A/N: This is my latest non-OC Moriarty fic. Started with one of Lemon Zinger's first sentence starters. See her profile :)

The kisses of an enemy may be profuse, but faithful are the wounds of a friend. – Proverbs 27: 6 NIV

-Watson-

The unnatural laughter broke the silence. It was chilling and rang with an otherworldly menace. Goosebumps rose on my arms, partially due to the fact that I crouched in a dark alley on a cold and rainy night in late April, 1891.

Surveillance work for Holmes was never by any means boring, but it often involved sacrificing enough luxuries and comforts that I frequently wished I was elsewhere.

Not that I was a man used to living in luxury. My time as an army surgeon in the Second Afghan War had without doubt taught me the true neccessities of survival, particularly in that merciless and deadly jungle where a man is judged by his own personal morals.

It was merely that my leg and shoulder were aching miserably as everlasting reminders of the single term I'd served, and I was afraid I'd fall ill by morning, as was indicated by my sniffles and the deep coughs I had to suppress every couple moments, though I doubted they would be heard over the sounds of the storm.

I envied the men who sat in such warm oblivion in this house on High St. Well, not exactly. They were plotting the crime of the century, and the only part in it I wanted was in helping to foil their nefarious scheme.

So they were plotting something generally evil and secretive. With the window cracked open "to let in some air." How convenient for my intentions.

"Holmes won't realize what's going down until it's too late," Professor Moriarty said with a certain pleasure, a malicious grin playing at the corners of his mouth and soon widening as his sense of triumph deepened.

The inner sanctum of his organization stared at him almost adoringly as he turned away from the fireplace and in the direction of my window, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully, in a manner that was frighteningly Holmes-like.

Holmes. I had to find him now. And yet I remained enthralled by this particular episode of eavesdropping.

Moriarty whirled to meet the gazes of two of his lackeys- Montague and Garfield- and spoke in his same, cool tones, perfectly calculated to leave out any unnecessary emotion. "You two: go on to Baker St. and see what's keeping Mr. Holmes. I would have expected him to make a surprise intrusion on our little meeting by now. Pick up Parker and Johnson from whatever pub they're frequenting on your way."

As the two lieutenants stood and made to leave, I gasped. Now there could be no delay in finding Holmes. I scrambled to my feet, but my limbs were stiff and unresponsive, and I staggered back against the brick wall of the house.

I held there for a moment to regain control of my body, then took off as fast as I could allow myself to go, keeping a safe distance between me and the two silhouettes heading in the direction of Baker St.

-Holmes-

"You know I cannot authorize that, Mr. Holmes." Calm as could be, Lestrade stared earnestly into my face.

Damn the rules, anyway. I leaned my respectably tall person closer to him so that I was half over his desk and still towered over him. "I don't care if it's authorized or not," I growled in as low and menacing tones as I could muster. "Just get the guards to Baker St. and make sure he doesn't die."

"Do you honestly think I can dispatch that many men without the Chief finding out?"

And damn the Chief. Damn this entire business. "I also don't care what your chief thinks of it. I need that protection detail."

Lestrade never faltered, never backed down, showing me that he was even more tenacious than I'd thought. "And I am sorry, but I cannot give it to you."

Lestrade was the pick of a bad lot; he rarely failed me. And never had when it came to the Moriarty case.

"Inspector?" The young and blundering Sergeant Cummings peeked inquisitively around the door.

"Yes, I will be with you momentarily, Cummings." He turned to me. "Now I would strongly suggest that you leave my office, unless there is something else I can help you with."

I rose indignantly. "No, sir," I said coolly, and felt my cloak billow behind me as I turned on my heel and brushed past Cummings on my way out.

How could Lestrade be so blind? I had already informed him of my visit from Moriarty a few days ago, on the 22nd. He knew the Professor planned on killing Watson to get to me. And yet he was refusing to protect my Boswell until we could net the organization.

My mind whirled with angry thoughts toward the man as I ignored Bradstreet calling my name from somewhere out of my line of view and exited the building.

