I don't own Sherlock or anything else you recognize.

In fact, everything Moriarty says belongs to civilisationsofpurethought on Tumblr. :D

Edited on 6/3/13.

Sherlock sat in the ratty little motel room he'd rented for the night. The room was dark and damp and generally smelled of must and alcohol. He had been chasing after the flies in Moriarty's web, trying to disassemble it, going forward little at a time. Tedious as it was, he could no longer say he was bored. No one knew it was him, solving the cases in the dark, faceless and nameless. Different presses gave him different nicknames, such as Batman or The Lurker.

Sighing slightly, he took a small sip of the cup of coffee he'd gotten, and removed his blond wig and fake soul patch. Out of habit he glanced at his phone, half expecting it to chime, leaving him a note of 'one new message'. It was often that he would get messages from John. Mostly just about little things, such as the weather; sometimes they were filled with sentiment, sadness-going on about how much he missed Sherlock. begging him to perform one last miracle.

But Sherlock couldn't reply—after all, he was a dead man.

But tonight, his phone chimed, and it was not John.

Hello, Sherlock.
[BLOCKED]

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the text, before quickly whipping out a reply.

Hello. Who is this?
–SH

Moments later, a reply came, and the screen of the phone lit the room, casting shadows on the peeling, horrid yellow-and-brown wallpaper.

An interested party.
[BLOCKED]

However, another came moments later.

I've got a little story for you. A fairy tale.
[BLOCKED]

Sherlock, no matter how much he hated it, felt a jolt of fear at that moment. Trying his best to destroy and forget it, he waited for the stranger to continue, and would have been perfectly motionless if not for the quick movements of his calculating, icy eyes.

Richard Brook sat on a wall.
Sherlock Holmes has a great fall.
All Mycroft's horses and all Lestrade's men
Couldn't put Watson together again.
[BLOCKED]

It took no time at all for Sherlock to reply.

What have you done with John?
-SH

The reply took only a moment.

Oh, nothing, nothing.
[BLOCKED]

I'm merely caring for him.
[BLOCKED]

Sherlock smirked softly. He felt his heartbeat increase, just a little bit, as he tapped the keys on his phone, fingers like lightning.

Jim, you're getting repetitive.
-SH

The phone chimed quickly after, four times.

I told you, Sherly.
-JM

I haven't done anything to harm him.
-JM

In fact, he's safe and sound in his flat.
-JM

Well, as safe and sound as a clinically depressed ex-soldier with the return of a certain psychosomatic injury can be.
-JM

Eyebrow cocked upward in slight curiosity, Sherlock hesitated a moment.

Depressed?
-SH

He could almost hear Moriarty's high, soft voice speaking the words as if he were there in person. But Sherlock knew better. And right now, John might be in danger.

Going mad without his precious little detective alive.
-JM

It took moments for Sherlock to come up with a deduction.

So that's your plan.
-SH

Moriarty took a moment to reply.

What, wait for him to off himself?
-JM

Hm, no. Plenty tragic, but hardly entertaining enough.
-JM

A streak of anger bubbled in Sherlock's stomach.

John is strong. He wouldn't kill himself.
-SH

Not voluntarily, at least.
-SH

I'm not that repetitive, dearest.
-JM

You'd be surprised. That little disappearing act had quite the effect on him.
-JM

Sherlock rolled his eyes, replying quick as ever, falling onto his back.

Well, I owe that to you, don't I?
-SH

He stretched and gave his hair a good fluffing out of habit.

All part of the plan, Sherlock.
-JM

So tell me. Have you figured it out yet?
-JM

How I'm alive?
-JM

Sherlock gave another half-smirk, recalling the 'interrogations' he's been doing as he took down each dancing thread of Moriarty's web.

I've got a theory.
-SH

Do share.
-JM

Sherlock's long, nimble fingers eagerly typed across the key pad, and the phone itself couldn't keep up with his typing.

Well, I've done a bit of 'research' recently. You weren't lying when you said you were Richard Brook, but I didn't hire you. So who did?
-SH

Sherlock felt a long-awaited dose of superiority that he missed oh so much.

Mm, you're getting there.
-JM

His smile faded.

What? What did I miss?
-SH

Moriarty took his sweet time replying. Sherlock took the time to scold himself for missing something crucial, as he so clearly did.

I was Brook's employer, dear. Not Brook himself.
-JM

You're speaking to the figure behind the curtain now. The real Moriarty. Hello!
-JM

We've never met.
-JM

Or have we? Oh, dear…
-JM

Sherlock took a moment to let the violent urge to throw his phone at the wall pass.

So brook is really dead, then.
-SH

He posed it more as a statement than a question, because he wasn't really asking, just confirming.

Currently rotting in an unmarked grave inYork.
-JM

Sherlock couldn't help but feel the anticipation building up inside him.

Well, this makes things much more interesting.
-SH

Moriarty changed the subject back to his identity now, as he replied moments later.

I could be anyone.
-JM

The Detective Inspector who took you under his wing. The Woman who beat you. Perhaps even the Soldier himself…
-JM

Sherlock doubted John once. It wouldn't happen again, because John never doubted him—even in the end.

I don't think so.
-SH

That would be quite the plot twist, wouldn't it?
-JM

Sherlock didn't reply. He waited.

I'm sure your situation is abundantly clear to you, Sherlock.
-JM

You've got to do whatever I say.
-JM

Sherlock hesitated, and felt his eyes narrow again, just slightly, at the screen in front of his face as he scanned it again, trying to predict what Moriarty's demands would be.

And what would that be?
-SH

Dying again?
-SH

Moriarty did not hesitate.

Hm, no.
-JM

Not yet, anyways.
-JM

You're going to return to your precious blogger.
-JM

You're going to resume life at 221B Baker Street as it was before your little tumble.
-JM

Sherlock's eyes narrowed further, as he typed back.

What's the catch?
-SH

He could see Moriarty (or rather, Richard Brook) smile and laugh, just slightly, when he read the next message.

Just setting the stage, dearest. Act two is about to begin, and we've got to bring our audience back.
-JM

Sherlock's sense of anticipation doubled on itself, and his heart rate increased. The game was on, now, perhaps the final round—but what did it matter? It kept him from boredom, at least.

Then I suppose the game is on again.
-SH

There was a long pause…

Oh, Sherlock.
-JM

The game never stopped.
-JM