Sherlock Holmes & The Knights Templar

chapter 6

John wrapped the thin blanket around him. Cold, it was so cold, and so silent and dark. John found himself wishing for Moriarty to come back, at least it would be someone to talk to. Finally John curled up under the blanket and tried to get some sleep. When he next woke up Moriarty was bending over him.

"John, can you hear me? You must be running a fever, you are so warm. I've got to get you out of here." Without another word Moriarty picked up John and slung him gently over his shoulder.

When John finally regained consciousness, he was so confused. "Where am I?" John thought as he sat up. He was in a bedroom, and a very nice one judging from the brocade curtains that surrounded the bed. John pulled the covers up and noticed that he was wearing silk pajamas. "Well, at least I'm not naked," John mused. Cautiously, John pulled back the bed curtains and peeked out. The room was beautiful, old books filled floor to ceiling shelves, the room was dimly lit but no so that one couldn't read if one wanted to. Persian carpets covered the floor, a desk stood in one corner, and it stood opposite a beautiful Louis the 16th blue couch. In the corner Moriarty sat at a piano playing the second movement from Mozart's Piano Concerto #23; his face had a peaceful look on it that John had never seen before. For a moment John let the magic of the music wash over him. How could someone so evil reproduce the music of Mozart with such purity, such honesty?

Moriarty stopped playing and smiled at John. He was wearing a blue T-Shirt and black jeans, his raven black hair was ruffled, making him look much younger than John had first imagined. "John, how are you feeling?" Moriarty got up from the piano and switched on some music that blared from the entertainment system, the song was Mama, from The Black Parade, by My Chemical Romance. Moriarty marched and sang, "Mama we all go to hell." The volume of the music was so loud that John covered his ears. For a moment it appeared that Moriarty didn't even know that John was in the room. The next song to play was Losing You, by Dead by April. Moriarty screamed out the lyrics with such force that he soon lost his voice. Seeing John's discomfort Moriarty walked over and turned down the volume of the sound system. The next song was Capricious Horses sung by Vysotsky. Moriarty sang the Russian words softly and then he went over to a 19th century oak paneled bar and poured himself a drink. "John, would you like a drink?"

John shook his head. How could someone switch gears so quickly and then John thought of Sherlock. Sherlock could. Thinking of Sherlock gave John a burst of courage. "How long are you going to keep me here before you kill me?" John asked softly.

Moriarty looked horrified. "Jesus, John, I have no attention of killing you. I want you to share in my discoveries. John, I love you, I would do anything for you."

John crossed the room in a couple of strides and stood in front of Moriarty. "Then let me go, please."

Moriarty clasped his hands behind his back to keep John from seeing how hard they shook. "I can't let you go, John, at least not yet. Come over here I want to show you something on the computer."

John's face was so pale and wan, that Moriarty began to worry. "Never mind, John, you don't look well." Moriarty reached up and touched John's forehead. "I think you are still running a fever, go back to bed. Don't worry I'll take the couch. You know I wasn't always this way," Moriarty whispered shyly.

John swallowed and then looked down at the ground; the sadness in Moriarty's eyes confused him. Moriarty was his enemy and John must never forget that. A wave of nausea overcame John and he sank to the floor and began to vomit. Moriarty rushed to his side and grabbed a blanket off of the bed. Gently Moriarty steadied John's head as he dry heaved into the blanket. John stood up and let Moriarty lead him back to bed. "John, you see, even though the darkness has taken my soul, I still reflect a flicker of light now and then." Moriarty said as he helped John get into bed and under the covers. Moriarty smiled knowingly as he picked up a damp cloth on the nightstand so he could bathe John's forehead. "You see, John, individuals like Sherlock and I can't lose the ones we love. If we do it burns that heart out of us, it makes us evil and dark. However, John you are light, you are not just on the side of the angels, you are an angel. Grief tears you down, but it does not rot your soul. You would never give in to the darkness. Now get some rest and I will give you answers when you are well. John, I feel so tired sometimes, that I wish that I had blown my brains out on the top of St. Bart's. I know your heart belongs to Sherlock and that I will never be able to possess an angel like yourself. You know John; I loved a girl named Anna when I was a child. She was stuck down by a car trying to save me. When she died in my arms my whole world went black. Once you have crossed the line of darkness like I have, there is no redemption."

John looked up into Moriarty's dark eyes. "I don't believe that. I believe that everyone can be redeemed."

Moriarty laughed and sat down on the bed next to John. "John, you are such a child," Moriarty whispered as he bent down and kissed John's jaw. "I want to make you mine. I want to consume you and I want that consumption to take a hold of you like a raging fire." Moriarty leaned forward and slid his hand across John's chest as he buried his face in John's neck. "John, you undo me. You know it will be you that destroys me, not Sherlock."

John tried to squirm away from Moriarty in an effort to keep his body from responding to the physical stimuli. "God, Moriarty sure knew which buttons to push", John thought.

Moriarty sighed and angrily pushed himself off of the bed. "Goodnight, John." A few moments later Moriarty came back with some juice and two aspirin. "John, take these, don't worry they're just aspirin."

John held out his hand and obediently took the aspirin. "Thank you, Moriarty," he mumbled.

Moriarty paused and then turned around to look back at John. "Please call me, Jim." Without another word Moriarty quietly left the room.

Sherlock pointed to the Human DNA chart on the wall. "Don't you see that's the pattern?"

Mycroft and Mary glanced at each other in confusion. Mycroft was the first to speak. "Explain, Sherlock."

"The DNA pattern can't you see? My God how can you both be so stupid?" Sherlock hissed. "That's the same pattern as the Gold Weaving in the little infant of Prague's vestments. Take the gold from vestments and put them together and it is the Alpha sign. Do a 3D projection of those same patterns and it is the Human DNA helix. You can see it now can't you?"

"Sherlock, we can both see it now, however what does it mean?" Mary snapped.

Sherlock paced around the room and fingered his jaw and then his head shot up so quickly that Mary was surprised that he didn't get whiplash from the quick, jerky movement.

"Mycroft, Mary, we are looking at the ancient formula for transmutation of the human body. Every religion has a transmutation theory. The Rosicrucian's belief was not just a metaphysical one; it was a scientific theory as well. It is a way to astral project the body in more than one place at the same time." Sherlock whispered.

"So, how does it work, little brother?" Mycroft drawled.

For the first time Sherlock looked lost. "I don't know. I am going to have to study it. There's one thing for certain, we need to get John out of there as soon as possible. If this transmutation formula is for real, it could explain how Moriarty appeared to blow his brains out on top of St. Bart's Hospital, and then reappear only to mock us on every English Television. It could explain many things." Sherlock mused.

Back at the safe house, Sherlock glanced at the computer in front of him. Every time he thought he was going to crack the transmutation code, another problem would blow his theory apart. "Damn it," Sherlock swore, making Mycroft and Mary jump. Sherlock began to pace and swear. He finally stopped in front of Mycroft. "We have to get John; I can't solve this without him." Sherlock whispered in defeat.

Mary rolled her eyes and was surprised at Mycroft's answer. "Perhaps, you're right little brother, we'll send in a team tomorrow."

Sherlock reached out and grabbed Mycroft's arm. "No, I want him rescued tonight."

Mycroft looked to Mary for support. "Sherlock, I'm not letting you in on the rescue attempt. You are emotionally compromised."

Sherlock knew that Mycroft was correct; as he slammed his laptop shut and stormed out of the room.