get right down to it.

John was wrestling Moran for his gun when it went off, the door from on deck was just thrown open. Was it someone who would help him or hinder is escape? We shall see. ----

Boom! Here comes the Boom! Ready or not, here comes the boys from the Lasal. Boom! Here comes the Boom! How you like me now? --P.O.D., Boom

Sherlock closes his car door and begins scanning the rows of small and medium-sized boats docked at the marina. He has no idea what the name of the boat is, what it looks like, or if it is even registered to Moriarty or Moran. He glances at the small registration building some distance away and rolls his eyes at the closed sign plastered over its window. He goes back to scanning the boats for any sign of John or his kidnappers. The marina is nearly abandoned and the sun is setting. A few boats glide through the water around the docks while others are anchored a hundred yards or more from it, sprinkled here and there in the water. Their passengers are on deck watching the sunset or having a drink, maybe a quiet party. Sherlock can just hear the sound of their faint laughter. He squints, but the distance and receding light make identifying any of the people on even the closer boats impossible.

Sherlock walks quickly toward the docked boats and then stops abruptly, eyes rapidly scanning each one again. He lets out a puff of frustration and looks out at those farther away. His gaze flits from one to another, moving and stationary. Panic begins to fill his chest and well up into his throat. A dull ache he tries to ignore rests at the base of his neck. He knows John is here, or was and has sailed away. Frankly, the latter is far more likely. Damn it all. If he’s so fucking brilliant, why can’t he find John?! Moriarty wants to see him fail, wants to destroy him. This cannot be the way he fails. The championship, sure, one or even two years. The team can come back from that, but John… He cannot lose John.

God, Sherlock should have let him go when he had the chance. Yes, John would be safely away and not in a boat somewhere on this lake being murdered. Goddammit. No, that never would have worked. Moriarty wouldn’t have let John walk away. He would have pulled him back in. Why? Simple really, because Sherlock loves him. That’s what this is all about. Sherlock is killing him by caring. Caring is not an advantage.

It’s everything.

John’s voice comes to Sherlock’s ears in a memory as clearly as if he is standing right next to him. Sherlock’s lips part in surprise, his glistening eyes open wide and he lets out a quiet gasp as a tear breaks free from his lashes to skitter quickly down his cheek. Those words begin to ground him and his mind starts to settle. His heart rate slows to something approaching normal and he feels like he can think again. The slow calm brings the clarity he needs to find the solution he so desperately needs. All because of those two words and what they mean. All from John.

“I love you,” Sherlock mutters out over the lake and then squints his eyes shut hard. He concentrates on their phone conversation, runs every detail multiple times, and then recalls every undeleted conversation he has ever had with Moriarty. Nothing. Nothing! Sherlock shakes his head angrily. He cannot let the fear and frustration cloud his mind. He has to do this.

He turns back to his last conversation with John again. There must be something there. John would have given him something, some clue, but what could he do? On the phone, Sherlock couldn’t see him so no visual cues of any kind. John said precious little and could not have said anything too out of the ordinary with Moriarty breathing down his neck.

Breathing.

John’s odd breathing. Sherlock had thought it was nervousness, but suppose… He starts at the beginning again and listens.

His shoulder sag. Nothing. Just a man who wants to say everything, but can reveal nothing.

Sherlock’s brow knits in frustration and he grinds his teeth. He clenches his fists and thrusts them down to his sides, turning this way and that on the dock. God, he wants to kick something. He wants to punch the goddamn smirk right off of Moriarty’s fucking face. If he has done anything to John, Sherlock will kill the bastard himself.

No. He stops pacing. There has to be something more to the phone call, something Sherlock isn’t getting. He cradles his forehead on the tips of his fingers, tilts his head down and closes his eyes. There must be something. The man who studied multiple subjects while in medical school and still completed in record time has to have given Sherlock a clue. He would have found a way and now Sherlock must find it. John’s life depends on it, depends on him. Sherlock cannot let him down.

