A Gift from Moriarty

I made this manipulation with stock I used from DeviantArt.com
Silver Chalice    Human Heart   Blood  
Screen caps are from Sherlock BBC Season2 Ep3 - The Reichenbach Fall

The fan fiction follows below - Hope you enjoy it.
Thanks for reading.

Until next time
Another Sherlockian♥

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Word count: 1800 

The smile on DI Lestrade’s face disappears after he flipped open the lids on the huge box standing on the desk in his office early Tuesday morning. Inside, he finds a smaller box with a bright red ribbon tied in a bow-knot on top of it, with an envelope addressed to Sherlock Holmes. Carefully, he moves the box aside and reaches for the phone.

“Have a secret admirer, Boss?” Detective Sally Donovan asks standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Shaking his head, Greg replies. “It’s for Sherlock Holmes.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why they didn’t deliver it to Baker Street.”

Donovan frowns. “But it was addressed to you. I put it on your desk myself yesterday evening at seven before I went home.” She pulls the box closer, flips the lids until she finds the one with Greg’s name written on it, and points it out to him. “See, attention DI Lestrade.” She reaches inside the box and removes the one with the red bow.

“Leave that alone, Sally,” Greg demands.

Before she can replies with a snarky remark he raises his hand and starts a conversation over the phone. “Yes. DI Lestrade here, please send someone over to my office with a sniffer dog. There’s a parcel here I want them to check out.”

“Do you think it’s the freak’s birthday?” she asks smirking after he put the phone down.

“Jesus Sally, stop calling him that. He has a name you know.”

She puts the box back and shrugs before she leaves his office.

Greg removes the box and places it on the chair standing against the wall in the corner. Thereafter, he returns to his desk, picks up the phone and dialed Sherlock’s number.

***

A continuously beeping sound wakes Sherlock. He frees himself from John’s embracing arms to answer his cell phone. He checks the time and rolls his eyes glancing at the caller ID. “Lestrade, a bit early isn’t it?” He furrows his brows. “Who sent it?” he asks while getting out of bed. “Yes, yes, I’ll come. Give me an hour.” He drops the call and flings the phone onto the dresser.

“Who calls at this hour of the morning?” John inquires while yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Come back to bed.”

“No, I have to go to Scotland Yard.”

Fully awake, John jumps out of bed. “A new case this early?”

“No, Lestrade has a parcel for me,” he replies.  “I’m taking a shower, care to join me?”

He grins. “Oh of course yes.”

Sherlock raises a brow. “Just a shower, John.” The corner of his mouth slouches forming a smile as he turns away to head over to the bathroom.

After John enters the bathroom, he remarks. “I guess this package is important then.”

“I don’t even know what it is or from whom it came.”

Not bothering to shut the bathroom door, the two of them strip out of their pajamas.

Sherlock opens the shower taps.

John feasts his eyes on the lean, but elegantly sculpted body stepping into the shower. How can he just take a shower without touching Sherlock? He tries his luck anyway when he joins him under the warm stream of water jetting onto his body.

“Stop it, John.” Sherlock turns around to face the wall.

“Fine, no need to turn your back on me, Sherlock.” John grabs the bar of soap after Sherlock puts it back onto the soap dish. He works the bar into lather onto his sponge. Before he places the soap back, he smiles and let it slips out of his hand. “I dropped the bloody soap, do you mind picking it up.”

Sherlock jumps around glaring at John. “You did that on purpose.”

“Good god, Sherlock. What the hell’s wrong with you? Is it the parcel?” He narrows his eyes. “You know what’s in it, don’t you?”

Sherlock’s glare softens. “No, I don’t know. It’s strange. Why would anyone send a parcel for me to Scotland Yard and not here to Baker Street?” He throws his arms around John, embracing him. “I’m sorry I snapped.” He smiles as he pulls back. “But you can still pick up your own bar of soap. I don’t fall for tricks. I’m Sherlock Holmes, remember.” He smacks him on the butt cheek and jumps out of the shower before John can slap him back.

***

After the cabby drops them off in front of New Scotland Yard, they march straight to DI Lestrade’s office.

Sherlock enters without knocking. “Where’s my parcel?”

Greg shakes his head while standing up from behind his desk. “And a good morning to you too, Sherlock.” He points in the direction of the chair where he put the box earlier.

Sherlock’s eyes enlarge as he stares at the brown box with the huge red bow on top. “It’s not my birthday, why the ribbon?”

Greg shrugs. “I don’t know. Here’s the letter that came with it,” he says and holds it out to him.

Sherlock takes the envelope and strolls over to the box.

“No, wait,” John hollers when Sherlock plucks on the ribbon to loosen it. “Don’t open it. There can be a bomb inside.”

“Don’t worry John, the sniffer dogs were here already,” Lestrade informs him.

