Post Reichenbach angst - hey, might as well jump on the bandwagon.

It's going to be told from a variety of different POVs, probably mainly Sherlock's, John's, Moriarty's and Mycroft's.

Chapter One

A small motel in Nevada, some ten minutes from the centre of Reno; it's hardly his style – he is after all, very British and, being very British, he found standing on neon clad street corners and observing the throng of fools who seemed eager to lose their money at the nearest casino very grating indeed. He'd never been a particularly sentimental person, nor had he liked repetition, but the past few weeks he'd spent 'lying low' in places that were so very annoying had left him pining for London's monotonous hues and vaguely polite crowds. London was a big place, people went missing there often enough, and most managed to disappear entirely- if that was what they wished. It was, however, not big enough for him to hide in - for the time being- and so he'd found himself living under the Star-Spangled Banner.

It had been roughly 347 hours since the game he had been playing with one of the most interesting men in Britain had ended, somewhat abruptly. Reminiscing the brief encounter on the rooftop, he realised how truly anticlimactic it had been; death was such a cliché way to end a war and, if the depraved truth be told, he had expected something infinitely more innovative.

Yes, something ingenious and resourceful, something that would have made him a legend.

The outcome, however, had been far from what he had anticipated. It was an insult to the carefully planned game. Oh, of course it had made front page news in London – but where was the wide-spread hype? Where was the panic? Where was the infamy that would preserve him forever? Perhaps he had made the game too personal, maybe he should have allowed it to end with an audible bang...

He found himself staring absorbedly at the stuttering glow of his cigarette and didn't move until his sight was peppered with dancing amber lights. Even this hateful place was almost beautiful when it was masked by these fiery hues. He closed his eyes, allowing the blaze to sweep behind his darkened lids, for just long enough to almost hear the familiar roar of flame in his ear.

Then something jostled him off balance and forced him to regain his poise with one undignified stomp of his foot. Obnoxious light flooded in and extinguished his fire as he glared maliciously up at the offending party. Honey coloured eyes gawked down at him from several inches above – God he hated tall women – and took in every detail of his person. Or at least, she noticed everything about him that was blatantly obvious and ignored the subtleties.

Oh, beautiful subtleties, just like the one that had retrieved an envelope – no doubt full of dollar bills – from the women's handbag and replaced it under his coat, tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Why couldn't people just shut up and notice the subtleties?

Despite the obvious interlude in his enjoyment of life, being the 'entrepreneur' that he is, he had at least managed to make the excursion somewhat beneficial to his pocket. A few willing participants and some well calculated bets proved more than sufficient enough to help him back into the designer suits he belonged in. Playing a character and dressing the part had been amusing enough when it had been essential to play the game, but blending himself in with the rest of the insignificant human-race for longer than necessary was mentally painful.

He needed to stand out. He was born to stand out. He liked to think of himself as a lone flame, something that attracted the darkness but still managed to remain untouched by it. Being untouchable was so boring. Knowing, even as he laced his plans with the most dangerous risks, that he never had been and never would be caught only served to make it all seem rather pointless.

But little flames, regardless of how fierce they burn, are still vulnerable to the other elements. Oh how he had longed for that breath of air that had threatened to douse his flame. It had been exciting, fighting to protect his heat from that enthralling gust – but, in a rare burst of self-preservation, he had acted too soon and opted to shut the window.

He was such a fool.

Growing tired of his cigarette, he flicked it impatiently to the ground, not bothering to put it out, and returned to his one-bed-and-a-coffee-machine room, leaving the honey-eyed women alone with her apologies. Neither of the room's features had been used in the two days that he had rented them out, the bed was crumpled from being sat on, but the sheets were still tucked in and the pillows untouched. The coffee machine did little other than offend him with its presence, he used to like coffee- black, plenty of sugar- but since he'd 'had a cuppa' with a certain someone, he desired only tea.

But there was no tea at this motel so coffee and alcohol had had to suffice , and unless he wanted to eat nothing but sugared 'do(ugh)nuts' - which he most certainly did not- then he had to go hungry as well. His concern for his own wellbeing had been quite nonexistent in the last couple of weeks, and it almost surprised him. He supposed he was just trying to make up for the loss of his enemy by becoming more like him, more reckless - if that were possible, to a point where he almost had a split personality.

He sighed petulantly as his fingers stroked the buttons on his Smartphone, his gaze not leaving the screen until the web-page had loaded. He flicked through the most recent posts, all of which he had read several times before. Still nothing new.

And every day that there was nothing new added to the growing weight of reality that had settled itself somewhere in his chest, taken over the cavity that had once been completely numb and was now warring with his mind.

He suddenly snapped into action, his fingers flying expertly over the QWERTY keyboard, leaving a multitude of messages in the vague hope that establishing contact with the person he was missing would somehow make reality shift back to a more interesting time.

And so he left the following messages on ' The Science of Deduction':

"Hello sexy, it would appear we both acted a smidgen too hastily. Come back and play- game's still on." - Anonymous

"Time's ticking, sexy. You're late." - Anonymous

"Oh, don't be like this my dear. Don't ignore me." - Anonymous

"You didn't really think that I'd end it all with you getting all the fame and glory for my brilliance, did you? Tut tut, it would appear you've made an incorrect deduction." - Anonymous

He had made sure to leave an adequate space of time for someone to respond to him between each post, but still replies were low on the ground. He felt his heart pounding chest, and a new wave of nausea accompanied each beat. He closed his eyes again, though only briefly this time, and attempted to label the emotion gripping him.

He couldn't.

This brought a new feeling, a familiar one that immediately trounced its indistinguishable former, and the poor coffee machine bore the brunt of it.

Shortly after this, the man left his room and headed away from Nevada, still not entirely sure where he was going, or when he had become so redundant. He was now a wanderer, which played awful tricks on his need to always have a plan.

He pocketed the money ($600) and put his phone into the woman's envelope, which he threw from the car window as soon as Reno had left his rear-view mirror. He was not keen on the idea of his posts possibly being traced by 'The British Government'. No, for now he would continue to lie low and play dead and wait, because he knew that his enemy was still alive.

The consulting criminal could feel Sherlock's presence in the world like the needling of shrapnel in a wound and this time, Jim was going to make sure he enjoyed cleaning out the cut.

Authors Note:

Hi all,

I hope you are enjoying this so far, if at all anyone is reading it!
I find that I don't edit my chapters nearly half as much as I should and probably end up keeping far too much non-related description in the text– so if I start to digress too much from the story please feel free to shout "Oi! Focus on the story Missy, I'm waiting here!" and thump your fists on your desk in some enactment of impatience. (That's hoping some of you will care enough about my writing to be impatient... ^.^)

Anyway, that will be all for now. I do hope you have enjoyed this chapter, and believe me to be, my dear fellows,

Very sincerely yours.

KehRawwr ;)