He takes in a long, slow breath and blows it out just as slowly. He works to clear his mind, tries to calm himself. Sherlock starts at the beginning of the phone call once again and listens to everything: John’s tone, pitch, volume, all the sounds around him that revealed his location. He hears the quiet splash of water and low engine noise when a boat passes their own. Even as Sherlock hears nothing new, the letter ‘T’ appears before him in his mind’s eye. He ignores it and continues to listen. ‘H’. Sherlock shakes his head gently in dismissal to concentrate on John’s voice, his words. ‘E’.

Sherlock cocks a brow and twitches his head to the side. His eyes still closed, he wrinkles his forehead in confusion. ‘C’. Where are the letters coming from? Why can’t he ignore them and concentrate the way he wants to? ‘R’. Goddammit! Piss the fuck off!

In that split second of rage, everything snaps into place. Sherlock’s eyes pop open wide in awe.

“The breaths!” he whispers so softly the lapping of the lake nearly swallows its sound. “The code.”

A long exhale for a dash. ‘T’. Four short puffs for dots. ‘H’. One short puff for ‘E’. Long, short, long, short, ‘C’. Short, long, short. ‘R’.

Morse code. John sounded nervous, on the verge of panic or hyperventilation, in spite of the steady tone of his voice because he used morse code to give Sherlock clues when he wasn’t speaking. John Watson is a goddamn genius.

A spark of adrenaline surging through his body and every nerve ending tingling with excited energy, Sherlock closes his eyes again and listens to John speak to him without saying a word. Three long exhales for ‘O’, a short and two longs for ‘W’, long and short for ‘N’. ‘The Crown’. Sherlock listens for more and gets ‘B,O,A’ before John is out of time and ends the call. Clearly, John was spelling the word boat. The name of Moriarty’s boat is ‘The Crown’.

At those two words, a memory bursts from the ever-locked door that holds what Sherlock has not deleted of his interactions with Moriarty. He had unlocked the door earlier to analyze his every encounter with the man and turned up nothing, but now armed with the name of Moriarty’s boat, one particular memory comes into focus.

It was right after a bout with the Demons during Sherlock’s first year as coach. Moriarty, nearly six years his senior and already well-known in the league, shook his hand afterwards with a lecherous gleam in his eye. Sherlock only kept the conversation so he would always know why he hates this man so completely. The condescension and presumption that he could have anyone and get any skater to join the Demons, not to mention he insisted on calling Sherlock ‘Hon’. Sherlock had vowed at that moment to steal the championship from this man year after year, and as decisively as possible.

“Tough luck, Hon, but that’s how it happens,” Moriarty had said with a leer as he shook Sherlock’s hand. When Sherlock moved to withdraw, Moriarty pulled on his hand and leaned in conspiratorially. Far too close for Sherlock’s liking and he struggled not to pull back. “You’re not going to make it as a head coach. Hudson will see it soon enough, but… You would make a top-notch assistant to my head. I’d love to have you under me.”

His grin was salacious and it turned Sherlock’s stomach, but he would never show it. Sherlock glared back at him with cool eyes. His answer was simple.

“I’m going to beat you every time we meet. I will take the championship from you,” Sherlock’s eyes flashed with intense determination and his teeth clicked as he enunciated every word, “this year and every year.”

Moriarty paused a moment, his smile turning down at the edges as he looked into Sherlock’s eyes and saw that he meant every word.

“Oh, Hon. You’re in the big leagues now,” Moriarty had laughed. “I always win one way or another. You should see me in a crown.”

“Sherlock!” a voice calls across the dock, bringing Sherlock back to reality.

He whirls where he stands to see Greg Lestrade hurrying toward him. He feels himself exhale a sigh of relief in spite of himself. Greg is at his side in a blink and brings with him the welcome warmth of friendship. Sherlock has to admit he is glad he’s not alone in this endeavor. He’s a derby coach, not a bloody detective. He rolls his eyes at himself. He’s starting to sound like John, for god sake.

