Is Life just a Game? (John, Moriarty)

[Sherlock Holmes]

Everything was back to normal, solving crimes, most of them so simple that the client only needed to explain their problem and he'd have a pretty good idea of what to do. Of course, he would have to prove it. But that took no less than a few hours. So he was bored, as usual. before his fake death, life had been quite interesting. But Moriarty as dead and Irene was in hiding. No one to pit his mental prowess against. And it would just be too dangerous if he invited Mycroft over. The arguments the consulting detective could get in with his brother was worse than a world class criminal trying to control the world and a lot less interesting.

Leaning back against the sofa, taking up the majority of the furniture, Sherlock gazed up at the celling. There was nothing to capture his attention. Even worse, at this present moment, there weren't even any cases to work on. Even if they were simple. it had only been three minutes ago that Sherlock had checked his site. No signs of anything. Five minutes since he had checked his emails. Apparently, he shouldn't keep checking every few minutes. Last time that had happened Lestrade had told him that he was being irritable with lack of cases and that longer times between checking lessened it. But there was nothing! Nothing at all! His mind was racing out of control.

"Has anyone contacted you about any cases yet?" Sherlock asked, still staring at the ceiling. As far as he was aware John was in. But he had been told that he had conversations with John when he was out. However, some of the conversations were with the real John. Hopefully that would be the case now, and it would bring something for him to solve. Everything else that he had access to was dull and boring. And if John was in, then it probably wouldn't be a good idea to get his gun and shoot another smiley face into the wall. "Bored." The great mind sighed.

[John Watson]

John was happy. He wasn't normally sad, but since Sherlock had "died", his standards for happiness had became lower. But, that was done. Sherlock was back, and John was once again happy.

However, John could sense something in Sherlock. Ever since he had came back, he had seemed very despondent. His E-mail, the one in which he never had bothered to look at before, was now appearing on a screen every few minutes or so. Phone, laptop, his E-mail was constantly being refreshed.

He was bored. He could sense it. He knew Sherlock well enough, and this behavior only meant that.


Has anyone contacted you about any cases yet?

John pulled up his laptop, opening his blog. While that loaded, he opened his E-mail as well. While his E-mail loaded, he changed to his blog. Nothing had been posted. It was a deserted, digital, wasteland.

As for his E-mail, there was nothing either. Another calm sea of digital pixels.

"Same as 10 minutes ago, Sherlock."

Bored.

[James 'Jim' Moriarty]

Moriarty grinned as he came up to the black door. The brass letters and knocker shone out at him; Mrs. Hudson had obviously been doing some polishing. He didn't bother to knock or ring the bell, he just pushed the door open and walked straight in. The detective upstairs probably heard him, so he hovered in the hall for a while after closing the door. Let him think it's one of his stupid, nervous clients, Moriarty thought.

After less than a minute, he made his way up the stairs. He didn't hesitate this time. Sherlock didn't know he was coming. Not even he had worked out that the consultant criminal was still alive.

Moriarty took another pause when he came to the door of their rooms. Sighing, and straightening the jacket of his suit, he opened the door and walked in. It looked so natural, as if he lived here every day of his life. And there was the pair of them.

"Evening, gents," Moriarty greeted with a friendly smile. Well, the sort of friendly smile a serpent would put on.

[Sherlock Holmes]

Sitting upas John started to reply, Sherlock looked at the former army doctor. Same as 10 minutes ago, Sherlock. The detective sighed. Slipping out his phone, he checked it. Nothing, not even from the Yard and they always needed his help. Wher were the criminal classes? It was not possible to clear London from crime. Was it some sort of national holiday from the criminals? Day to relax, don't have to commit a crime? Was that possible? That they were all having a day off. It didn't seem likely. So where were they and why couldn't they just think and come up with a difficult case?

it was at that moment that the great mind heard the door open and close. No footsteps on the stairs. He froze, listening intently. Was this a client? As far as he was aware, Mrs Hudson was in and she would have immediately gone up the stairs. Clients either rang the bell or the really worried ones just came in, then usually paused, contemplating their best course of action. Then there was the sound of footsteps, no heistation. Well, this was good. He was bored out of his mind. He just ahd to hope that whatever client came was not going to be boring and stupid. The later was usually the case, but the former didn't happen all the time. Sometimes they were interesting to deduce about.

