Lestrade had gone to visit family in America. John had gone to take care of his sister after she'd had another binge-drinking session. Sherlock was bored. He couldn't muster the creativity for composing new music for his violin, and playing his favorites had grown dull, as had the telly. He'd done several experiments but now he needed to give them time to yield results. He even went out to eat an hour ago, but soon found the fellow patrons of Angelo's intolerable and opted to get his meal to go. At least it had taken until the second day for the boredom to catch up, and since it was getting to be nearly midnight, Sherlock figured he would check the website one last time before going to bed early. He didn't expect to find anything, but there, posted only two minutes ago anonymously was
"Come find me"
—-
The anonymity of the posting was a joke, of course; the odds were pretty stacked in favor of it being the Consulting Criminal. And while Jim wanting to play games wasn't anything new, Sherlock was more suspicious than he normally would have been. Could Jim know that he was alone? And if he did, there was no doubt he had something up his sleeve, something that could only be pulled off if Sherlock was without backup. It was a bad idea to be sure, but to decline the invitation would probably lead to more destruction - Moriarty could throw a hell of a temper tantrum.
"So I'd better go" Sherlock thought, "but where are you?" The IP address showed that the message was posted from an internet cafe down the block from… St. Bart's. Another message pinged in on the website: "The roof."
Sherlock left a note for John saying he was out and to not worry if he should find his pistol missing, just in case the good doctor came home today, and left 221B Baker Street.
