"NO! NO NO NO NO! Enn. Oh. NO. Do you get that? I refuse to allow it!"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Your tantrums might impress him, but they do absolutely nothing for me, you realise that, right?"

"You work for me, and I forbid you do to even think about something like that! I thought I trained you better!"

"You didn't train me at all, Jim, the army did. And I follow your orders because they're fun, not because you actually have some hold over me."

The man in the Westwood suit growled, turning his eyes on his second in command. "If you don't stop this, I will burn you, Seb. I will burn the heart out of you."

Sebastian Moran simply laughed. "You'd need my skills to do that, Jim. We both know what happened the last time you decided to try and kill someone. And since I definitely won't be helping you out on this…"

James Moriarty scowled, stomping his foot on the floor of the opulent penthouse. "You could do so much better, Sebastian. There is that man in the Jameson-"

Another laugh. "Please, Jim, we both know just how easy it would be for me to kill him. No, to borrow a phrase from your favourite nemesis, they're all just so boring. He isn't."

The scowl grew deeper. "I will not be forgetting this, Sebastian. You'll regret doing this."

"I'm sure I will, Jimmy. I'm sure I will," Sebastian agreed, waving goodbye nonchalantly as he walked out the door.

"I know I haven't missed any signs of toxins entering your blood stream, John, and I'm certain that your PTSD isn't returning to inhibit your cognitive functions. Though I must admit, I'm not terribly familiar with some of the new drugs on the market, so it's perfectly possible that Moriarty could have slipped it into your food, but don't worry. I'm calling Mycroft and Lestrade right now, and we'll all take care of it, and in the meantime just listen to Mrs-"

"SHERLOCK!"

"What?" Sherlock asked. "Can't you see that this is important, John? Your health is at stake! I'm sure you can tell me whatever insipid little story you need to once you've been fully checked by the doctors – not that I have any hopes of their competence – and cured of whatever's affecting you."

John sighed. "Sherlock, I'm perfectly fine," he said, forcing himself to be calm. "I haven't been drugged; I'm not doing any of this against my will. It's all been my decision."

"That isn't- No wait, you're telling the truth John. Vital signs are normal, no increase in heart rate or sweat production, no change in posture." Sherlock blinked at the doctor for long moments in rare shock and surprise. "But – But why?" he finally asked, sounding unusually confused.

"Because I feel like it. Because he asked me to. Just because."

"That's not an acceptable answer. You know who this man is, John, you know exactly how many deaths he's responsible for-"

"I'm not exactly a saint myself, Sherlock," John replied calmly, "Or did you forget about the cabbie?"

"You seem to forget that he was perfectly willing to take your life – and mine – just a few weeks ago."

"We spoke about, and decided that we won't discuss anything about our respective – professions, shall we call it? Even if they include us crossing paths – it's the perfect way to avoid unnecessary conflict."

"No. No no no. I refuse to permit this John. He is a dangerous man and you are not going!"

"Unfortunately, I already spoke to your brother about this, Sherlock. There's absolutely nothing you can do to stop me."

Sherlock glared holes in the man's back as he left the apartment.

"That's what you think, John," he murmured, walking over to the bookcase and pulling out a card from behind what seemed to be a completely random book to the naked eye. "That's what you think."

"Yours too, I suppose?"

"He simply refuses to see reason!"

"You know this doesn't mean that I no longer want to kill you."

"I do. And nor does this mean that I will not catch you in the end."

"That's a rather debateable fact, dah-ling. But we talk about that later. We have more pressing issues to attend to at the moment."

"Indeed. Shall we?"

"We shall. I think London will remember this day for a long time, Sherly. Imagine, Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty, finally teaming up."

In a quaint little restaurant, two ex-Army man talked over pasta.

"How long will you think it will take them?"

"I think we should just be happy we've had this long. I doubt this will last for more than another minute."

That was exactly when reports of all government electronic systems – including traffic signals, the London Eye, and most tellingly, traffic cameras – acting up started to stream in.

A/N: No, I have no idea what's wrong with me...
Anyhow, I hope that you guys liked this bit of crack. As always, please don't forget to drop a review on your way out! :)