Then the footsteps reached the door and paused. A more thoughtful and nervous client? A univercity student unsure of things? Young adult? Already, from the footsteps, Sherlock had started to deduce about the heigh and the age of the owner of the footsteps.The door opened and someone Sherlock never expected to see again walked in. Sherlock's icy blue eyes fixed upon the man who casually entered the room, just like the last time. An interesting person and dangerous; Jim Moriaty.

Evening, gents,How had he survived? Fake gun, bag of blood at the ready? Probably. Sherlock mentally kicked himself for believing that Moriaty would actually kill himself to win. Irene played the 'game', while it seemed that both him and Moriaty cheated at it. "You're looking remarkably well for a dead man." Sherlock commented, standing up and moving to stand closer to Moriaty and slightly between the criminal and John. He hadn't forgotten Moriaty's promise to kill John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson if he didn't jump. But he was barely between the two, not something that one would notice. Just simply ready to take action if any problem arose. "Why don't you have a seat?" Sherlock suggested. This was an interesting turn of events.

[John Watson]

John heard the door open downstairs. He didn't fret though. It was probably o.e of Sherlock's clients. He looked over at Sherlock. By the look on his face, he was hoping so. After a second of silence or so, the client starting walking up the stairs. John looked back at his computer. Sherlock could handle this. The door to the flat opened, and John didn't even bother looking up from his computer. If if was a client, he would be on the client like Molly to Sherlock.

Evening, gents

Two things threw John off about this. First, was Sherlocks late reaction. Like John thouht, he would usually be on a client very fast. Second, was the "clients" confident greetings. John had seen enough clients walk through that door and be as white as a sheet. John turned, moving his eyes from the computer to the
an that had opened the door.

Oh God., thought John.

John straight away looked at Sherlock. However, John was as silent as a mouse, as if trying to hide from Jim. Sherlock was emotionless. It was amazing. A ger very very dangerous dead man just walked in, and he was oh so calm.

You're looking remarkably well for a dead man.

How could he joke?! One of the most deadly men on the Earth just waltzed into the room after shooting himself, and be cracks a joke.

Why don't you have a seat?

John looked at Sherlock.

"A seat?" He said aloud.

[James 'Jim' Moriarty]

"You're looking remarkably well for a dead man."

Moriarty had to stifle a laugh at that. Here he was, the most dangerous criminal in the world, walking in after apparently committing suicide, and his arch-enemy cracks a joke about it. Arch-enemy? Yes, that was the level Sherlock had reached, Moriarty supposed. But that was good. Maybe he'd even give the detective a chance to prove that he wasn't as ordinary as he'd led Moriarty to believe.

"As are you," Moriarty replied to Sherlock's jibe. "Strange, isn't it?"

"Why don't you have a seat?"
"A seat?"

And there was the other side of the coin. Moriarty gave a pointed look at John, the soldier. The idiot. His comments hardly ever meant anything to Moriarty, so he hardly ever listened to them. Instead he just said, "I can see your manners haven't changed, Johnny-boy." Then he looked back to Sherlock. "Thank you." He sat in the armchair, lied back, and put his hands together.

"Well, I thought it was about time we had a cosy catch-up, Sherlock," Moriarty began. "It's been, what, a year? I'm sure you must be bored out of your mind. That's one of the advantages of my line of work. You can always find something to keep you busy."

[Sherlock Holmes]

Icy gaze flickered towards John briefly as Moriaty came in. His room-mate did seem shocked by the whole thing. Then again, it probably wasn't good to have a world class criminal come back from the dead. Still, things would probably be less boring. It was probably something that his brother, Mycroft would want to know about. Then aain, knowing Mycroft, it was possible that he already knew. There was very little the secret service and the government didn't know. The older Holmes brother did have a lot of control over what happened in England.

As Moriaty hide his laughter, Sherlock's eyes flickered to his guest. Moriaty did not appear to have changed much. The joke was not too amusing, or at least Sherlock thought so. As are you, Sherlock's expression didn't change. But it was true. Not too long ago, he had been dead to the world as well. Then again, everyone had thought he was a fraud. That had been rather annoying. And not being able to proove them wrong until a year later. Strange, isn't it?" "Not really." Sherlock replied. Irene had managed to fake her death, although with help the second time, twice in under a year. Then later that year it had been Sherlock's, and as it turned out, Moriaty's turn to fake death.