“Got here as fast as I could,” Greg is breathless. “Have you found them?”

“No,” Sherlock answers with regret, “but they are on Moriarty’s boat. It’s called ‘The Crown’.”

“The fuck?!” Greg puts his hands on his hips, still breathing a little hard. “How do you know that?”

“They’re out there somewhere on the lake. They need a place to kill John, if they haven’t already,” Sherlock says over Greg’s words. He looks at him impatiently. “I need your boat.”

“Yeah, you said on the phone,” Greg answers, still a bit befuddled, “but Jesus, Sherlock, kill him?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sherlock loses his cool and shouts in Greg’s face. “They’ve tried twice already! Why wouldn’t they try again, especially since John defied his orders!?”

“What?! What orders? What are you talking about?” Greg snaps back.

“John told you just this morning that he is not resigning,” Sherlock barks, annoyed by the waste of time. “Moriarty threatened me to make him resign.”

“He said he had a change of heart, not that Moriarty put him up to it!” Greg says loudly, anger building and laced with a touch of panic. “Fuck all, Sherlock, I can’t protect the two of you if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Sherlock replies in earnest frustration, trying not to think about what is happening to John while they stand here squabbling. He does understand Greg’s point, but every minute they waste is another off John’s life. If he is still alive. Christ, he has to find John. He has to see him again and kiss him and tell him he loves him. He can’t lose John now, not like this.

“I need your boat!” Sherlock snarls, accosting Greg and scrabbling at his pockets for the keys.

“All right, all right!” Greg slaps his hands away and turns. “Come on.”

He takes off in a run and Sherlock follows hot on his heels.They jump onto one of the larger boats in the marina. Sherlock has been on it before, but he couldn’t have picked it out of a

crowd. He and Greg have had drinks both on deck and in its cabin multiple times. It makes for a good off-site location to talk strategy or plan goals for the year. Greg has small parties on it from time to time, which one might think would be too crowded, but its cabin is deceptively large with a small bedroom, kitchenette and dining space, and two small lounges to boot. A few of Greg’s vacations have consisted of merely sailing away for a week or two. Sherlock has considered buying one for himself, but sailing without a first mate is a rather unappealing venture. Perhaps with John… Oh god, John.

Greg turns the key and the engine rumbles to life.

“Which way?” he asks hurriedly, turning the steering wheel and looking behind as they start backing out.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock confesses numbly.

“You don’t know?!” Greg’s head whips around to look at him in disbelief. “Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s eyes flit over every boat in sight and come to rest on one skating across the water. There’s something about it, its rapid pace while everything around it is slow. His laser sharp gaze shoots to his incredulous captain and then runs over the boat’s dashboard, stopping suddenly on a pair of binoculars to the far right of the steering wheel. Without a word, he lunges for it, just missing Greg with his outstretched limbs.

“Jesus, Sherlock!” Greg ducks to the left, not taking his hands from the wheel so the boat doesn’t veer off course. “The fuck are you doing?”

Sherlock does not respond. With the binoculars in hand, he turns to leap gracefully onto the cushioned passenger seats that line the sides and back of the boat’s deck. He sees it as soon as he focuses the binoculars on the boat: black letters in elegant script along the side by its bow that read ‘The Crown’. He pans up to see its driver and his heart fills with dread. She would never reveal herself if John was meant to survive.

“There,” Sherlock points, following the boat with the magnifying lenses. “Ten o’clock, about 200 yards, heading west at 20 miles per hour.”

“I see it,” Greg acknowledges as he straightens their boat, getting in line for pursuit. “We should tell the police we found them.”

“Why?” Sherlock throws over his shoulder dismissively. “No one’s called them.”

“You haven’t...Jesus Christ, Sherlock!” Greg lays into him right as he opens the throttle.

For the first time since spotting The Crown, Sherlock takes his eyes from the binoculars. He shrugs when he meets Greg’s furious death glare.

