Obviously, this is just something quick to get my mind off certain things. Not one of my best works, that's for sure...but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Can you feel my excitement for Moriarty's return?! Perhaps his evilness is rubbing off of me! :)

Couldn't have it all be Moriarty though, so I added in some Johnlock fluff at the end. And as you read, please keep in the mindset that Sherlock is REALLY out of touch with his human side. In other words, he is the reincarnation of his brother as the ICEMAN, baby!

Can't make it home tonight. Sarah needs me to cover for her at the hospital. -JW

Sherlock glared down at the screen of his phone and swore. Heaving a yell, he flung his phone onto the sofa, which thankfully did nothing but bounce a little from the force. Really though, his outburst was unnecessary but he was beginning to feel the frustration of everything bursting in his head.

Stupid John and his stupid work. Wasn't he more important?

And the answer was, yes of course he was. Sherlock was the one thing in John's life that made John into the man he was today. They had started out as awkward friends, but with each case they grew closer. Sherlock wasn't even quite sure when they had crossed the line of friends into "more than friends". But all that didn't matter much to the consulting detective.

No, what mattered was John's sudden need for distance and sharp-toothed coldness. He hated being on the receiving end of such actions, though he would admit to himself that he was a bit of an expert at distancing himself to others. But not John, never John. The doctor was the only person who could understand him completely, the one man that would know exactly how to act in any sort of situation Sherlock flung at him, and the one man that would never purposely leave him.

They had established a relationship (after John reluctantly revoked his 'I AM NOT GAY' card) and everything seemed peachy. At least until John decided to play the 'avoidance' card and started disappearing in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings. At first Sherlock had not paid much attention beyond his own experiments, but as the days crawled on he began to see John less and less. And now this stupid text.

Sherlock resolved to end this distance between them. But he didn't know how. He would find someone to speak to...yet, Mrs. Hudson would be a nightmare. Mycroft wouldn't know anything on relationships that would be worthy of listening. Molly didn't have the best run-list of boyfriends, so anything she said would be useless. Greg Lestrade had recently divorced his wife, so he was no good either. This left no one but...

Moriarty. Was Sherlock feeling insane enough today? Hm, perhaps. Gritting his teeth into a bitter smile, he ground his finger into the keypad and dialed a number.

Sherlock climbed up the staircase of the apartment two at a time. He was feeling elated in a squashed sort of way. It was as if he had been shot with adrenaline and it was working its way into his bloodstream right this very moment. But it was being suffocated by the confusion in his heart. He hated the feeling and hoped it would be out of his system soon.

He arrived at the door of home 222 and knocked three times in quick succession. There was a moment before the door slowly swung open, revealing the irritating face of Jim Moriarty.

Moriarty's face took upon an expression of fake boredom, complete with a yawn and a flick of his wrist. He took a moment to appraise Sherlock from top to bottom before his usual smile broke through his calm exterior.

"Oh Sherlock. You do know we are enemies, don't you?" Moriarty's smile spread. "But please, do come in. And watch for the carpet would you, just had that cleaned."

Sherlock followed him in, his pale eyes wearily scoping out the cramped rooming. Walls painted a dusty yellow seemed to stand out, harmonious against the warm tones of the furniture. There were no personal photographs of anyone, Sherlock noticed before allowing his eyes to return to the silhouette of his enemy.

"You will sit, won't you?" Moriarty persisted in his sugary tone. "I even made tea. I thought we might share."

Sherlock sat in the overstuffed chair that Moriarty had indicated to. His reclining back remained straight and tense, though he curled a hand over the arm of the chair in a relaxed sort of way. Moriarty poured the tea with careful awareness, occasionally looking at Sherlock from under his eyelashes and smiling. Sherlock was almost amused to think that his enemy had not changed one bit. It brought him some stability in the whole scheme of things.

"Thank you," Sherlock said as Moriarty handed him his cup of tea.

"Careful, Sherlock. It's very hot." His mocking tone was ignored as the detective took a delicate sip before setting it back on the saucer.

"Noted and disregarded." Sherlock replied finally, as the tea was actually mildly warm. His expression did not change, though his back seemed to knot further.

Moriarty leaned forward in his seat, ignoring his own tea completely. "So, tell me. How is John these days? Busy?" His eyes seemed to gleam in a knowing sort of way.

"A bit busy, yes." Sherlock dismissed, stirring his tea a little. "Clients have been scarce...he's renewed his license at the hospital."

"Saving lives in an ordinary setting? How alike him. He was so very ordinary compared to you, wasn't he? But he threw that away when he became your partner."