Sherlock let go of the ribbon then gazes at the envelope in his hand. “Grand stationery,” he remarks before analyzing the handwriting. “It looks like a woman’s handwriting.”

John stares at the envelope as he walks closer.

Sherlock rips open the shorter side of the envelope. After taking out the letter, he lifts it up to his nose. “Sandalwood and leather, that’s men’s perfume,” he announced before unfolding the yellow-white paper.

He gasps aloud while his face turns pale.

John grabs him by the arm. “Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

The name passes his lips barely hearable. “It’s from Moriarty.”

“Who the hell is Moriarty?” John asks, turning to Greg.

He shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Of course I bloody will want to know,” John snaps.

 Greg sighs. “He’s a notorious terrorist,” he replies. “And on MI6’s most wanted list of criminals,” he continues before picking up his cellphone. “Will you excuse me for a minute?” he says before stepping out of the office.

John turns back to Sherlock. “What does the letter say?”

Sherlock holds it out to him. “Read for yourself.” He removes the box, places it on the floor and slumps into the chair.

John takes the letter from him. His face turns various shades of red as he reads.

‘My dearest Sherlock. I left you my number, thought you might call. Since you didn’t, I’ve decided to make the first move and send you a gift. I give my heart to you. Hope I’ll have yours, soon. All my love, Jim Moriarty.’

“Who the fuck does he think he is. Doesn’t he know you already have a boyfriend?” John declares in a loud voice. He scrunches the letter before he chucks it on the floor.

He kneels in front of the man on the chair. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock opens his eyes when he became aware of John’s warm hands on his thighs. He swallows a dry lump in his throat and takes a deep breath. “Give me the box,” he asks.

“Are you sure you want to open it, Sherlock?”

“Yes, just give it here, John.”

John complies immediately and places the box in front of Sherlock’s feet while watching the man he loves removes the half-loosened ribbon and opens the lids.

Inside, Sherlock finds a cooler bag and takes it out. Again, he gasps aloud after unzipping the bag.

Greg returns to his office. He smiles when he sees the open box. “So, what’s inside?”

Sherlock takes out a bloodstained silver platter.

The smile on Greg’s face disappears. “Good god, is it human?”

John nods. “Yes, it’s a human heart.”

“Good lord, what is that man up too now?”

Sherlock’s gaze shifts from the heart on the platter to the door where the familiar voice came from. “Mycroft,” he exclaimed. “Who the hell called you?”

Greg glanced at the tall dapper man standing in the doorway, smirking.

“That, little brother is irrelevant. You’re in danger and that’s what matters.”

Sherlock jumps up while clutching the platter with both hands. He storms up to his brother. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

Mycroft draw his lips into a thin line while raising a brow. “Come now brother dear, we both know how dangerous Moriarty is. I’ll order extra surveillance cameras for Baker Street and tighten the security. You know I always look out for you, don’t you.”

“Where the hell did he get that heart?” Greg asks, directing everyone’s attention back to the human organ.

At that moment, Sherlock’s phone starts ringing. He reaches inside his trouser’s pocket while holding the platter on one hand. “What do you want, Molly?” He sighs aloud. “I’m busy I don’t have time for a fresh cadaver right now.” His eyes enlarge. “What, when did you notice that?” He smiles as he puts his phone away. “Moriarty stole the heart from the morgue. Molly says she received a body yesterday afternoon at four. When she put the body in the freezer, he was still intact. This morning when she took him out to do the autopsy, his chest was cracked open and the heart was gone.”

Mycroft leans on his umbrella. “Do you see how dangerous he is, brother mine.”

Sherlock snorts, before returning to the cooler bag. He places the platter with the heart back inside and zipped the bag up again. “I’ll take this to the morgue and run tests to see if it matches the DNA of the heartless cadaver.” He picks up the cooler bag, walks up to Mycroft and glares at him. “Blood,” he emphasizes before turning to Greg. “Lestrade,” he says and nods.

Sherlock has literally rubbed shoulders with his brother to get past him through the doorway. However, when John approaches, the smirking Mycroft moved without hesitation out of the way.

The smirk disappears as soon as he strolls over to take a seat opposite Greg. “Tea would be lovely,” he says shamelessly with a smile.

Greg jumps to the edge of his seat. “Yeah… sure… of course, Mister Holmes,” he stutters, grabs the phone and orders a pot of tea for two. He put the phone back on the receiver, but remains on the edge of his chair.

“Thank you for calling me.” Mycroft raises a smile before he continues. “Oh and, please call me Mycroft.” He places his umbrella against the desk and crosses his legs while his smile grew even wider as he gazes at the handsome Chief Detective Inspector in front of him.

The End

Disclaimer

This story is based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's, Sherlock Holmes, as well as on the works of Mark Gatiss' and Steven Moffat's, Sherlock - BBC.

All characters, with the exception of a few names, are based on Sherlock BBC.

This story is pure fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

This short story may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it.

© Branka