Prologue
One thing James Moriarty could never be accused of was not being thorough. He was, as Sherlock had described, a spider in the middle of a web, completely aware of the action of every thread. This was why faking his death had been so easy.
A blank bullet, a sound reactive patch of fake blood and moderate acting ability plus putty on the pulse points all gave to impression that he had shot himself on that rooftop all that time ago. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sherlock may have done the same so he waited for news of his return; he didn't have to wait long.
A little over a month after the two mean were declared dead, one of his people got in contact, saying that Sherlock was looking for Colonel Moran. Jim had to admit he was thrilled by the news. A nemesis with equal intellect was always a fun and interesting thing. He was mildly concerned about Moran's wellbeing but knew him to be a capable man and gave him the order to kill.
There was radio silence for five months. Moran never contacted him and no-one had any news of the detective, until a text message arrived, clearly sent by the colonel himself. Moriarty read it and sighed.
He knows where I am. Will most likely come before the night is out.
-SM
The criminal mastermind lazily left his house, headed to the factory where he knew Moran was hiding. He had no doubt that Sherlock didn't stand a chance. He merely wanted to see the body himself, hopeless and alone, to lift his spirits.
When he arrived on foot, walking the last half a mile, he saw Sherlock and hid behind a nearby tree. He watched the man walk in a smiled, knowing that would be the last time he'd see him alive. He resolved to wait fifteen minutes before entering. But then he saw her; a young woman stepping out of a cab. She looked far too thin and pale to be healthy. She looked both ways before running into the building, clearly following Sherlock.
Slightly more concerned, Jim decided to stick to his original plan of waiting. Not five minutes had passed before he heard the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot echoing through the building's walls. He smiled and closed his eyes, believing Sherlock Holmes was no more. He sat there for another few minutes, not wanting to enter to early, when he saw them; Sherlock Holmes carrying the body of the woman who ran in after him.
He was too far away to see for himself but he assumed she had been shot, no doubt stupid enough to take the bullet for the man. He smiled and watched as Sherlock called an ambulance for her, resting her head on his knees, before Jim turned and went into the abandoned factory, wanting to get the full story of the nights events from Moran. However, he wasn't prepared for the sight he was met with.
The body of Sebastian Moran lay on the ground, bleeding from a bullet wound to the neck. He let a saddened sigh pass is lips but that was a mournful as he got about the loss of his employee and, he had to admit, his friend. He took one glance around the room and knew that it was the woman who had shot him. However, his curiosity was piqued now. He knew that Sherlock had called an ambulance for her but now he didn't understand why and Jim Moriarty was the kind of man who wanted to know everything.
He called one of his more useful contacts who told him that Sherlock Holmes had checked in a Miss Erika Butler into a nearby hospital. Jim let and smile creep cross his face. He still remembered very vividly the strength of the young woman. Even when he kidnapped her he knew she was dying, with a year or two left. This was probably her end. It was clear that Sherlock had formed some sort of relationship with the girl else he wouldn't bother assisting her.
He made his way to the hospital lazily, feeling no need to rush. When he did arrive he waited in the corridor for a moment before a doctor walked out of her room. He waited for him to walk past before pinching the back of his neck, rendering him unconscious. As soon as he was out he pulled him it a storeroom nearby. He swapped their clothes and covered the man's face with a chloroform soaked rag, knowing he wouldn't wake up anytime soon, if ever.
He stood and winked at the man, mouthing call me before sniggering and walking out of the room. He then proceeded to walk up and down the corridor, constantly looking into her room. Patiently, Jim waited for the moment she flat-lined, which was a day later.
As soon as he saw a number of nurses and doctor run into the room he followed behind, keeping his face hidden from Sherlock. When the doctor declared her dead, Moriarty sent the text he had been waiting to send for the past two days. When he looked back up he saw Sherlock place a ring on her finger and leave. Without really thinking about it he pulled the ring off her finger and put it into her pocket.
"I'll take care of the body," he said to the others and they all left except one. Moriarty smiled to him and he closed all the blinds around her room. Jim pulled a syringe from his pocket and, in an almost bored fashion, stabbed her in the chest with it. A few seconds later, Erika let out a gasp, her eyes shooting open. He grinned and covered her face with another chloroform rag. She was unconscious before she could really wake up and, keeping an eye on her pulse, he threw the sheet up over her head in an overly dramatic fashion, as if he were a magician performing a trick. Then he and the nurse wheeled her down the corridor and out of the building, into a waiting ambulance.
Jim smiled and took the rag off her face, aware that she still wouldn't wake up for a long time. As they drove Moriarty let out a laugh and pulled the ring out of his pocket, holding it up to the light. It really was a pretty little thing, much like the woman who now lay unconscious in the stretcher beside him. He resolved that he would do his best to ensure that Sherlock Holmes and Erika Butler both suffered for what they did to his friend, and he knew exactly how.