If Scotland Yard could not assure me of his safety, then I myself would gladly lay my life down in front of him. Once I was out of the way they would not need to kill him, anyway. I had hidden the majority of my notes from him, he had no knowledge that his life was in danger of any kind. And I intended for it to stay that way.

The reader may wonder why I had Watson eavesdropping on secretive meetings of the Moriarty gang if he was wanted as leverage for me to drop the case. Yes, Moriarty knew that I knew of these assemblies, but there was assuredly no way he could know I had Watson listening on them unless Lestrade was a double agent…

Even through the storm of dark emotions which barraged me mercilessly I nearly smiled at the mental picture of Lestrade employed by Moriarty. It was… ludicrous, as an understatement.

But Moriarty surpassed me intellectually… he was more on an equal level with Mycroft, or perhaps past brother mine, even, so I did not know whether he could have detected Watson's presence or not. I hoped to God that I had not put my staunch companion in a situation too risky, that I had not unwittingly sacrificed my most valued pawn. Moriarty may have been willing to gamble with life, but I most certainly was not, and my archenemy knew it all too well.

I had hailed a cab and was opening my mouth to direct the cabby to the Baker St. rooms when I changed my mind, and instead gave the squinty eyed fellow the address of the Diogenes club.

-Watson-

I was soaked even through my supposedly waterproof Inverness, and chilled to the bone. Holmes always chose the most miserable nights for surveillance exercises such as this one.

Each boom of the thunder which continued to grow in pitch until it was deafening brought forth to my mind horrible visions from Afghanistan.

Yet still I did not prevail to the conditions and perservered in my measured pursuit of Moriarty's large and muscular lackeys. It was some consolation for me to think that they were every bit as soaked as I was.

Everything Holmes had ever taught me and all the naggings he had forced through my brain were taking effect, and I glanced over my shoulder often to see whether I was being followed.

But this night was an incredibly good night for reconnaissance, if one was looking for a twitchy, mysterious feeling of paranoia. If whoever was tailing me (if indeed someone was) saw me turn around, they could merely duck into the shadows, which were present everywhere. It was a perfect night to hide- and an awful one to seek.

After years of working with Sherlock Holmes, I had learned to never let down my guard, but when we were introduced to the matter of the Moriarty syndicate, I became even more tense than ever, knowing what the man was capable of. Or rather, not being able to comprehend the entirety of it. This vast presence of unknown dangers filled me again now as I pushed forward, having no idea what lurked in the shadows both in front of and behind me. I could be being watched and not even know it… this paranoia caused a sensation of feeling the nonexistent eyes on me. Or were they nonexistent?

Feeling too- dare I admit to it- afraid to see what horrors lay behind me, I put every shred of my tenacity into pressing on.

-Holmes-

As usual Mycroft and I were the only ones to occupy the otherwise deserted visitor's room.

"And remind me again why you are disrupting my routine, Sherlock."

I fixed elder brother with a soul-freezing glare. "Because you are just as much a genius as Moriarty."

He snorted. "Please don't be modest, Sherlock."

"What I mean is, I want you to think as him for a moment."

Mycroft furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Do you think there's any chance Moriarty could have spotted Watson?"

Brother mine raised his eyebrows. "Well, there's always the foolproof look-out-the-window. The Doctor was crouching directly below it."

I cursed profoundly, earning a glare of disapproval from Mycroft, even though we were alone.

"Sherlock!"

"Mycroft, you are above me in every way, so surely you see that a man such as Moriarty most certainly would have deduced his presence. I have been so blind!"

"He isn't dead, Sherlock."

"But he will be."

"Sherlock, you told me to think like him. Now I am telling you that if I were him I would not kill him. At worst I'd hold your biographer captive for a while as leverage, but I wouldn't commit acts of violence when sheer intellect will do. At best I'd lull you into a sense of complacency by letting you off with a warning that you would not be so lucky next time an opportunity arises, then striking when you do not expect it."

I growled something I very much hoped was unintelligable and left without another word.

I had no idea how I'd live with myself if my acts of foolishness were the cause of Watson's demise.