“What was I to say? I think my friend was kidnapped even though I just spoke with him and he said everything was fine?” he snaps fiercely, cocking his head. “They would have laughed in my face.”

“There’s a record of attempted murder, Sherlock,” Greg’s voice is clipped, his words harsh. “Maybe if you’d asked for the detective on his case…”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock’s lip curls in disdain. “Even that idiot would have doubted my objectivity. Probably would’ve thought it was some absurd cover for making John disappear myself.”

“Oh, for the love of…” Greg glances away and huffs before looking back at The Crown. They may be following it at a good clip, but he is trying not to make it obvious. With a look of approval on his features, Sherlock returns his eyes to the binoculars. His lips press into a firm line as he watches, keenly aware of the fact that nothing below deck is visible and that is surely where Moran or Moriarty are. They could be doing any number of things to John on that boat. He could be dead already and they are simply dumping the body.

No.

No, he can’t believe that. John is not dead. He can’t be dead. He would fight. Fight until the end. He would never give up.

“Sherlock,” Greg’s loud voice snaps him from his thoughts before they can spiral down that hole. Sherlock turns his head away from the binoculars and toward Greg, who glares at him with every opportunity. “We are chasing them now. On a boat. You said yourself John’s on no pleasure cruise.”

“But I have no proof of that!” Sherlock insists angrily while Greg slaps a palm to his own forehead.

“Call. Them,” he snarls, every ounce of his furious gaze focused on the coach. “Now.”

Staring at him icily, Sherlock tears his phone from his pocket and dials. They are on the open water now and Greg carefully matches The Crown’s speed. They will be suspicious enough without speeding to overtake it. They will have to at some point though and Sherlock needs to come up with a plan in the meantime. A fucking spectacular plan.

“911. What is your emergency?” the bland voice of an operator cracks on the line.

“A man is being assaulted in the middle of Lake Erie on a small boat called The Crown,” Sherlock explains efficiently, if not irritably. “I am heading toward it now to help. The men on the boat are armed.”

“Sir? Sir!” there is frantic typing behind the woman’s voice, which has much increased in intensity after her indifferent greeting. “Sir, do not approach the boat. If the men are armed, they are dangerous. We’ll have your GPS coordinates momentarily. Wait for law enforcement.”

“They’ll be different by the time you get them and he’ll be dead if I wait for you to catch up!” Sherlock barks into the phone and ends the call. He pockets his phone, rather than throwing it in frustration like he wants to, and fixes a steely gaze on The Crown through the lenses of the binoculars. He can feel Greg’s furious, incredulous stare boring into the side of his head. “You wanted me to call them,” he shrugs.

“Fucking hell, Sherlock,” Greg mutters in exasperation. “Lying to the police?!”

“Lying?” Sherlock bellows, facing Greg with fire in his eyes. “It’s true! It’ll be happening by the time we get there if it isn’t already!” he turns away again to stare into the binoculars. “Now shut up so I can think of a way out of this!”

Sherlock clenches his jaw and hopes Greg thinks the vibrations quaking through his body are the result of anger and not fear. He has to think of something. John Watson cannot die today and Sherlock hopes with everything that’s in him that he is not dead already. God, Sherlock can’t even imagine his life without John. In the few months he has known John, Sherlock has never felt so close or so connected with anyone else in his life. Even Molly. Sharing his bed last night was the most natural, wonderful thing he has ever done and he wants to do it again. He’ll do it forever, if John will let him. Oh god, John. His love, his life.

Save the doctor. Save the world.

Sherlock’s brows shoot up to hide under the curls dripping onto his forehead. He pulls back from the binoculars, his lips parted and eyes sharp. He has a plan. It is certainly not brilliant, but hopefully it will be good enough.

***

“Do you know how many sunken boats are in the Erie, John?” Moriarty asks in a smug and utterly delighted tone.