A seat? This time it was John who spoke and Sherlock turned his gaze to John, briefly. Sherlock was being polite, as far as he was aware. True their guest had threatened to kill them. But that was possibly not relevant at that time. Plus Sherlock was bored. This was interesting. It wasn't like there had been any entertainment in recent times. The cases all had been uite dull, although prefferable over nothing. This might proove the most interesting thing that had happened since Sherlock had 'died'. I can see your manners haven't changed, Johnny-boy. Thank you. Sherlock gave a small nod, and as Moriaty sat down on the armchair, Sherlock returned to the sofa. Out of the seats, it was one of the ones that Sherlock rather enjoyed, as when he was bored he could just lie back and keep checking his phone and site.

"Well, I thought it was about time we had a cosy catch-up, Sherlock, It's been, what, a year? I'm sure you must be bored out of your mind. That's one of the advantages of my line of work. You can always find something to keep you busy. Sherlock regarded Moriaty for a second before replying. "Nearly eighteen months." Sherlock said, although he hadn't been counting. Things just stuck in his mind. Like times. "Blank shot?" Sherlock asked. He would have noticed if the gun was fake. So far, this was the most likely solution. Fake blood that would be released when Moriaty hit the ground. Sherlock chose to ignore the obvious thing. That he had been bored. it didn't take a genius. Even Anderson might be able to figure that out.

[John Watson]

I can see your manners haven't changed, Johnny-boy.

What is that supposed to mean? John didn't comment. It probably wouldn't be in his best favour to annoy the criminally insane dead mastermind. So John observed in horror as the two dead geniuses confronted each other.

Well, I thought it was about time we had a cosy catch-up, Sherlock.

A catch up? John was thinking why on Earth that first of all, he wasn't dead and second, why Sherlock was so calm.

"If I may object, about the catch up, if you're going to do it, we should go somewhere else. Possibly somewhere less, I don't know, flammable?"

Of course, the two talking geniuses ignored him, and kept talking.

It's been, what, a year? I'm sure you must be bored out of your mind. That's one of the advantages of my line of work. You can always find something to keep you busy.

Well, it didn't take a mastermind to deduce that. All Sherlock had was his work. And John. John and his work.

Nearly eighteen months.

Sherlock corrected Jim on his wrong assumption on how long they have been "dead."

Blank shot?"

John rubbed his hands on his face. Oh Sherlock. Even John, the most simple mind in the room, could tell that Jim was far too genius to use blanks and a blood pouch. That would be elementary.

[James 'Jim' Moriarty]

Moriarty nodded when Sherlock corrected him. "Eighteen months, of course," he said good-naturedly. "You'll have to forgive me. I've been so distracted with other important manners, that you actually got moved down on my list for a brief time." Would the detective find that insulting? He hoped he did. "But then you interfered with an operation of mine, one that was quite crucial, and you bounced right back to the top. And here I am."

"If I may object, about the catch up, if you're going to do it, we should go somewhere else. Possibly somewhere less, I don't know, flammable?"

John's unnecessary comment caused Moriarty to roll his eyes. "Don't worry, we'll be fine. I'm not here to kill anyone. Not today. Though if you feel like making yourself useful, good doctor, why not put the kettle on for us?" That said, he brought his attention back to his arch-enemy.

"Blank shot?" Sherlock asked, and Moriarty put on a cunning, knowing grin.

"Of course it was. I still can't quite believe that that and a pack of blood was all I needed to fool you. I must admit, that slightly disappointed me. But then, you were under a lot of stress at the time, so I suppose I can't really blame you for not noticing. But enough talk of me." He leaned forward, placing his arms on his knees, and looked Sherlock straight in the eye. "How did you survive? That's what I want to know. Because, Sherlock, and I hardly say this to anyone, if ever, but I was impressed. Really, I was. Whenever you had stopped saying your nice little note for John and I heard you jump, I looked down as the medics were taking you away. It looked very authentic to me, very real. But some part of me just knew that you had survived somehow. So why don't you tell me? I've come up with several theories, but none of them seem plausible. How did you cheat death?"

