Disclaimer: As much as I would love to, I do not own Sherlock (BBC Television Series), nor the characters that are associated with it. All other characters/plots are mine unless stated otherwise. :)

1. The First Meeting

Former Colonel Sebastian Moran lifted his duffel bag from the boot of the cab and surveyed the expensive looking row of apartments. Brow furrowing, he reached into the pocket of his well-worn leather jacket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. The address written on the paper was definitely this one. Sighing, he shoved the piece of paper back into his pocket before turning back to the cab. Pulling out his wallet, he paid the cabbie before pushing open the black wrought-iron gate. He hated to admit it but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He didn't have any interest in becoming a bodyguard for a snotty, rich businessman but he needed the cash. He couldn't continue to live on back alley jobs and shady deals. Ever since he was dishonorably discharged from the British Special Forces, he had been struggling to find another job. It wasn't like the SAS had sent out warnings or anything – they were desperately trying to keep the incident as hush-hush as possible, but there is only so many jobs that his resume could get him. There was only one thing Sebastian Moran was good at: killing, especially with a sniper rifle.

It was his particular talent that prompted Jim Moriarty to hire Sebastian. Of course, he hadn't actually hired him yet. But he was going to. The former Colonel didn't yet know who Jim Moriarty really was. Jim had contacted Sebastian the previous week, pretending to be an extremely well off businessman in need of a personal bodyguard. He hadn't technically lied – he was extremely rich, and he was a businessman - he just specialized in business a little different to an average person, and he did need a bodyguard. Ok, so his bodyguard would double as his personal assassin, but one only needed to glance at Sebastian's history to know he was the man for the job.

Jim Moriarty had first heard of Sebastian Moran purely by accident. He was doing a little interrogating – a former client of his had tried (the nerve of him) to double-cross Jim through a beyond confidential deal with the British Secret Service. One of Jim's employees had tracked down the (now dead) client's partner in hopes to clean up any tracks. He would have just questioned his distrustful client, but he had regrettably lost his temper when the confrontation arose. The betrayer was now decomposing at the bottom of the River Thames.

Sighing, Jim rose from the leather chair to get a better look out of the window. He could just see Sebastian climbing the stairs to reach the front door. The doorbell rang just as Jim entered the sitting room, straightening his tie and eyeing himself in the mirror. Arranging himself casually on the soft cushions of the chair, Jim listened carefully for the sound of his stationed man Johnson, dressed as a butler, to open the door. Craning his neck slightly, Jim heard the familiar sound of Johnson's footsteps, accompanied by a second unfamiliar set. The heavy sound echoed through the corridor until Sebastian Moran was standing in the doorway, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Ah, Sebastian." Jim all but purred. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Extending his hand, Jim smiled as Sebastian's fingers closed around his, giving his hand a firm shake.

"It's good to meet you too, Mr …"

"Moriarty." Jim's smiled widened as he watched Sebastian process the name. No recognition? Good. He wanted a clean slate.

"Please, have a seat." Gesturing to the couch opposite him, Jim settled back comfortably into his own chair.

Placing his bag on the floor, Sebastian sat in the allotted chair. His let his eyes roam around the room, taking in the expensive suit of his soon to be boss, as well as possible escape routes and weapons. What could he say? It was a habit. As far as he could tell, the butler had a concealed handgun and at least one blade strapped to his left ankle, judging by the way he walked. As for possible escape routes, there was the door leading to the corridor he had come down, a closed door at the back of the room and a set of elegant double doors he suspected led to the kitchen. There was a large window on the wall to his right, the curtains moving with the slight breeze.

"Ok, let's get down to business. Johnson, bring us a bottle of Scotch. One of the older ones from the cellar."