The boat is still and all four of its occupants are on deck. John’s hands are tied tightly behind his back and the pull of it makes the wound from Moran’s misfired gunshot even more painful. When the gun went off, it was no longer pointed at John’s chest, thank god. However, the bullet grazed his side and Moran has taken great pleasure in bumping or jabbing the wound at every opportunity. The side of John’s dark shirt is soaked with blood and he is certain it will need stitches, if he gets out of this alive that is.

John looks down at Moran, who is currently on his knees before John, with calculating eyes. The man ignores his glare and continues to fasten heavy weights to his tightly tied ankles. John also wears a belt of weights around his waist. He will go straight to the bottom, no doubt about it, and he has no idea how to get out of this.

The Crown has stopped somewhere in the middle of the lake, still in the view of other boats, but far enough away that no one can help John, or even tell that he is in trouble. Moriarty could put him in the water with all the dramatic flare of a circus ringmaster without attracting the attention of the nearest boat. From what John can tell, no one in the boats nearest them has any intention of paying even the slightest bit of attention, except...

There is one certain boat that seems to be slowly approaching them and that troubles John immensely. Sherlock was meant to lead the police here, not come after John on his own. Even though he knows the others have seen it too, John tries not to watch the boat, but his eyes keep glancing in that direction as Moriarty croons and Moran ties strong knots on weights that make John feel so incredibly heavy.

John glances at Moriarty, who looks at him with an almost friendly smile and seems to be waiting for him to answer. John shifts his gaze back to Moran and then rests it on their unwavering driver, who leans against the wheel and watches the proceedings without comment. He feels a sense of antipathy in the pit of his stomach that grows and works its way up to his chest. John swallows down the bile of it burning in his throat and addresses her directly.

“Why would you throw in with this?” John spits the words, nodding sharply in Moriarty’s direction with disgust. She stands up straight and turns slowly to face him full-on. She wears a dull expression on her face and cocks her head to the side.

“The money,” Sarah ‘Bone Crusher’ Sawyer shrugs unapologetically, a look of boredom in her eyes. John sneers and looks away from her with the huff of an angry laugh. “I know you’d like it to be something else, John. Blackmail or a sick relative who needs expensive treatments, but it really is just the money.”

John meets her passive eyes, his own burning with barely contained fury. A few seconds pass and then Sarah smiles slyly. Just smiles like she would an opponent on the track right before the whistle blows, like she knows something they don’t.

“Two thousand,” Moriarty answers his own question, disregarding their conversation entirely. Moran chuckles loudly from where he is still tying weights to John’s ankles, a dark, ugly sound. John breaks his glare with Sarah to glance down at the man as he secures the last of the five pound weights. Moran surveys his own handiwork and stands, giving John a menacing grin.

“The most of all the great lakes,” Moriarty continues almost gleefully. “Do you know how many of those shipwrecks have been found?”

He steps right up to John, invading his personal space. His eyes rake down John’s body and back up. Wearing a lascivious grin, he hooks a finger in the belt loop next to John’s buckle and tugs lightly. John easily keeps his balance, but sways closer to Moriarty. The man swoops in suddenly and licks John’s lower lip slowly, holding him in place as he does it. John suppresses his body’s near jerk of surprise and just angles himself backwards as best he can, but does not turn his head. He will not give any indication that this bastard has caught him off guard. When Moriarty pulls away, his lips twist in a smug and satisfied smile, his eyes full of hunger. John makes no response, his face stony and lined with fury.

“Three hundred seventy-five,” Moriarty says in a low, but playful voice. “Eighteen percent. Just eighteen percent, John.”

“Do you have a point or are you just your propensity for useless trivia?” John finally snaps, wanting the bastard to shut the hell up and get out of his face, but not willing to give him the satisfaction of showing it.

“Only this,” Moriarty laughs lightly and then ducks in close to John again to whisper conspiratorially. “If they can only find a fraction of such large objects lost in this lake, they’ll never find you.”

