The Transition Of Jim Moriarty To Richard Brook

Chapter 1: Dead Men Rise Up Never

Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing the characters for my own reasons. I give them back at the end of the day.

Don't forget to review/favourite/follow if you like this fic! It helps motivate me to write.

Earnestly yours, Joss Teagan.

John received the call when he was at Sherlock's grave, kneeling beside the headstone as rain poured down. It wasn't the first time he had visited his deceased friend's grave, nor would it be the last. If his mobile phone hadn't been on vibrate mode, he wouldn't even have realised Mycroft Holmes, the late Sherlock's older brother, was calling him. The onslaught of relentless rain deafened him, and the tinny chime of a phone wouldn't have reached his ears.

"Hello, Mycroft, guess where I am?"

"John, I'm having trouble hearing you- are you outside?"

"You say that like you don't have CCTV trained on me constantly." John yelled into the mouthpiece, hoping his voice wasn't silenced by the rain.

"John, I need you to come to the Diogenes club-"

"Piss off, Mycroft, too much has happened for us to have cosy chats and I won't be your dogsbody-"

"It's Moriarty. He's woken up."

John ended the call with a click.

***

He was very conscious of his wet shoes squeaking on the wood as he was led along by a grim-faced silent attendant. When he finally entered the familiar room, he sighed, the oppressive silence of the club no longer suffocating him.

"How long?" he said to Mycroft's tweed-covered back, as the older man placed a book on the bookshelf.

"A few hours. He's disorientated but lucid. I called you not long after I found out myself. Thank you for coming so quickly, John," Mycroft's gaze slipped from John's forehead to the wall behind him. "Thank you for coming at all."

"Had to, didn't I?" John gruffly muttered, glad Mycroft wasn't looking at him. He couldn't handle that penetrating stare right now. "And- where is he?"

"A hospital you're familiar with…"

"Bart's? He's at Bart's?" John's incredulous look of horror was ill-matched against the bland look on Mycroft's face.

Mycroft inclined his head. "Indeed."

"Mycroft, that man is a psychopath, he's a genius and dangerous. Hell, he was smart enough to fool you! And you've just got him lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by innocent people!"

"I assure you, we have armed guards stationed outside the door of his room. He is being monitored constantly and I will be informed of any changes in his recovery. John…he…doesn't remember."

"I, I don't follow you." John stepped closer, his eyes scanning Mycroft's face. he wished he could read a person, deduce them like Sher-

"He has been diagnosed with retrograde amnesia. Before…my brother jumped, Moriarty met with him on the roof of St. Bart's. We'll never know what was said during this encounter, but we know the consequences. Moriarty shot himself in the mouth and…Sherlock jumped. Of course, you and I both know that he had been successful in tarnishing my brother's reputation prior to the meeting, so perhaps he considered his work to be done. Moriarty doesn't reason things out in the way that sane people do, John, and I believe he truly intended to die. But he was lucky. He survived but paid the price with brain damage. In this case, memory loss."

"How badly is he affected?" John wished he could get his hands on the medical file. Mycroft gave him a steely look, leaning against his desk with his arms folded.