It was unusual, to say the least, that James Moriarty would text Sherlock when he was not plotting some form of evil plan to take over the world, or whatever he did to challenge himself against Sherlock, the only man for whom he saw the glimmer of an equal. An opposite. He strolled along the busy London streets, sunglasses on, phone in hand, texting away. To any passer-by he would have seemed a perfectly innocent man, enjoying the sun and perhaps texting his wife or friends. But James Moriarty, oh, no. He wasn't texting a wife, a friend, not even a colleague. He was texting Sherlock Holmes. He grinned as he texted, gleefully celebrating the genius level he had achieved, how little he had let on to Sherlock and oh, what a big surprise he was going to get.
Hi, Sherlock. JM
He waited, tapping his thumb against the screen and, sure enough, Mr Holmes texted back almost immediately.
Hello. What do you want? SH
Jim raised his eyebrows. Blew out slightly and texted him back.
Well, well, well... I WAS being friendly. Nice one, Sherlock. Well, it's definitely happening, now. JM
What do you mean? You're not making any sense. What's definitely happening, now? SH
He laughed to himself, causing a man passing him by to jump, slightly. Jim smirked.
Oh, you'll see, Sherlock. You'll see. JM
He smiled to himself, satisfied. Ooh, another text... He smirked.
Tell me. What are you talking about? SH
Jim considered for a moment, walking forwards a few steps, then pausing to sit on a wall. He thought long and hard... What answer would strike fear into the heart of Sherlock Holmes? That is, if he had one...
That's for me to know and you to find out. JM
He smirked again and shifted himself off the wall, putting his phone back into his pocket and sauntered off.
Sherlock stared long and hard at his phone. For him to know and Sherlock to find out? Well, it most certainly was. But why did it sound as if Moriarty was mocking him? Probably because he was. He usually did, seemed to like to tease Sherlock. Irene Adler had told him that Moriarty called Mycroft Holmes the Ice Man and himself, Sherlock Holmes, The Virgin. Which was, true, actually. No one knew, exactly. No one was close enough to him to find out. He smiled. No one would find out, if he had anything to do with it. It was his personal business. Why would anyone want to know, anyway? He tapped back a reply to Jim.
Oh, I will do. Don't you worry. SH
And he carried on looking through his microscope at the wriggling bacteria below.
Though, he was agitated. He kept checking his phone. No messages.
He tried to concentrate again, making notes, pushing his phone away and turning his head away from it.
Though, as soon as it lit up again, he pounced on it.
"Someone special?" came a voice from above him. Sherlock jumped. John. He looked up at him.
"No," he said, perhaps a little too quickly, "I – I just need to concentrate..." he mumbled. John nodded, looking as if he really didn't believe him.
"Yeah," he leaned over Sherlock's shoulder, "Of course," he took a moment to read the text that Sherlock was showing him. He frowned, "Moriarty? What's he talking about?" Sherlock shrugged, putting the phone aside and looked through the microscope again, twirling a knob on the side to zoom in slightly and another to focus better. John eyed him suspiciously.
"You know, you're acting very oddly, Sherlock," he mused, folding his arms and walking around the table to face him. He bent down to eye level. Sherlock looked up from the microscope.
"What?" he said, a slight irritation in his voice.
"Nothing, nothing..." John gave him a quick smile and picked up his jacket, putting it over his arm. He turned back to Sherlock, one hand on the door, "I'm going out, Sherlock," he told him. Sherlock had gone back to his bacteria. He waited for a response, but there was none. He looked out of the door, then back to the working man, "Aren't you going to ask where I'm going?" he asked, in a bored voice.
"You're going on a date," said Sherlock, not looking up from his work, "It's a double date, so you're not too nervous, there should be plenty of conversation. Fairly posh restaurant, that's why you're dressed quite smartly, but also quite casual, to show that you're keen, but not too over keen, trying to give the impression that you go to these kinds of places all the time." He looked up, smiling, "Have a nice time, John." John paused for a moment, giving Sherlock that familiar hopeless look, then shook his head, laughing.
"Thank you, Sherlock," he looked at him, then walked out of the door, "I'll text you if I'm staying out!" he called as he closed the door. The sound of the door closing sounded loud in the quiet flat. Sherlock instantly stopped working and ran both his hands through his hair. He had to know what Jim was talking about. He really didn't like not knowing...