FIC: Inevitable
Jan. 30th, 2009 12:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prof_pangaeaTitle: Inevitable
Author: professor pangaea
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Disclaimer: Mr. Holmes and the eminent Professor James Moriarty are now in the public domain, but of course I give ultimate credit and thanks for their existence to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Summary: The immutability of the autumn, the inevitability of the spring.
Notes: Written to cheer up![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eponymous_rose; she gave me the prompt "Holmes, Moriarty and a tree". Thanks to lizbee for looking it over.
The professor stood underneath a large, spreading oak. The promise of spring was held in the tiny green leaves which unfurled, fresh and vibrant, all along its branches. Holmes watched him from afar. He knew how to blend in amongst the multitudes who strolled through Regent's Park, how to see without being seen.
So Moriarty stood, and Holmes watched.
Moriarty seemed quite at ease, enjoying the sights and smells of new growth and damp soil. He took his top hat off and let a faint breeze brush across his bare head, disarranging his thin hair. He smoothed it back with his right hand in a gesture that Holmes recognised from his youth with a strange, sad pang. The image of a much younger Moriarty formed unbidden in his mind; the professor standing in front of a problem on a blackboard, rolling a piece of chalk back and forth in his left hand while the fingers of his right hand ran absently through his hair; still grey, but not nearly so thin. How the soft strands would curl round the back of his ears.
There was only a month or two left for him. Perhaps three at the outside. Then Holmes's carefully laid plans would have run their course, and Moriarty would be fettered, trapped. The police would have him and all the principal members of his gang, his organisation would be in pieces and his reputation ruined. Everything Moriarty had ever worked or cared for would be destroyed utterly. Holmes's nostrils quivered. It was inevitable, it was all laid out, and all that was needed was the performance of some routine gestures on his part and the passage of time. He felt as a painter or sculptor must, when studying a masterpiece they have made, that wants only the last few strokes of the brush, the last few rasps of the chisel. As a general must feel when he has waged war and has won, and waits only for his enemy to come to him and plead for mercy in his defeat.
He remembered being on the other side. Remembered the frustration of having the the man who had planned the affair with the French gold slip through his fingers, the helplessness with which he had listened to Birdy Edwards's fate. The simple disappointment when he, so young, so naive, had looked up from his chessboard to see Moriarty smile softly at him and say, "Checkmate."
He watched as Moriarty gazed up at the branches hanging over him. The professor looked contemplative and peaceful, and Holmes could not help but hope that he would be there to see Moriarty's face when everything finally ended. He thought that Moriarty would never know the feeling of peace again, and he thought that was good. Fitting. For when had Holmes truly known peace since Moriarty had intruded himself upon Holmes's life, all those years ago? Fleeting hours amongst the wilderness of years. Now they could be matched once more, each a mirror of the other's disquiet and devastation.
Moriarty put his hat back upon his head and then turned, and Holmes found the professor looking back at him calmly, without surprise. He stood, frozen and foolish, feeling as though he had suddenly been pushed to the edge of a tall precipice. Moriarty gazed at him for a few moments, his expression neutral, and then smiled at him. It was a strange smile, edged with amusement and not a little pride, and it made Holmes sick to his stomach. Then he touched his hand to the brim of his hat, turned, and walked slowly away.
Holmes watched him until he disappeared amongst the people and trees.
Two more months.
As always, feedback and criticism are both welcome and cherished.
Author: professor pangaea
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Disclaimer: Mr. Holmes and the eminent Professor James Moriarty are now in the public domain, but of course I give ultimate credit and thanks for their existence to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Summary: The immutability of the autumn, the inevitability of the spring.
Notes: Written to cheer up
eponymous_rose; she gave me the prompt "Holmes, Moriarty and a tree". Thanks to lizbee for looking it over.The professor stood underneath a large, spreading oak. The promise of spring was held in the tiny green leaves which unfurled, fresh and vibrant, all along its branches. Holmes watched him from afar. He knew how to blend in amongst the multitudes who strolled through Regent's Park, how to see without being seen.
So Moriarty stood, and Holmes watched.
Moriarty seemed quite at ease, enjoying the sights and smells of new growth and damp soil. He took his top hat off and let a faint breeze brush across his bare head, disarranging his thin hair. He smoothed it back with his right hand in a gesture that Holmes recognised from his youth with a strange, sad pang. The image of a much younger Moriarty formed unbidden in his mind; the professor standing in front of a problem on a blackboard, rolling a piece of chalk back and forth in his left hand while the fingers of his right hand ran absently through his hair; still grey, but not nearly so thin. How the soft strands would curl round the back of his ears.
There was only a month or two left for him. Perhaps three at the outside. Then Holmes's carefully laid plans would have run their course, and Moriarty would be fettered, trapped. The police would have him and all the principal members of his gang, his organisation would be in pieces and his reputation ruined. Everything Moriarty had ever worked or cared for would be destroyed utterly. Holmes's nostrils quivered. It was inevitable, it was all laid out, and all that was needed was the performance of some routine gestures on his part and the passage of time. He felt as a painter or sculptor must, when studying a masterpiece they have made, that wants only the last few strokes of the brush, the last few rasps of the chisel. As a general must feel when he has waged war and has won, and waits only for his enemy to come to him and plead for mercy in his defeat.
He remembered being on the other side. Remembered the frustration of having the the man who had planned the affair with the French gold slip through his fingers, the helplessness with which he had listened to Birdy Edwards's fate. The simple disappointment when he, so young, so naive, had looked up from his chessboard to see Moriarty smile softly at him and say, "Checkmate."
He watched as Moriarty gazed up at the branches hanging over him. The professor looked contemplative and peaceful, and Holmes could not help but hope that he would be there to see Moriarty's face when everything finally ended. He thought that Moriarty would never know the feeling of peace again, and he thought that was good. Fitting. For when had Holmes truly known peace since Moriarty had intruded himself upon Holmes's life, all those years ago? Fleeting hours amongst the wilderness of years. Now they could be matched once more, each a mirror of the other's disquiet and devastation.
Moriarty put his hat back upon his head and then turned, and Holmes found the professor looking back at him calmly, without surprise. He stood, frozen and foolish, feeling as though he had suddenly been pushed to the edge of a tall precipice. Moriarty gazed at him for a few moments, his expression neutral, and then smiled at him. It was a strange smile, edged with amusement and not a little pride, and it made Holmes sick to his stomach. Then he touched his hand to the brim of his hat, turned, and walked slowly away.
Holmes watched him until he disappeared amongst the people and trees.
Two more months.
As always, feedback and criticism are both welcome and cherished.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-01-30 11:25 pm (UTC)note to self: really try and get that great hiatus project off the ground. yes.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-31 01:04 am (UTC)did you ever consider taking that idea i had for a holmes/doctor crossover fic and turning it into a story? (i'll obviously never make anything of it!) you could use it as a prompt if you like.