"His life began when he met me." Sherlock countered through his teeth.

Moriarty continued as if not hearing Sherlock's interruption. "And now, poor little Sherlock Holmes, free-lance consulting detective is feeling neglected. So he drops by his enemy's house for a chat and some tea."

"The tea is hardly exceptional. Mediocre at best." He took another sip and narrowed his eyes.

"Oh Sherlock, Sherlock. You don't understand, do you?" If Moriarty tipped any further forward in his chair, he would fall. "Having a little domestic doesn't equate to pointing fingers. The tea has hardly done anything to require your hostile behavior. And neither have I." His teasing voice was beginning to grate Sherlock's eardrums. "At least not recently."

"Yes, yes..." Sherlock's voice dropped. "You have been laying low recently. Why is that?"

Moriarty's eyes became slits as he smiled. "It's a secret. And that would be telling, Sherlock. But nevermind me playing the good kitty, tell me about you. What else would you have come here for?"

"Why do you think I would tell you anything?"

"Because I know you sought me out for a reason. And I don't play the Love Doctor for just anyone. So just tell me, Sherlock. C'mon, just for fun."

The detective eyed the consulting criminal for a moment before sighing a little. He put his stirring cup down and pulled his hands under his chin as he leant. He paid no attention to the way Moriarty's face seemed to contort in an even more maniacal smile.

"John's avoiding me. We haven't seen each other's face in the daylight for at least a week. Anything in regards to communication is done through text messaging."

Moriarty almost immediately leaned back into his seat, pulling with him the most inquisitive look Sherlock had ever seen on his face. He tilted his eyes toward the ceiling and mockingly stroked his hairless chin.

"And you, Sherlock Holmes-number one consulting detective, with brains that even the gods above would envy, the king of deductions, among other amazing things-cannot understand why your partner is doing this? Really? I thought it would be quite simple.

"-Simple, how?"

"But then again, I am talking about the Sherlock Holmes. The one that understands nothing about human likeness, the one who disregards human feelings like they are nothing, and...the one person who is in all purpose and choices, made as an exact copy of me." Moriarty bared his teeth and laughed. "We're alike, you and I. But I understand, even if I don't participate."

"I don't understand." Sherlock replied ironically, taking another sip of his tea.

"Oh clever, very clever. You're clever, Sherlock." Moriarty's voice lilted sardonically. "The irony in that is that you're so stupid." When Sherlock gave no answer, he continued. "John Watson is what we are not-compassionate. Fiery, spirited, and complete with the useless feelings of an average human."

"What does that make us?" Sherlock questioned in monotone.

"We are human as well, can you not tell by our compacted muscle, sinew, bones? We are of the same build, yet isolated from the rest. Tell me, what has you been up to recently?"

"Experimentation, trips to the morgue. Nothing really."

"You see, that is why we are different. We do what we want. No one can truly stop us when we have our mind set on something. John, on the other hand, he's just a pawn. He is a servant and he will bend backwards for a treat from his master. The master needs some alone time, well than the servant will grant that wish. The master needs his concentration, the servant will stay small and hidden away as to not cause him to lose thus. Tell me, has the master really given any sign that he wants his servant back under his feet?"

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed against his pasty skin.

"Are you saying in some twisted way, John is isolating himself for me?"

"Master and servant. Sherlock and John." Moriarty's drawl grew more vicious and syrupy sweet. "What's the difference? You. Tell. Me."

Sherlock stood up abruptly, already securing the scarf around his neck as he briskly walked toward the door. As his hand wrapped around the handle, he paused.

"John is much more than a servant." Sherlock says quietly before turning the knob. Before the door swung shut behind him, he heard Moriarty's chuckling.

"Fix your domestic atmosphere, Sherlock. The next time I strike, I want to face a united front. Believe it or not, you're not too much fun on your own!"

Sherlock didn't allow himself to answer, only rushed back down the stairs, leaving the echo behind him.

The hospital doesn't need you. Come back home. -SH

The door of 221B swung open with haste and John raised his eyes hesitantly at the obscured face of his partner by the staircase. He wrung his hands awkwardly on his jacket sleeves.

"What...What's wrong, Sherlock? Is something the matter? I got your text." John's worried voice sounded like music to the detective's ears. As the doctor neared the staircase, Sherlock grabbed the edge of his sleeve and dragged him up against his body in a hug. He inhaled the scent of disinfectant and rubber that clung to John's perspiration and sighed.

"Welcome home, John. I've missed you."