An Eye for an Eye (Doctor Who/Sherlock Crossover)

Defeating Death

    The air was thick with screams – just the way Sebastian Moran liked it.

    Hordes of people mobbed the body of that stuck-up, arrogant detective. Some panicked, some called 911, some checked his pulse, but they all screamed.

     Except for one.

    John Watson.

    He was taller than Sebastian remembered, that was for sure, but still just as sniveling and weak. Of course, they’d never been friends. John had always been suspicious of him in the army, and it was just icing on the cake when he’d reported Sebastian for murdering a fellow soldier.

    Dishonorably discharged. Oh, it was surprising how much those words still stung him, even now. Shooting people legally had been his salvation, and it had been taken away. All because of one stupid, cowardly doctor.

    Sebastian sat on the rooftop with his rifle balanced in his lap, trailing the doctor as he raced across the street. Idiot. Idiots, all of them. Even if he didn’t have a bird’s eye view, Sebastian would know that the ever so brilliant Sherlock Holmes had faked his own death. So stupid! How could no one else see? Why didn’t they understand?

   Living with Jim Moriarty hadn’t made him a genius, but it had at least taken away his utter blindness.

    All these normal people, all these insects, running around like their heads had been cut off…it made him sick.

    He could shoot John Watson. It would be so easy, so liberating. His skin crawled, his finger twitching on the trigger. Sherlock hadn’t killed himself – he’d jumped off the roof, but he wasn’t dead. Sebastian was sure Jim would understand, sure that he would commend him.

    Well he would. But Sebastian had seen him shoot himself, and there was no faking that.

    So who cared, then, if he killed John Watson? It would be revenge on Sherlock Holmes, that was for sure. An eye for an eye.

    Sherlock killed Moriarty, and now Sebastian would kill John.

    He took aim, his crosshairs aiming elegantly at the back of John’s head. The doctor was on the ground, sobbing, unable to see that Sherlock was stupidly, obviously alive. Some would call it a mercy killing. Surely he wished he was dead, and Sebastian could be his salvation.

    Counting down in his head, Sebastian held his breath, waiting for the satisfaction of yet another perfect kill.

    Three –

    Two –

    “Never knew you to be so rash, Seb.”

    One.

    Sebastian didn’t flinch, but he felt his heart drop. That voice. Slowly, he turned, never moving his gun, but taking his finger away from the trigger that hadn’t been pulled.

    “…Jim?”

    And there he was. In the flesh, blood covering his suit and the color drained from his cheeks. “Guess you haven’t been listening then? Revenge,” Moriarty said, blood dripping from his mouth, “should be slooooow.”

    “You’re dead. You killed yourself –”

    Moriarty didn’t hear him, but took weak, staggering steps towards him. He ran one hand through Sebastian’s hair, and with the other, he took his rifle. “You could shoot John now, and you could feel better, for a while. That’s what normal people do. But you’re not normal now are you, Sebby?” Moriarty grinned, and tossed the rifle behind him. “Plotting revenge will keep you happy for centuries.”

    Wordlessly, Sebastian retrieved his rifle and slung it over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the man he’d seen kill himself. Yes, there was a bullet hole in the back of his head. There was a hole in his head, for crying out loud!

    “Hospital,” he said eventually. “You need a hospital.”

    Moriarty laughed, blood bubbling in his throat. “I’m perfectly fine. And why waste a trip? They’d just tell you what you already know: I should be dead. Shouldn’t I?”

    Sebastian swallowed a lump in his throat. “Are you?” he whispered. “Are you dead?”

    “I’m not just another ghost in your head, if that’s what you’re asking.”

    “All right, then.”

    Sebastian tried to hide his confusion by turning around, observing the scene below. Sherlock was being taken into St. Bart’s by a stretcher, and John was still on the sidewalk. Still vulnerable. His rifle felt heavy on his shoulder.

    “Don’t be so thick, Seb! You’re missing the obvious. You’re just like them, down there, oblivious.”

    Sebastian turned, his flesh crawling. “I’m not missing anything! You shot yourself!”

    “Sherlock jumped off a building, and you and I both know that he faked that, now don’t we?” Moriarty’s smirk gleamed red, not white. “Open your eyes and look at me!”

    There was nothing to look at, except for a man bleeding from the skull, and dying. Sebastian shook his head, unable to see anything but failing organs before him.

    “Still nothing?” Moriarty sighed. “Quite all right, I suppose. You’re only human.”

    “So are you,” said Sebastian bitterly. “And you might think you’re above it all, but everyone has to die and I don’t understand why you’re fighting it.”

    “I’m not fighting death. I’m defeating it.”

    Moriarty held out his hand, grinning wide. Sebastian stared at it, watching as a faint gold dust spilled from his fingertips. “What the –”

    “I don’t die.” Jim exhaled deeply, his breath tainted gold as if it were cold outside. “It’s not my style.”

    And then Moriarty held his arms out like he was pinned to a cross. His head tipped back, and a gold light erupted from his arms and his mouth, shooting into buildings and up into the sky.

    Sebastian staggered back, blinded by the light. On instinct, he grabbed his rifle and aimed it straight ahead. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but his gut was telling him he should do one of two things: run, or be ready to shoot.

     And he wasn’t one to run away.

    After an agonizing few moments, the light faded. But Jim Moriarty was gone, and in his place stood a tall, blonde-haired man with a broad smirk, bony shoulders, and deep green eyes. He wore the same suit as Moriarty – and it was too big for him. He was skinnier than Moriarty, and he looked weaker.

    “Who the hell are you?” Sebastian demanded, aiming his rifle.

    “Come now, Seb. You know the answer. That’s not the question you really want to ask,” said the man.

    And Sebastian knew – he could tell that this was the same man. It was the eyes. Though different in color, they both held the same murderous, slightly psychotic glint that Sebastian had learned to know and love.

    “Jim,” he said, hesitantly lowering his firearm. “What are you?”

    Moriarty grinned, wide. He held out his arms and said, “Not human. Time lord.”