Short Story Of Jim Moriarty

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There it is again. That name- the ghost of Jim Moriarty was following Sherlock his whole life. Maybe this was one his games again. He faked his death own, he could easily do it a second time. Or maybe this was just his revenge. An after game. Sherlock's mind was racing for answers, but the only thing that could think was Jim Moriarty. How on earth could he be a part of this? Anger was all the detective could feel right now. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? Why couldn't he just solve the small and clever cases and go back to his life again? Why was it so necessesary that someone had to threaten him? He hated himself now, because not only had he put in danger his wife for the billionth time, but he'd dragged his children in this chaos…show more content…
The detective noticed her shaking hands and approached her cautiously. "Listen. Moriarty is dead. I'm absolutely sure. Whoever this is, they are trying to terrorise you by using his name. I know this is hard-", Sherlock's train of comforting words was cut off by his wife. "Do you? I'm not that sure you do know, Sherlock. You probably feel nothing right now! You didn't raise those children, you weren't there when Clara made her first steps, or when Dorian learned how to eat on his own! You weren't there on their first fight to stop them, you weren't there when they asked me where you were and I had to lie over and over again that you'd be home soon!", she chuckled and continued, "Why would you be anyway? You had better and more important things to do, after all." Sherlock made no sound. She was right. (Y/N) was absolutely right. He could see that now. He felt disgusted by his own person. Sherlock had made his decision- once this... pantomime was over, he was going to walk away from the life of a married man. Let (Y/N) have a life. Have a beautiful life with her two children- perhaps even remarry. He said nothing, though. All he did was nod at here and lower his head. John and Mary Watson looked at each other before Mary took the phone in her own hands and typed
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