[Sherlock Holmes]

Sherlock was leaning back against the sofa, his icey gaze fixed on Moriarty when John decided to speak. "If I may object, about the catch up, if you're going to do it, we should go somewhere else. Possibly somewhere less, I don't know, flammable?" Sherlock didn't believe that it was in Moriarty's intentions to start destroying, yet. There would be another game, and then there would be the usual trying to kill each other time. But for now, Mrs Hudson's flat was safe. "Don't worry, we'll be fine. I'm not here to kill anyone. Not today. Though if you feel like making yourself useful, good doctor, why not put the kettle on for us?" "Yes, sorry I didn't put the kettle on earlier, we didn't expect company." Sherlock replied, looking at Moriarty.

At the mention of blank shots, Sherlock saw John rub hishands on his face, yes it was incredibly obvious, and usually Sherlock would pick up on that. But he had over judged Moriaty, as someone trying too hard to win the game. And he had a lot to concentrate on. The simple blank shot was not something that he would have expected and it had the added bonus of being one of the easiest ways to fake one's death. Besides, a fake gun would have been too obvious. Moriaty had only a few ways to pretend to die, so of course the msot obvious was was what he should have gone for.

"Of course it was. I still can't quite believe that that and a pack of blood was all I needed to fool you. I must admit, that slightly disappointed me. But then, you were under a lot of stress at the time, so I suppose I can't really blame you for not noticing." Sherlock gave John a look, the 'I told you so' look. "Well, next time you do feel like 'dying', you don't need to worry about me." Sherlock said, his words implying that it probably would have been better if Moriarty had actually died. Then again, he would be bored if that happened. But enough talk of me."

Sherlock knew this was coming, Moriarty wanted to know how Sherlock had survived. "How did you survive? That's what I want to know. Because, Sherlock, and I hardly say this to anyone, if ever, but I was impressed. Really, I was. Whenever you had stopped saying your nice little note for John and I heard you jump, I looked down as the medics were taking you away. It looked very authentic to me, very real. But some part of me just knew that you had survived somehow. So why don't you tell me? I've come up with several theories, but none of them seem plausible. How did you cheat death?"

Sherlock regarded Moriaty with emotionless eyes for a few seconds. My brother says that I love to be dramatic." Sherlock stated, pausing. "But I don't believe that you need to know how I survived. It was simple, really. Just like how you survived. Why don't you try and figure it out." Sherlock said, casually. It had involved some preperation and help and Sherlock didn't want to put anyone who had helped him in danger. Also, it could come in handy later, and he didn't want Moriarty spoiling it then.

[John Watson]

Don't worry, we'll be fine. I'm not here to kill anyone. Not today. Though if you feel like making yourself useful, good doctor, why not put the kettle on for us?

John, feeling slightly insulted, wandered of to the kitched and flicked on the kettle, when he started listening from there.

Of course it was. I still can't quite believe that that and a pack of blood was all I needed to fool you. I must admit, that slightly disappointed me.

John thought. In a way he had to agree with Jim. A blood pack? Really? The way was so simple, it didn't even seem real.

How did you survive? That's what I want to know. Because, Sherlock, and I hardly say this to anyone, if ever, but I was impressed. Really, I was. Whenever you had stopped saying your nice little note for John and I heard you jump, I looked down as the medics were taking you away.

John flinched as a harsh feeling of despondence swept over him. The moment where Sherlock had been talking to him over the phone and when he slammed down on the concrete seemed so real. As his mind creeped off the topic, he realized the kettle screaming.

It looked very authentic to me, very real. But some part of me just knew that you had survived somehow. So why don't you tell me? I've come up with several theories, but none of them seem plausible. How did you cheat death?

My brother says that I love to be dramatic. But I don't believe that you need to know how I survived. It was simple, really. Just like how you survived. Why don't you try and figure it out.

"Nothing could be more simple than Jim's death," John mumbled under his breath.

[James 'Jim' Moriarty]

"Yes, sorry I didn't put the kettle on earlier, we didn't expect company."

"No harm done," Moriarty smiled. "You don't always get a surprise visit from the dead." He cooly regarded Sherlock, examining him, while he awaited an explanation for the detective's survival. Surely his enemy wouldn't miss a chance to show off.

"Well, next time you do feel like 'dying', you don't need to worry about me. My brother says that I love to be dramatic. But I don't believe that you need to know how I survived. It was simple, really. Just like how you survived. Why don't you try and figure it out.

