[hotel verse]

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

It works a lot like last time. He wakes up, still in his suit and tie, with his arm slipped around Jim's waist. The way the used to when they were in school.

The thought occurs to him, the crash of old ideas and new, schoolboy adoration and rooftop loathing.

He draws in a quick breath and stays purposefully, staring down at Moriarty in confusion, taking slow stock of how close they're entwined.

Comments

[napoleonofcrime]

He doesn't wake up at once this time- when he does, several minutes later, it's slow, quiet. Jim blinks the clouds from his eyes, feels the warmth next to him, and looks up, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Sherlock again.

But there was something different, this time. Something more, something deeper- Jim swallows hard and shifts, moving away from him.

"Here again?"

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Apparently."

Sitting up. Without thinking, he looks around for their cat. (Who had been Sherlock's cat, sort of but also very much their cat.) Godot isn't here, of course.

"I'll check the door."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Go ahead."

He sits up as well, trying to sort through the mess of memories that he was suddenly presented with. The drugs and the soft words and the skin.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He tries the handle.

"No luck."

Taking a deep breath, not turning to him yet. He remembers muffling screams.

[napoleonofcrime]

He stares up toward the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

"Fake memories- must be the new thing for the hotel."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Are they fake, or merely alternate?"

He asks, forehead resting on the wood.

"They seem- plausible."

[napoleonofcrime]

He looks up at him, sharply.

"Do they, now?"

Mocking, sarcastic.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He finally turns to face him, shrugging.

"When I found out about that murder, I tried desperately to get transferred. After talking to Mycroft about it... I overdosed."

If he'd intended to let him go, that would have undone it. The difference of a few minute crumbs of one illicit substance.

[napoleonofcrime]

"I wouldn't have even been there. I was transferred out a month later- too boring there, too much destruction in my wake."

Though, if Sherlock had been there...

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I'd have been there within the month. Writing you notes."

Smiling at the memory, unconsciously.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Shut up."

He stands.

"It wouldn't have happened."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Sherlock shrugs.

"It's going to end badly."

[napoleonofcrime]

"We've already tied up one timeline."

He stands, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I suppose it's the only thing we have left, now."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I don't-"

No. This is going to go terribly.

"I wish I could go back in time and shake myself."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Why? I can be quite charming when I want to be."

He laughs.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Charming, yes. Considerate and sane?"

No.

"You won't follow the rules I set, and I won't cope with a world where you hate me."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Then you kill yourself and I win."

He shrugs.

"Sounds like a decent alternative."

Except Jim won't cope with Sherlock being dead. They both know that.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You won't out think me."

He informs him, back of his head hitting the wood.

"I'll do it just because you ask. I'll see ways out, of course, just like I did in my world. But the game will be wasted."

[napoleonofcrime]

"You proved that we're different on the rooftop."

Curling his lip a little.

"I used your precious morals against you. If it had been my allies you had at gunpoint, I'd have let them all die. That's the difference between us, Sherlock. That's why I can tell you to jump in the alternate."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I suppose the question will be whether or not, after all those years, you will look me in the eyes and let me."

He admits, shrugging.

"I suspect you will. But I can't survive in all worlds, and I suppose I'll deserve it, for allowing myself to be so thoroughly compromised."

[napoleonofcrime]

"If it were you and me right now, I would."

He takes a step closer, his face transforming into the limpid doe-eyed Jim from IT. He looks suddenly too small for his suit, awkward, nervous.

"Jump for me, Sherlock?"

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I don't have a ledge."

He points out, head hitting the wood again, eyes closed.

"And we come back to the necrophilia issue."

[napoleonofcrime]

"That's right."

He sighs, drawing the consulting criminal back around him like a cloak.

"A little boring. We've already been here before."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He drops down to sit on the floor, back leant against the door.

"I have no interest in doing this again."

[napoleonofcrime]

"You and me both, darling."

He gestures to the bed.

"But, while we're here..."