He was sweating, he wasn't used to that. Of course when he exercised or killed someone, he started sweating. But not like this. This wasn't the sweat that came in warmth and with blood and victory. This was the sweat that came from fear. And he wasn't sure what to do about that.
The simple thing would be to get rid of what he was afraid of, but that had proved to be a difficult task. The query moved too quickly and knew too much. He had tried to draw it out. But it had bested him. He had tried to anger it. But it remained hidden. He knew it had weaknesses but those weaknesses had been hidden from him.
And that made him so very cross. Very cross indeed.
His phone rang. He answered it.
"What is it?" he said.
"Mr. Moriarty?" the voice quavered on the other side. "The operation has failed..."
"What."
It wasn't a question, more a statement. It made the sound of a guillotine falling.
"I'm sorry, sir," the voice shook out again.
He took a deep breath.
"Was it him?" he asked.
"We think so..." the voice said.
"Kill him."
"We tried..."
"I wasn't talking to you."
There was the sound of muffled screams and a phone being dropped. They were still more afraid of him than they were of Sherlock. But how long would that go on for?
There was a buzz. He looked down at his phone. Another unknown number. He had everyone's number so how was this one unknown?
You should be more gentle. You don't have many left. -S
The phone shattered in his hand after some time. He looked at the pieces of circuit board lodged in his hand. It was at that moment the lights went out. He jumped out of his chair then chided himself for the movement. He settled back down.
"So, you're here," he said to the darkness.
"Yes," the voice answered next to his ear, there was a pinprick in his neck and there was nothing.
A hand was slapping him awake. It was gloved. He was roped and chained but it didn't matter, there was no feeling in his arms and legs. There was plenty in his face and chest and torso though. He looked around him. A warehouse. Somewhere with little light. He sat under one of the few lights, there was a chair in front of him. He knew how this would play out.
"A little concoction that I learned from a serial killer in Florida," Sherlock said.
"Hm, I think I know the bloke," Moriarty said.
"Quite."
Sherlock sat down across from him. He brought his hands together as if in prayer but Moriarty knew that Sherlock wasn't so foolish.
"I've been trying to set up this little chat for quite some time," Sherlock said.
"You've been very busy this last year," Moriarty said.
"And it all comes down to tonight."
"It does."
"And I've won."
"No, you haven't."
Moriarty smiled.
"You know you haven't won, despite what this feels like," he said.
"I've dismantled your empire, I've laid bare all your secrets, there is nothing that you have hidden that I don't know about now," Sherlock said. "I would surmise that as a victory."
"But it won't bring back your pet now will it?"
Moriarty was given a twitch and nothing more.
"Made him jump to his death, didn't I?" Moriarty said. "'I'll do anything, just don't hurt, Sherlock, oh dearie me, I lurve him so much'."
Sherlock gave nothing.
"Don't think he died on impact, he suffered, those last seconds must have felt like aeons as he bled out on the sidewalk," Moriarty said.
"Curious," Sherlock said.
"What?"
"I was just thinking about what do with you."
"Yes, that is the sticking point, isn't it?"
"If I put you in jail, you'll escape, I can't hurt you because you don't mind pain and aren't afraid of it, the destruction of your empire is a thing that you don't care about, even killing you wouldn't be overly troublesome to you."
Moriarty laughed.
"You see? I've already won and there's nothing you can do to stop me," he said.
"You think that?" a voice said out of the darkness.
Ten footsteps and Dr. John Watson stepped into the circle of light.
"Impossible," Moriarty snarled.
"No snipers this time," Watson said.
"Doesn't have any left, does he?" Sherlock said.
"How?" Moriarty yelled at them.
"Oh, that's a question for another day. One that you won't see, cause the fact of the matter is that that concoction was a bit different. You should feel it eclipsing your heart until finally..."
He gave a jump against his chains and fell still. Sherlock put his gloves on and the two men walked away from the man in the chair.
"What are we going to do about him?" Watson asked.
"Leave him, he'll be discovered by the police and it can be written down to infighting amongst the various criminal organizations," Sherlock said.
"Ah, you've informed Lestrade of that?"
"Of course."
"Can I stop being dead now?"
"Yes, we'll do the paperwork tomorrow. Shame this last year has been so interesting."
"Yes, well, you're going to have to get back to just dealing with your normal workload of unusual cases."
"Quite."
"By the way, to make this believable you had to act like I was really dead. Would that have been what it looked like?"
"Oh, no, no, no."
Sherlock looked at him and smiled.
"It would have been so much worse," Sherlock said. "Come along, I could do some dinner."
The two men left the warehouse and were laughing by the time they hit the next block.