"Here we are again," chimed Moriarty's almost bored tone, "Face-to-face. Dancing around one another like some grotesque waltz."
"So it would seem," replied Sherlock's deep voice while his crystal blue eyes followed the shorter man around the room.
It had been weeks since they had last graced each other with their presence. Next to the pool with the gun and the explosives. Moriarty had disappeared, and Sherlock continued being Sherlock. He looked but wasn't able to find a single trace of the consulting criminal except in his handiwork that would show up every now and then. And now here he was, in Sherlock's sitting room without invitation.
"Did you miss me, Holmes?" He asked with his best impression of puppy-dog eyes, though it ended up a bit more menacing than adorable.
"Not particularly," Sherlock replied with what might have been too much conviction. He then quickly cut to the chase before Moriarty decided to dilly-dally any longer, "What are you doing here?"
Jim pouted, "You never want to play. Always want to know the plan. How things are going to end. Such a spoilsport, you are." He smiled as he met those blue eyes staring intensely at him. "You're so distracting. Every time I see those eyes of yours, a chill shoots down my spine. Makes me want to take them. Keep them. They'll be mine. But oh what a waste that would be. They wouldn't be quite the same without the brilliance behind them, would they?"
Moriarty had been moving closer to Sherlock throughout his talk. His hands moved dramatically through the air as he spoke. Sherlock stood rooted to his spot. He noted the slight elevation in his own pulse, how still he was. Now the man who had barged into his flat was standing less than a foot away. He could smell the obscenely expensive cologne he wore. Pleasant.
They stood motionless like this for several moments. Eyes boring into each other, nothing but the sound of their breathing filling their ears. This did not help Sherlock's elevating pulse. His breaths seemed to be too shallow. Sherlock was the one to break the lull, "What are you doing here, Moriarty?"
Jim smiled that cat grin, "I just came to see if you missed me." He glanced over Sherlock's frame, pausing once again at his sculpted face, "And now I have my answer." He plucked up his coat from the chair he had tossed it on upon his arrival. "So now I'll be off, Sherlock. Things to steal, people to corrupt. But do not fret, my dear, I will return. Maybe I won't make you suffer my absence for so long like this last hiatus." He shouted from the stairs while making his descent, "Ta-ta!"
Sherlock visibly relaxed when he heard the door to the street shut. He strolled over to the window to watch the madman waltz down the street. He found he could not tear his eyes away until the man rounded a corner. The thought of chasing after him flashed fleetingly through his mind only to be quickly dismissed. He wasn't entirely sure what he would do once he had his hands on him. He knew he wouldn't turn him in to the authorities though; he enjoyed the game too much to do such an act.
The detective closed the curtain and stood at the window frame for another second before he fetched a number of nicotine patches. He placed them strategically on his arms and then fell unto the couch to let them take their effect before he allowed his thoughts to drift to his recent visitor.
Those black eyes just stared at him. They absorbed every inch of Sherlock, and Sherlock did the same to their owner. He watched those lips as they spoke of making something of Sherlock's his. "Mine," he had said. The criminal had been so close. If Sherlock had just lifted his hand, he could have touched him. He could have-
"Sherlock?"
His eyes flew open to lock on John standing above him. He had fallen asleep. Acceptable, he had been awake for two, no three, days. Body was due to give out and considering his recently past encounter, it was acceptable. So why was John looking at him scrutinously?
"Yes, John?" his voice lined with inquiry.
John faltered. His eyes nervously glanced down Sherlock only to quickly look back to his face then off to a wall just over Sherlock's head. "You were asleep," he replied swiftly before skittering off to the kitchen to put away his wares.
John was known to state the blatantly obvious, but his demeanor did not correlate to such a mundane situation. Then Sherlock became aware of his own body. He could feel the strain in his trousers. His eyes found the reason for the doctor's uneasiness a moment later. The detective cleared his throat before shifting his position to better hide his very evident erection.
A wet dream. Sherlock had had so few in his lifetime; it took him a second to recognize it. He steepled his fingers before his lips as he thought over the situation. He had been dreaming about Moriarty, there was no question about this. What he failed to thoroughly understand was his body's reaction. He examined the encounter. Each time Moriarty had drew near him, his pulse elevated and breathing rate changed. Logical, he was in the presence of a murderer. A murderer who had taken a keen interest in him. But they weren't the only physical reactions present. Sherlock had ignored the others because of how minor they had been. The tightening of the muscles in his torso, the stirring in his lower abdomen, the sudden desire to lean towards the man instead of away. Sherlock smirked between his fingers. The deduction was too simple, and Jim had already seen it; he had his answer.
A/N: Please review! Keeps me motivated. 3 I should be posting the next chapter soon.