Slowly, Moriarty's friendly, warm smile twisted into a snarling frown. So the detective was going to keep his secrets? Fine then. Moriarty would have them soon enough.

"Well your brother is certainly right." The consulting criminal still kept his tone even. "But I'll work it out soon enough. By the way, how is the Ice Man? Did he say anything about how he sold you out to me?" At the last question, Moriarty's expression changed again to a devillish grin. He knew that despite all the rows, the Holmes brothers still cared for each other. And Sherlock would no doubt have something to say about Mycroft giving Moriarty his life story.

[Sherlock Holmes]

As John moved to put the kettle on, Sherlock's gaze flickered after the doctor, briefly, before returning to the Mast Criminal. "No harm done," The detective wasn't too bothered about how Moriarty felt about a lack of drinks. After all, Sherlock presumed that this visit was meant to be a suprise one to catch the detective off his guard. "You don't always get a surprise visit from the dead." "So it would seem. But the dead don't usually drink." The detective commented. Or eat, but that was beside the point. Calmly, watching Moriarty, Sherlock decided that he would question John later and see what John thought of this visit.

As Moriarty's pleasant expression changed, Sherlock's remained frozen, as if not bothered or even fazed by the action that he had just witnessed. Although it was possible that deep down the detective felt some sort of amusment for being one up on his opponent. On the roof top, Moriarty had refered to the detective as 'ordinary Sherlock', although the detective had later proved that they were not different, but the same. Suffering from the same boredom, seeng the same things.

"Well your brother is certainly right." It was no suprise that Moriarty was agreeing with Mycroft. Most people agreed that Sherlock enjoyed being dramatic, although Sherlock also heard that people thought that it was his brother too. Personally, Sherlock never put too much attention to the detail. It was unimportant, it didn't affect him what people thought. "But I'll work it out soon enough. By the way, how is the Ice Man? Did he say anything about how he sold you out to me?" Sherlock took in Moriarty's grin with his usual expressionless features as he considered Moriarty's words.

"Nothing could be more simple than Jim's death," Despite paying attention to Moriarty, which was generally a good idea, considering how dangerous the man could be, Sherlock heard John's muttered comment from the kitchen. "It's about perspective, John." The detective replied. "No one never notices the obvious. Usually its looking at too small a picture, at one or two details." There was a clue to help Moriarty guess and any one to see how obvious his death had been. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't. Either way, Sherlock wasn't too bothered.

Despite how close the two Holmes brothers had been when children, they had grown apart and Sherlock maintained that Mycroft had been manipulating his younger self. Sherlock doubted that Mycroft would want to look after him that much and Sherlock didn't like Mycroft acting 'mother'. It didn't concern him that much what Mycroft did. Usually his brother had some reason for what he did and generally did things that benefitted himself. Although Sherlock did believe that if he ever needed help that only Mycroft could supply, his brother would pull strings. "My brother does whatever benefits him. Although I doubt he believed that he was putting anything dangerous into my path, anything that I," Sherlock paused and looked at Moriarty, coldly. "Couldn't cope with."

[John Watson]

So it would seem. But the dead don't usually drink.

Or eat, John thought. He could almost tell the same thing was going through Sherlock's head, yet neither of them said it, because it was just pointless.

John could feel the stiffness of the air as Jim's light expression changed. It was distracting. Not in that 'Beautifully enthralling,' way, but more as a 'Burnt into your head with a cattle brander,' way. One that was truly disturbing.

He was so distracted by this look that he almost didn't realize the kettle hissing. He regained composure and poured the hot water into the three cups. The noise of pouring water was one of the only things to be heard until Jim broke the silence.

But I'll work it out soon enough. By the way, how is the Ice Man? Did he say anything about how he sold you out to me?

John couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't believe that Mycroft had sold him out. It was absurd. However, reflecting upon the situation, he noticed it wasn't too absurd. Without Jim, he didn't work, and that was what powered him. Maybe it was for his well-being.

My brother does whatever benefits him Although I doubt he believed that he was putting anything dangerous into my path, anything that I couldn't cope with.

John could agree on his remark on Mycroft, about him doing what he pleases. John reflected on his first encounter with him. John could also sense the tention building up between the two.