His last four words come out in a dark and sinister tone. John does not break eye contact and suppresses a shudder that starts working its way up his spine. The man before him is not just some misguided bam pot with occasional psychotic tendencies, he is a full blown lunatic. Trying to talk him out of his fantasy or appeal to his sense of decency would be useless. The man has no conscience. Sherlock had called him a sociopath, rather than a psychopath. He was wrong.

“Oh, look!” Moriarty cries, looking out over the lake at the boat following them. It had stopped a few yards away right around the same time that they laid anchor, but it is moving toward them again. “It’s coming right for us.”

They all watch as it slowly closes the gap between them. Moriarty suddenly grabs John’s chin with one hand and jerks his head back to face him. They are very close and John can feel the man’s hot breath on his face.

“You know it’s him,” Moriarty breathes in a hoarse, threatening whisper. “Look at how he cares for you, his damsel in distress.”

“You don’t have to do this,” John finds himself saying. He knows there is no talking Moriarty out of this, but he can’t stop himself from trying. He must do anything he can to save Sherlock. He feels it down in his bones and in his heart. He would give himself for this man every time.

“John,” Moriarty looks like he is addressing a child who has done something particularly cute, “are you begging for his life? Is that what this is?”

“It’s not worth it,” John continues, ignoring Moriarty’s taunts. “Not for the championship or to prove you’re better than him.”

Moriarty barks with uproarious laughter. The shuddering pleasure makes him step back a bit, giving John an unobstructed view of the other boat. He can see most of the driver clearly, but his face is obstructed. John’s heart is in his throat and his breath catches because he would know that body anywhere. Goddammit, why didn’t Sherlock call the police?

“Is that what you think?” Moriarty asks in mock surprise, regaining John’s attention with a light pinch to his chin. He leans in close again, their noses almost touching. “I told you once, I want to destroy him.”

John blinks wide, shock jolting through his body when Moriarty suddenly taps his lips against John’s nose in a light kiss. John jerks his head back instinctively and gapes at Moriarty’s wicked smile, too startled to pull himself together for a few seconds, but his mouth soon settles into a scowl that spreads over his features. The embers of anger in his belly are now a full-blown fire of rage and he flexes against the tight ropes bound around his wrists, willing himself to break them. God, he would tear this man’s throat out if he could.

“It’s not about victory,” Moriarty continues casually like he is simply straightening John’s tie before a picnic with friends and telling him how much he hates the potato salad that is sure to be there. He kisses John’s cheek deftly and John tries to squirm out of his grasp, the fire stoking, but Moriarty only holds on tighter.

“It’s about revenge,” he whispers into John’s face. His voice is full of menace and promise, and he nips at John’s other cheek. This time John just twitches slightly at the touch, his eyes remaining on Moriarty’s. They are mesmerizing him like some sort of hypnotism and John can’t look away. “I offered him everything once and he refused. No one says no to me, John. No. One.”

Moriarty presses into John and covers his mouth with his own. He pulls John’s hair violently, provoking a cry of surprise and pain as John’s head tips back. Moriarty’s tongue plunges into John’s mouth and tangles around his tongue, working quickly with great sweeps and savage sucks. John moves his head from side to side in an effort to escape, fury seeping from every pore. It feels like every hair on his head is ripping out of his scalp, but he will not stop fighting. He viciously clamps his teeth down on Moriarty’s tongue, but it slips away before he can find purchase. Moriarty’s response to the attempt is strong fingers suddenly gripping John’s injured side, making him groan in pain even as his anger flares. He lashes out the only way he can and lurches at Moriarty, teeth snapping as he goes, but Moran catches him before he can topple to the ground with Moriarty beneath him. As Moran roughly sets John right again, doling out another sharp jab to his side. Moriarty’s stilted laughter echoes across the water, only rivaled by the engine of Sherlock’s boat, now almost next to The Crown.

