Chapter 12
After the unfortunate incident at Crimson Peak, Yon decided to postpone his departure indefinitely. Or at least until Sherlock overcomes the loss of Thomas Sharpe. That was very difficult for the detective. He has concentrated more on cases, or not concentrated at all, while under a haze of narcotics. Yon tried to help him as much as he could, but at times he seemed to only make it worse. Plus, he told him that he broke up with Mary so he could have more freedom around Sherlock and be closer to him.
Finally, one day, when they were arguing, Yon had just had enough and took one very dangerous step to silence the detective. He grabbed him by the collar by the throat, pulled him close, and kissed him hard. At first, he couldn't believe what he'd done himself, but in the end, he was glad he'd done it. It seemed to be a turning point for the detective himself since he had not resisted his open feelings since. Yon no longer had to wait for Sherlock to be dazed to just kiss him.
He even kissed him once in front of the entire Scotland Yard congregation. When they finished, they were shocked, as most of the employees were exchanging money. Their relationship became the subject of many bets. The biggest one, however, was won by Lestrade, who bet they would finally get together. It was taboo at the time, of course, and so much of it was betting against such a relationship, but that only led to their loss. And eventually, Yon he turned Sherlock's weakness into his chance to reconnect with him.
*-*-*-*-*
It had been two years since John had been reunited with Sherlock. This time he was less afraid to make the first move. Every time he saw that Sherlock was down, he tried to calm him down, he hugged him, he kissed him, but even though the detective opened up to him, he never got any further. That annoyed Yon a little. During that time, another person came to the detective's attention. James Moriarty. Napoleon of crime. He could keep him on his toes when he couldn't.
The last case was more challenging for Sherlock than it has been. His leads took him all the way to Switzerland. The two geniuses had already guessed, in part, that this would be their last meeting.
They were in one of the larger rooms, full of people enjoying a party, when a man appeared, just to cause an assassination. John immediately pounced on him, and Mycroft struggled with the others to regain some of his composure. Sherlock spotted a very suspicious man on the other side of the room and immediately knew it was Moriarty. He followed the professor to the balcony, which was just above the waterfall.
„You finally got me,” Moriarty said, lighting a cigar. Sherlock followed, lighting his pipe. Even so, he was alert. „Looks like you've tasted fruit from another planet. And not just one,” he said after a moment, studying Sherlock's weary face.
During a minimal conversation as the two of them tried to devise the perfect tactic to defeat the other. In the end, they exchanged several blows, covering each of the opponent's blows at the same time. Moreover, if he let Moriarti live, he could do far more evil and chaos than he has done so far. He could start an even bigger war than he had planned. So he decided to make the ultimate sacrifice. During the duel, he got Moriarti to the stone railing. He pushed him. Together, they fell over the railing and fell down like water in a waterfall.
Yon got to the terrace just as he saw Sherlock topple over the railing with his opponent. Immediately he rushed toward it as if he thought he could still save it. He looked down, took off his jacket, ran, and jumped over the railing. He wasn't human, that jump wasn't a problem for him. It hit the water on legs, and when he emerged he found two bodies on the bank. One belonged to his beloved detective, and the other, still breathing, belonged to Moriarti.
Yon went to the enemy and shot him. Without hesitation, with one blow to the head, he killed him. As the last breath escaped his body, his whole body changed. Mostly, that is, the colour of his skin, which had turned green, his chin had specific grooves and he had pointed ears. It was clear that the famed James Moriarty was a hideous Skrull. The only Skrull he knew was on Earth was his target.
He was certain that humans were not yet ready to discover that they were not alone in the universe. He had to get rid of the body. He made several video documentaries before dragging the body aside. Using a special cloth, he dried the body and set it on fire. In a moment it was ashes. No evidence. Nothing to preserve. At most, ashes that scatter into the wind anyway.
He then returned to the detective. Po pulled his body aside to avoid being carried away by the water, placed his hands on his chest, as he had seen so many times at funerals, and closed his eyes. During this small ceremony, tears streamed from his eyes and a few tears spilt onto the lifeless body of his lover.
