'We all fall, at some point.'

'I've got nowhere to fall from.'

'You'd be surprised.'

'I don't think I would.'

'The world is a big, bad place. You've seen a lot of that, I know. But all you've ever done is try to fix it. Doesn't that get boring, fixing things? You could be great. You're not weak. Well, you are in some aspects, we all are. You don't like fighting, do you?'

'Nor do you.'

'That doesn't answer the question.'

'Generally, with use of the word nor, I am implying that neither parties enjoy said activity. Basic English.'

'I could kill you now.'

'Try.'

Sherlock Holmes faced his opponent, who was slightly smaller than himself. With slicked back dark hair, he wore a suit and tie. His lips took the shape of a crooked smile, his eyes a dark brown. James Moriarty, smaller in height, larger in so many other ways.

And yet. To outwit this man was how to win their conversation, if one could call if that. A meeting by chance, one that neither had intended upon. He had his guns and friends, but would never kill himself. Was that what ultimately separated the two? Maybe perhaps, for Sherlock Holmes was sure that he would take this man by his throat if he had to.

But it wouldn't come to that. For both were sophisticated men, and both were eager to test the other. James Moriarty had plans, and he would in no way jeopardise them. And Sherlock Holmes had cases to solve, people to protect.

It could come to a fight, of course, but why should it have to? In an abandoned warehouse, the lighting fixtures flickering, odd shadows cast upon the floors. This was a chance meeting, but so perfectly situated that it almost felt planned. It was as though they were reciting lines from a theatre production, as though there was an audience behind the forth wall.

But no. It was Sherlock Holmes, James Moriarty, and possibly a man with a gun waiting outside. No one was in imminent danger. This was almost a friendly conversation between old university friends, albeit in an odd setting. So well-rehearsed.

Dangerous waters was what this was. Dangerous waters that Sherlock Holmes had strayed willingly into, for drowning was an irrational fear. How does one stop oneself from drowning? By swimming. And so that was what Sherlock Holmes had to do; to swim his way through, to hope to leave the river only wet, not dead.

'Tell me, why do you always seek out the conflict? Surely best not to provoke me, when you know what I can do to you and your… friends?'

'Because I know that there isn't anything to provoke in you. I chance upon your boredom, and you see fit to wave a gun in my face.'

'Maybe you shouldn't wave your face in front of my gun.'

'But it's not yours, is it? In the end, you're the coward. Letting the big men do the scary job for you, organising but never committing.'

'Committing. What a funny word. You'd be mistaken, Sherlock! I can do so much, so much more than you could ever imagine. All you ever do is save- save the day, save their lives, save the gold. But you can't save yourself, can you? You can only hope.'

'What makes you think that?'

'Observation. Look at your record, Sherlock. Staying with the good guys. So boring. One might think that you want to play this game, just for something challenging. Tell me, did you ever find out who stole the ring?'

'I'm still-'

'Me! To think, me! Oh, I'm extensive. I set these up, send you looking for something else. Get a new job, or at least a hobby.'

James Moriarty was all talk. The fear, it showed when he spoke. The way his eyes would flicker towards the door, hoping that his gunman was still there and waiting, that his car was ready to leave at a seconds warning. But Sherlock Holmes needed none of these things, for he had always been alone, and planned to stay that way. And to be alone, you had to defend yourself.

James Moriarty could hide forever, but he could never win. He could only wait and hope. And hell, was Sherlock Holmes glad for it. James Moriarty had his men, but Sherlock Holmes had a government brother, an entire police station, a blogger flatmate, and a network of the homeless. Sherlock Holmes had an army. James Moriarty had a mouth and a man and a car. He could run and hide, but Sherlock Holmes would always catch him, as he had now.

James Moriarty was a spider, a man in the middle of a web. He could blow up NATO in alphabetical order, could crash an aircraft with a phone call, and could set off a bomb with a blink. But he couldn't hide forever, and he couldn't evade Sherlock Holmes.

They had a bond.

A bond and an abandoned warehouse.

Oh, James Moriarty could talk. But one cannot talk forever. One must take a break, and then the other must strike. Sherlock Holmes stood, waiting. The tension, that was what he was going for. The collar of the long coat that he wore becoming increasingly annoying, the shoes he wore feeling odd upon his feet. The tension that Sherlock Holmes was trying to resist was taking him.

James Moriarty wasn't a man at all.

But was Sherlock Holmes any better?

'You question it all, after a while, don't you? What's real and what isn't?' He laughed, a quiet but sudden sound. 'You wonder, did I really do that? Or was it all his doing, did he make me look clever. You doubt yourself, really.'

'I don't doubt myself for a second.'

'I believe none of that.'

'Oh?'

'But they, Sherlock- they believe in you.'

A/N: Hello! It's been a while. Well, my one year anniversary with FFN is coming up on 21/02/2013, and the likelihood of me posting something then is ridiculously slim. I'm literally failing grade 10. So, I give you this! And hopefully that will excuse my long and arduous absence. I really hope that you liked it, it took me about an hour to type up. Stemmed from an idea I had for the New Beginnings universe, but I thought it was better suited to Mr Holmes and Mr Moriarty. I always appreciate a review or favourite dropped my way!

Luffs,

~PotterSherlocketc