“I’ve tried a lot of things, John, and I’ve waited for the perfect weakness. His Achilles heel,” Moriarty has one hand on each of John’s cheeks now, holding him in place. He is panting with a most disturbing energy. John tries to jerk his head away, but it’s no use. Moriarty’s hands are like a vice and he forces John to look into his eyes again as he whispers savagely. “It’s you. This will destroy him. He. Loves. You.”

Moriarty lingers for a few seconds, breathing John’s air, telling him what he intends to do with every flick of his cold, soulless eyes. He pulls away suddenly and steps up onto one of the deck’s built in seats. Waving unnecessarily and calling out in an almost manic sing-song to the boat that is nearly side by side to theirs.

“Is that you, Sherlock?” Moriarty’s smile grows when the boat pulls up next to them, a scowl firmly set on the lanky coach’s face. John’s heart sinks. Moriarty holds his arms out wide. “I always said you should see me in a crown. Beautiful, isn’t she? We could have had some great times in her, Sherrrrlock. Just you and me.”

Sherlock turns off his engine and moves to stand in the middle of his boat’s deck. It is larger than The Crown and sits slightly higher in the water, so he looks down his nose at them with a grim expression. His eyes are hard as steel. An eerie silence overtakes them and it seems like even the far away reverie of the other boats on the lake has gone. Suddenly theirs are the only two boats in the water, like some kind of grand stand-off.

“Let him go,” is all Sherlock says, his voice loud and commanding.

“Oh, no, no, no. That’s not how this game goes,” Moriarty cackles, genuinely amused.

“This isn’t a game,” Sherlock replies sternly, his voice rumbling with hate.

“Isn’t it?” Moriarty asks calmly, jumping down from the bench to land on The Crown’s deck. He places a finger to his lips as if thinking. He rolls his eyes skyward and inhales deeply before looking back at Sherlock. “It’s all about derby. Isn’t that what you think? It’s what your doctor thinks.”

“No,” Sherlock answers simply. Moriarty’s brows shoot up in surprise, his eyes widening for a split-second. He steps closer to the side of The Crown, places both hands on its side and leans forward slightly.

“Oh?” he cocks an ear in Sherlock’s direction.

“No,” Sherlock does not take the bait to come closer and stays where he is. “This is about you and me. About rejection and humiliation.”

“You should have let me fuck you,” Moriarty growls, his eyes growing dark. His hands grasp hard at the boat and his knuckles are white. “You should have let me have you. No one has ever refused me, the Great Jim Moriarty, King of the Track. Except you.”

“True,” it is a guttural sound that shakes John to the core with its hate and passion.

“You take a little more of my life every year. One more piece lost with every championship,” Moriarty sighs, tilting his head down and lowering his eyes almost reverently. When he raises his eyes again, they are narrow slits or pure evil. “If it was anyone else it wouldn’t matter, but you… It’s always you.”

His final words are so vicious that John flinches minutely under their power. John’s gaze is locked on Sherlock, who has not spared him even a glance so as to keep his eyes on the enemy. Moriarty looks like an animal ready to pounce and John has no doubt he would rip out Sherlock’s heart if given the chance.

John feels restless, his whole body on edge from the crackling in the air. It is like a powder keg about to explode. Moriarty’s fuse is burning at full force, getting shorter and shorter with every word. What the fuck is Sherlock’s plan to get them out of this and how can John help? He should do something, say something! He should be distracting Moriarty somehow or clobbering Moran. He tests the rope wrapped around his wrists. Clenching his fists and straightening his fingers a few times, he finds the bonds are tight, but could be loosened with time. How much time, John does not know, but it’s a start. Shifting his eyes to Moran to make sure he is not watching, John begins shifting his wrists within the rope. He twists them this way and that as imperceptibly as possible, resisting the temptation to bite his lip with the effort and ignoring the pain radiating from his side.

“So ruin my career. Put me in the hospital. Kill me!” Sherlock snarls, fury building even as he struggles to rein it in. Moriarty is already shaking his head before Sherlock finishes the first sentence.