„Rest in peace old friend,” he said, before standing up, wiping away tears and taking a final deep breath before settling down enough to leave. He returned to the Swiss Embassy and informed Mycroft of his brother's unfortunate fate.
*-*-*-*-*
Yon-Rogg went back to Baker Street to pack his things and go home. He planned to finish the last story, which he had written in the local newspaper, which loved the stories of the unreal detective Sherlock Holmes, who had only the smallest clues to solve the case. He just put all the pages together when the doorbell rang. He ran downstairs and opened the door where the postman stood with one single envelope.
„A letter for you. Only into your hands,” the postman said, handing the envelope directly into his hand.
„Oh, thank you. Do I have to sign anything?” he asked.
„No, that's all. Have a nice day,” the postman replied and left. Yon closed the door behind him and went back to his room.
He sat there and looked at the letter he had to accept in person. The writing it had written was more than familiar. In fact, he knew at first glance it had been written by Sherlock. If he could, he would prefer never to open the letter and hide it somewhere so that he couldn't remind him of the detective, but if he hid it or threw it away now, he would surely blame himself later for never knowing what he had to say.
With shaking hands, he opened the envelope and pulled out a folded paper. He put the envelope down and carefully unfolded the letter.
„Dear John,
if you're reading these lines, I'm most likely already dead. So is James Moriarty. I'm sorry if I didn't get to say a proper goodbye to you, but sometimes you're just sucked into a vortex of events that can't be avoided.
I knew you had feelings for me, and I'm very sorry since my heart belonged to Thomas. I had feelings for you, but I'm afraid it might be a mere substitute for what I lost. But lest you think it was all a lie, it wasn't. Many of the things we experienced together were real, and I was very honoured to experience them with you, John.
You once introduced yourself to me as John Watson. I believe it was only an alias and that I never knew your real name. Although, as they say in any good lie, there is always at least a grain of truth, so there was definitely a resemblance.
I was not as oblivious as my fellow citizens, and I was aware that we could not be alone in the universe. There was definitely life there, and I had the pleasure of meeting someone from another planet. You don't have to look so surprised. You were a good actor, and I guess after a while, it wasn't even a game anymore, it was a part of you. You've fooled everyone around you perfectly, but occasionally you've missed a detail and, most of all, you've underestimated me, since I know you've faked the colour of your eyes, which were, in fact, amber-gold like early dawn in the darkness of London. Your technology must be really progressive. One we won't have on Earth for a long time.
I'm very glad that among our entire planet, I could be at your side. It's been a great honour and I wish I could spend more time with you. Perhaps we'll meet again in the next life.
Love,
SH”
As he read this, the letters in front of him began to blur from all the tears now streaming down his face. From there they worked their way onto the paper, and slowly the text on the paper began to melt away. He clenched his hands into fists, crumpling the paper he had pressed against his chest as a final reminder of the detective, letting the emotion flow out with the tears still running.
*-*-*-*-*
Yon-Rogg settled into his chair in his ship and placed a small frame on the dashboard with a photograph of Sherlock Holmes. The photograph may not have been of the best quality, since it was taken by journalists while solving one of their cases together. Even in this photo, Sherlock tried to cover his face, but luckily he couldn't, so he should have been able to see his face quite well. He lowered his gaze, took a deep breath, having left a world he had grown quite fond of, before finally starting his engines and returning to his home planet.
At home, he was welcomed as a war hero who had snared a dangerous informant and received an extra promotion for it. He'd gone from lieutenant to commander, and that was only enough to slightly correct the story of how he'd managed to trap the criminal. He played his adventure from Earth so well that no one questioned him unnecessarily about what had happened to him there and most people gave him a break and he was able to move on calmly and slowly. And to do so, he focused more on his career growth and defending his country.
He became the perfect soldier, but he had one small weakness. None of his people knew he had brought a souvenir from Earth. The picture he had on the dashboard. It was the photo he had specially edited so it wouldn't just get destroyed, only under extreme conditions, and he always carried it close to his heart. Even when he was on a mission away from his home planet, or even if he was subsequently put in charge of Vers, including her training.
That's a story for another time.