For a second Sherlock Holmes stood still, arms crossed behind his back, every fiber of his body tense, every impulse in his brain arguing against what he was seeing. Beams of golden light shot out from James Moriarty and the building they were both standing on trembled.

But the man that walked out of the golden smoke was not James Moriarty. It occured to Sherlock then that perhaps he never had been. The Moriarty he was accustomed to was short, doe-eyed, and young; he looked nothing like the man he observed now, who had long blonde hair, thick eyebrows, and an unshaven face.

"Don't look so surprised," the man said. "This isn't your first time, is it? Seeing aliens, that is." If it was his first time, Sherlock wouldn't have known. His mind was a hard drive, a sacred place practical knowledge was meant to be documented.

The man continued, "I remember my first time. I was just a boy when the Daleks declared war on Gallifrey. A war no one remembers, which destroyed the universe's greatest race: the Time Lords." The man pretended to look flattered. "Oh you're curious how I fit into the picture? I'm the last of them."

Sherlock studied his adversary for a long time before smiling. "As long as you are alive, John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson are in no danger."

Swiftly, Sherlock uncrossed his arms and pointed the gun hidden behind his back at Moriarty. "In theory I could kill you as many times as I want to while I wait for you to call off your men." The Time Lord looked impressed.

"You took that while I was regenerating, didn't you? Oh, that's shrewd. That's very shrewd. Awfully shrewd. Speaking of shrewd, let's make this interesting. I'll tell them all to lower their guns if you answer one question for me. My name, Sherlock. What is it? I'll give you three guesses."

Waves of terror hit Sherlock for the first time since Baskervilles. Be it necessary, Sherlock Holmes was prepared to shake hands with Moriarty in hell. All the same, he had no desire for the people he loved most to suffer the same fate. Sherlock racked his brain for an answer to the question while Moriarty stood there, grinning.

Finally, Sherlock spared a guess, "Richard Brook."

"No no no. . ." the Time Lord pleaded, "Don't be ordinary. Ordinary Sherlock. Stupid Sherlock. You've said my name before."

Sherlock searched every mental record he had of the past year. He examined every conversation he had, every word he had said, every news story he read about himself. Only one name came to mind.

"Your name has to be James Moriarty."

Moriarty winced. "Oooh. . . no, sorry. One last guess." Sherlock watched as the other man ran scrawny fingers over his golden head. The way the man's hands scuttled through the tangled mess reminded Sherlock of-

"James Moriarty isn't a man at all. He's a spider. A spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Sherlock was a witness at James Moriarty's trial. He made inumerable allegations against the man, but at this particular statement, Jim Moriarty had smiled broadly.

Sherlock sauntered forward, tilted his mouth into the man's ear, and murmured, "Spider."

The Spider beamed and began clapping.

A/N -

I had to rewrite the ending to this because it somehow got deleted. I was sick and bored when I wrote this (still sick), so it's not really my best work. :s
Hope you enjoyed the story!