A Dish Best Served Cold

Summery: Moriarty is out rule the world once again and he's had it with Sherlock Holmes's interference. He has a plan, but the detective's friends may pay the ultimate price.

Disclaimer All Publicly Recognizable Characters, Settings, Ideas, etc. are the Property of DiC Entertainment and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The Original Characters and Plot are the Property of the Author. The Author is in no way Associated with the Owners, Creators, or Producers of DiC Entertainment. No Copyright Infringement is intended.

Prologue Moriarty's Base, Unknown Location in New London's Underground

Moriarty paced the dimly light room that severed as both his office and bedroom. The only source of light was a lamp that illuminated a few scattered papers on his desk.

'Damn him,' he thought, 'damn him.'

It had been a perfect scheme. It would have secured the whole underground of France but then Holmes had to interfere—him, that compudroid, those blasted kids, and that infuriating New Scotland Yard zealot Lestrade. How could she be so infuriating? Her ancestor hadn't been anywhere near as annoying. Who'd ever heard of a twenty-five year old making inspector?—and a woman at that.

He remembered that in the beginning he had admired her. She was persistent and highly intelligent… for a yardie and had more or less figured out who he was as well as given him some trouble before Holmes arrived on the scene again. What Moriarty could still not figure out was why Holmes had been preserved in honey. What kind of man would want his corpse dealt with in such a manner?

Moriarty stopped, sighed in frustration and massaged his temples. He was getting off track. His plans had been hampered again and again by Holmes; he had to get rid of him permanently. Though he had to admit he was somewhat reluctant. It was a challenge dealing with Holmes and as much as Moriarty hated the man, he enjoyed the challenge. He thought back to the opportunities he had had to kill Holmes; there was that venture with the Mazerin chip when Holmes had been in that cage and at his mercy, and again during Christmas after he had tossed that ruddy carbuncle toy at them he could have blasted them all. Why hadn't he?

'Because you enjoy it,' a voice in his head said to him, 'you enjoy having someone who challenges you.'

A memory flashed in his head; of him falling over the falls and thinking that it was over and Holmes at least was going with him. That thought had kept the fear of death out off his face, eyes and heart. He remembered the look on Holmes' face, there had been a little fear and a little regret, not surprising—he had a good friend and a brother and a life in London while Moriarty had nothing. Despite that there was some joy. He knew Moriarty would trouble the world no more. It was a hero's death he was going too. It should have been. That sapling just had to be there. Holmes had managed to grab onto it while keeping a hold of Moriarty.

"Hold on," he said while trying to pull Moriarty back up, the strain evident in his voice.

Now Moriarty was scared. If Holmes failed to pull him up he would die while Holmes would in all likelihood survive and he would never have had his revenge—that scared him.

He could feel Holmes' grip slipping and he realised he was going to die and Holmes was not. Holmes was going to live. Live The great detective lost his grip. Moriarty fell.

"No." He denied. "He fell. I am not him."

And indeed he was not. The original Moriarty had never been as hands on as he was. The old one had done little or nothing himself, simply orchestrated events like a spider from the centre of his web.

Mind you that Moriarty had a public persona. A legitimate face he presented to the world so such actions were impossible. Now he had no such persona and he liked being more hands on then his predecessor. Indeed he was not the original… and as Holmes was about to discover he was far worse.

'It's not enough to hurt only Holmes,' Moriarty though, 'I have to hurt all of them—the compudroid, that zealot, and even those bothersome children.'

"Holmes." He said aloud. "I am going to break you in half."