"How many far did he fall?" asked the inspector, incredulously, staring down at the broken body lying on the street.
Sherlock's vague reply was, "Hmm. I'm not sure how many stories. It was a bit of a blur. I kind of lost count."
"Why, Sherlock! Lovely to see you here!" Moriarty grinned.
However, Sherlock was not fooled by the consulting criminal's gleeful tone, expression, and body language. He could see the gleam in his eye that gave everything away. It was an expression of the thrill of the moment, of being entertained. Sherlock certainly would understand the feeling. He knew this was one of the reasons behind anything both he and Moriarty did- for the sake of not being bored. In a way, they were eerily alike. Except for the ways in which they dealt with boredom. Stealing, kidnapping, and killing were at the top of Moriarty's list as ways to cope with boredom. However, Sherlock was convinced that what was about to happen was entirely of a different nature. This wasn't like any of the man's other little schemes. In fact, it would be worse. More clever and cunning than simply killing. Even more so than the time he threatened to kill John by strapping a bomb to him. Sherlock grew infuriated, thinking of when Moriarty took advantage of the people he cared about.
"So what's the final problem? You should know." Moriarty's lilting voice brought him back to the present. The two men stood on a rooftop, surrounded by city all around. Two madmen, standing calmly on a roof. And it was inevitable that sometime soon, one of them would be lying dead on the street below. This, whatever Moriarty was planning, was the final problem, Sherlock knew that much.
Sherlock kept his poker face, replying, "Of course."
"I don't believe you!" came a high pitched exclamation.
Sherlock sighed, immediately closed his eyes, and scanned all the information he had stored in his mind about Moriarty. All of a sudden, his eyes shot open and he gasped at the new realization.
"Staying alive."
Moriarty seemed pleased with the answer. His eyes glistened with excitement.
"It's so hard, isn't it? Staying alive... SO USELESS! So boring..." The whisper trailed off. "We have more in common than you think, Sherlock."
It was true, after all. They were just alike. Moriarty, however, appeared a bit more insane than Sherlock. They both became bored easily. They needed something to occupy their time, something interesting. For Moriarty, this was crime. It was his specialty. As for Sherlock, it used to be drugs, but later on turned to solving crimes. It at least gave him something to do and was a useful outlet for his boredom.
They really were both geniuses who used their gifts to do what they liked.
"Oh, really?" Sherlock replied in an inquiring tone, "Well I'm not going to be pushed off a building."
The detective lunged toward him, focused on the intention to knock him off the building.
Moriarty, however, grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders, and balanced himself.
"Oh! Be careful not to slip, dear." He said lightly, whipping around and shoving Sherlock towards the ledge.
In those next few seconds, they stared into each other's eyes, both battling for their lives. Moriarty gasped as Sherlock pushed him, and he slipped over the edge, with Sherlock only gripping him with one hand.
"Goodbye, Jim." He smirked at the consulting criminal as he released his hold.
Moriarty went tumbling down through the sky; Sherlock and John watching the scene unfold. They both had a feeling of relief, the final problem was solved. It all ended with a thud as his body hit the ground.
John's eyes widened as he saw the infamous Moriarty laying on the sidewalk in front of him, dead at last.
"Looks like Humpty Dumpty won't be put back together again."