Colonel Sebastian Moran wasn't exactly thrilled to be dragging a body through Moriarty's doorway on a stifling Tuesday morning but there really was no other way to get his point across. He gave the snoop a rough shake by his bloody collar before sending him sprawling before Moriarty's bedside table.
"Found him lurking in the bushes with a pistol between his legs."
"Perhaps he was happy to see you."
"I think he was happy to see you close to death."
"Hm. People always go for that, don't they?"
Moriarty kept his back to him, a subtly implicit gesture that irked Sebastian slightly. The man on the rug gasped and clutched at his throat which had been spewing blood for the past few minutes. The redness crept between his fingertips and seeped into the pure white bearskin rug beneath him. The stain would be ugly and impossible to ignore but Sebastian couldn't care less. The way he saw it, it was punishment for Moriarty refusing to look at him: a coward's concern in their power-play games.
Moriarty stood in front of a large mirror with his eyes closed and an expression of utmost peace on his face. Of course, he was wearing one of the suits that Sebastian loved, a plain gray number that greatly complimented his predatory aurora. For all of the world he seemed like a man wholly unconcerned with the thought of death lurking just beneath his window, which, Sebastian knew, he mostly likely was. Moriarty had bigger things on his mind. Bigger things with cheekbones and curly black hair. Suddenly he opened his eyes and snapped open his phone. A quick look at the screen yielded unsatisfactory results and he sighed, the black eyes rolling to the ceiling in frustration.
"Your boyfriend's being boring again?" Sebastian muttered venomously.
"Oh, honey, you have no idea-"
Without warning Sebastian smashed the end of his sniper into his captive's head, ending his life without so much as a single grunt. The captured assassin hadn't done anything but croak feebly for help but for some reason the thought of the consulting detective put Sebastian on edge. Moriarty turned and looked at the dead assassin on his carpet with mild interest, his mouth parted slightly around his last word. His eyes traveled up to Sebastian who in turn watched him with livid grey eyes. Eyes of a true killer, Moriarty thought, oh, I like that. The only sound in the room was Sebastian's deep breathing and a soft hissing noise as he rubbed the dots of blood from his scruffy chin with the back of his hand.
"You could thank me, you know. This man was trying to get in your bedroom and –"
"Well, he should have just waited in line, shouldn't he have?" Moriarty crossed the room slowly, step by measured step, until he was uncomfortably close to Sebastian, his breath fluttering over his upper lip. It was a battle of pride: Moriarty's never blinking eyes against Sebastian's unwavering, disciplined ones. "Instead of sneaking around like a naughty boy, a very naughty boy. After all there are others in line, aren't there? Other very good boys who wait patiently."
"To do what, James?" Sebastian said with angry tilt of his head. The man was close – so close – and when Moriarty took another step, thus obliterating the very idea of personal space between them, it took all of Sebastian's strength not to grab him and hold him down. Moriarty's next words were spoken with a rare and dangerously sexy smile.
"To get into my bedroom. Oh-ho-ho," Moriarty chittered upon feeling Sebastian's fists clench at his sides, "I bet you want to touch me, Sebby, and not in the fun way."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
He'd never been one for disco music and as The Bee Gees hit song rang out, muffled, through the spacious room such a sense of loathing welled up in Sebastian that he could have strangled Moriarty for setting such a ringtone. The younger man pulled away from him and gently brushed his bottom lip with his ringed finger, as if wiping away the memory of Sebastian's lips.
"Mind if I get that?" He asked in a tone that was either carelessly mocking or genuinely apologetic (Sebastian expected the former.) Keeping a heated gaze on Moriarty's face, Sebastian stepped back and folded his hands over his crotch. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered talking to the man but the alternative to their teasing communications was…unbearable. He was inexplicably drawn to Moriarty like a lion to the gaze of an intruding alpha.
Although this alpha's gaze seemed to be somewhere else completely. Moriarty raised the phone to his ear.
xXxXx
Everything depended on the call.
Sherlock reminded himself that he simply could not fall prey to Moriarty's mind games again. He was sure that the man would try to use words against him to twist his thoughts and confuse him. After all, Sherlock had finally snipped the final silky string of the criminal web and Moriarty knew it. A spider felt every jolt and vibration around it. Of course Moriarty knew that Sherlock had finally closed in.
"What are you-"
Sherlock thrust his hand in the air and signaled for John to go away. Flat mates could be so intrusive, especially at three in the morning with a mug of tea in their hand. Couldn't he just stay in bed and write letters to his girlfriends?
John sighed and puttered away, ignorant and most likely unconcerned with the caliber of the situation.
The dial tone purred and purred. Sherlock waited, his face set and mind taut. This was it. There was a pause and then –
"Busy."
Click. He stared at the small phone in his hand, thoroughly confused. "I don't understand," he whispered and then louder, "I don't understand – he shouldn't have hung up."
"Who?"
"SHUT UP, JOHN! I'm trying to think."
And John puttered away, cursing his life decisions under his breath.
The world's only consulting criminal had said one word and then hung up on the world's only consulting detective, the only consulting detective who was on the verge of breaking the criminal network. Sherlock gave the phone an uncharacteristically energetic squeeze and let it drop to the floor. He simply couldn't imagine what would keep Moriarty so busy.