I was persistant. I refused to surrender and be beaten at my own game. Here I still had not surrendered, and yet was being beaten. And I was too blind and too powerless to stop it.

-Watson-

Stopping near an unknown public house (the sign was obscured by the sheets of rain), the party of two turned into four, which made them all the more threatening.

Through the entire journey my targets had been taking many unnecessary detours to shake off anyone who might be following them, and obviously they had not been as successful as they hoped.

The most recent of these detours ran along Copp's Row, and the uphill climb combined with the coughs I needed to let out and yet could not risk it were making me exceedingly light-headed, and I knew I needed to stop for breath soon or else risk fainting from lack of oxygen.

But if I stopped, then I would surely lose my quarry. And I could not afford to do that, for Holmes' sake especially.

I managed to go on for a couple more moments, but my judgement as a physician stopped me from continuing when I caught myself stumbling, and became conscious of the fact that my whole body was trembling uncontrollably, and my breaths were coming shallowly, and much more rapidly than they should be. I gulped in mouthfuls of cold air, but it seared my lungs, and I was not able to force myself to breathe any deeper. My training led me to apply my fingers to my wrist, whereupon I found that my pulse was weak, and so quick it was quite irregular.

I could not continue, against my better judgement. I knew for sure that if I went on, I would truly collapse.

I was torn. Holmes would be concerned more with my well-being than his own, but I was his… friend.

Was I betraying him by catching my breath instead of following the men who were out to harm him? If I was, I didn't reconcile myself. Only when I was sure I had gained enough of my breath back did I continue.

But before I did something like a shadow passed me by. That was not surprising, the whole street was composed of shadows at this hour, but this shadow was tall, taller than Holmes, even, and I could almost swear I saw deep-sunken eyes glint at me as a reptilian head turned.

I had not the presence of mind to think more about it. I gathered some air into my lungs and continued.

Of course I had no sight of the men now, so I took my usual route the rest of the way to Baker St., with a few variations to confuse the person or persons who may or may not have been tailing me.

When I got there, my pulse quickened again, this time due to fear and anxiousness, for Moriarty's lieutenants had gotten there first; the lock had been broken, quite forcibly, and all was quiet.

With baited breath I slipped silently through the door, peering around me cautiously. Several of the gaslamps had been broken and extinguished; only one at the end of the hall remained lit. By its dim glow I could see that windows and vases had been shattered, and glass and porcelain shards coated the floor, crunching under my body weight as I stepped on them.

I glanced at the knobs on the gas jets. Wait a moment… The lamps hadn't been turned off when they had been broken. So the gas would have filled the space, and then the windows were broken afterwards to disperse it. But who had shattered the bulbs, and who had been trapped inside with the deadly gas to break the windows?

Fear filled me, even more so than before, fed by a strong current of it that wondered if I was too late, if my stop for rest had been the difference between finding Holmes and not stopping those men from taking him.

"Holmes?" I called, hoping for some answer, any answer.

Dead silence screamed back at me.

I rushed up the stairs in a frenzy. "Holmes? Holmes, answer me!"

Still nothing.

I was on the top floor now, in my own bedroom. Still no sign of Holmes.

"Holmes, are you here?"

A hand clamped tightly over my mouth, and a voice growled in my ear, "He's not here. I'm afraid it's just us."

Then two more strong arms pinned my own arms behind my back. Two were behind me, then. Two others moved into my line of view. Four of them- Montague, Garfield, Parker, and Johnson. Four against one. I could not win that fight.

Garfield's hand tightened as he held a sickly sweet rag over my mouth and nose. Despite being detained so, I began to struggle against Montague's hold he had on my arms, for I recognized the scent as that of chloroform.

Garfield spoke softly into my ear. "Now, now, don't fight it, Dr. Watson."

He was right, I could not go without inhaling for much longer. Finally, I was forced to draw a breath, and fell limp almost instantly.

A/N: I feel evil evil enough to leave you with a cliff hanger until next week. Will try to update next Friday, though I don't have much done on this story, so you may have to wait eventually. Now that you've read, please review! -SWS