“That won’t do it, Sherlock. It’s not what I want,” he leans over the side and growls low in a voice befitting a demon. “I want to destroy you. Tear out your heart and end your life.”

Moriarty straightens again and backs from The Crown’s edge, closer to John and Moran.

“I thought your insipid little friend, but…” Moriarty’s pitch is back in its appropriate octave and it makes the small, knowing smile he wears all the more sinister. He gestures to John with a grandiose bow. “This is your heart. This is your life, and I. Will. End. It.”

As if on cue, Moran wraps his big hands around John’s biceps and pushes him to the far side of The Crown. The top of the side comes to right about the middle of John’s thigh and he would easily topple over if pushed, especially when restrained and covered with weights. In spite of the obvious intent, Sherlock does not move or flinch. John knows he does not want to tip his hand, but his visible lack of concern still squeezes John’s heart.

“You will not succeed,” Sherlock says coldly, careful to show no emotion but anger. “You failed to kill Molly and you only harmed your own spy when you tried for Harry.”

“Oh, you know about little Ginger, do you?” the villain huffs out a surprised laugh. “And I suppose Sarah is no shocker either.”

“You fail to defeat Rock City on the track,” Sherlock continues as though the man had said nothing. “Failure is your life. Your idiom and you will fail now too. It is inevitable.”

Moriarty’s jaw is clenched tightly shut, the thin muscles beneath his skin working fast. His entire form is tight as ripcord, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Eyes blazing, body twitching every few seconds as if he is trying to keep from jumping into Sherlock’s boat to bite off his head, Moriarty manages a wry smile. It gradually grows into a terrifying grin worthy of a monster. In the silence that follows, Moran’s fingers tighten around John’s arms. He knows what is coming and is powerless to stop it. His mind should jump to action and find a way out, but that is not what his mind does. Instead it plays through all of his memories of Sherlock. He sees everything they have done, every moment shared, every expression and every word.

I love you.

John’s mind zeros in on that moment, that voice. Sherlock’s voice. Sincere, honest, so full of adoration and love. Genuine love from a man who, until now, had guarded his heart with such vigor.

Suddenly, it all becomes astoundingly clear. The clouds are lifted and John’s eyes see what he has been forever hidden from him. His own feelings bubbling to the surface with such force it nearly knocks him off his feet. Every part of his body tingles and his heart explodes in his chest. He knows what it is! He knows what to call the feeling he has danced around for weeks. He should have known long ago, but just couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it. He has never felt it for anyone before, hadn’t even thought himself capable, and he will never feel this way about anyone else. Only Sherlock.

John locks fierce blue eyes on Sherlock and feels an immediate warmth bloom in his chest. He has to say it. He has to tell Sherlock how he feels before it’s too late. Let the words pass through his lips at least once before they are forever silenced. John opens his mouth to speak, as Moriarty tilts his head and Moran pushes John over the side of The Crown. He twists his body instinctively, but his bounds allow for no movement sufficient to save his life.

“Sherlock!” is all John gets out before his words are cut off by the water that swallows him whole.

---

AAAARRRRRRHHHGGGGGGUUMMMM! Jane. Jane!!!!! WHY? Two cliffhangers in a row??? What happened to our fairly safe and highly amusing Johnlock meets roller derby? I just can’t help myself. I am the Empress of Evil, the Harbinger of Doom. Oo, I should’ve put that on the back of my t-shirt. Haha.

Oh, my poor John, thrown into certain death. He got away from Moran not once, but twice, but can he escape this? It doesn’t look good. And what of Sherlock’s plan? Does John being in the water toss the whole thing in the scrapheap? We shall see in the next chapter and, while we’re talking about chapters let me just say that I’ve added one more. You have a little more to look forward to. ☺

Thank you all for your love and support. Thank you to my lovely beta, MyBreadAndButter. She always brings out the best in me, as do all of you. I love you, my friends. Stay well and stay safe. Jane

---

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