A/N: Hi, readers. I think you've noticed it by now: This story is not meant (too) serious. There's meant t be little humour, too.

This is chapter 2, from Moriarty's point of view (and some thoughts of one of hsi helpmates) and written by Dark Magical Socres.

Please enjoy, R&R

2. My wildcat, beware!

Jim Moriarty sat in the back seat of his car listening to one of his most-loved romantic songs. The comforting melody of his favourite band's best piece - "teenagers" by Chemical Romance - filled the car. He had come to love this one as a kid. For every emotional upheaval in his life – and he had quite a lot of these – it was the perfect soothing balm.

Tonight he needed the song because he had come this close to losing his most adored arch enemy and he was still shaking from the sudden fright.

Sherlock was his to kill. He wouldn't rush it, though. When the time came he would say where, and when and most of all, how. Sherlock didn't deserve any harsh treatment, es pecially after what he'd been through tonight. Therefore James wouldn't torture him, of that he was sure. Well, not more than was absolutely necessary of course!

Naturally Moriarty couldn't allow anyone to interfere with his plans for the Detective. Nobody, absolutely nobody had the right to meddle with his exquisite, well planned schemes for Sherlock Holmes.

So, for now, he'd settle for the minimum reward for saving Sherlock's life. He'd thought before of how nice it would be to have some company. Not for long, just for a week or so. After all, after what James had done for him, something reeaaallllyyyy nice, Sherlock owed him a favour. Keeping boredom at bay for a week or so was the least to ask from a man whose life was in one's hands.

And if Sherlock didn't accept that plain and simple logic – well, there was always Johnny boy's well-being as an incentive.

Jim then began to wonder why Johnny hadn't been with Holmes tonight. As the obedient little lapdog he was he'd never have left Sherlock's side but for an important reason. Holmes usually took his pet with him everywhere.

But then, James Moriarty had more important things to ponder than the imbecile doctor's whereabouts.

The car came to a halt in front of Moriarty's home and he let all irrelevant thoughts slip his mind. Lithely as a cat James left the car. It was ridiculous, his bully/helpmate/associate/henchman would surely know how to haul an unconscious man from the back seat of a car. Truth be told, the man had lots of experience on that score. And yet Moriarty had the irrepressible urge to supervise the act.

Sherlock was still unconscious in the man's arms.

Again James ran a hand through Holme's black curls, lost in thought. Suddenly he felt that his employee was smiling; the tiniest, almost invisible grin.

For the first time in many years the Criminal Mastermind, the foremost brain of all the planet felt his cheeks grow hot in embarrassment. As a result, he virtually snapped his next orders at his associate. "Take him to the guest room. The secure guest room. Have you phoned the doctor? Can't you see he's in need of medical assistance?"

It was extremely gratifying to see that the bully visibly made himself smaller. James had made an art of being feared by his men – and women – without actually doing any dirty work on either of them and he was always happy to see the spell of his overwhelming personality work again.

He was most definitely looking forward to seeing it work on Sherlock Holmes!

As it was, that was part of the fun to come. The Consulting Detective, for all his apparent loathing for his family's – especially his detestable, tiresome elder brother's – upper class standards, had as stiff an upper lip as they come. Proud, indeed arrogant, dignified and self-centred Sherlock would be the ultimate test for James' ability to intimidate people just by being who and what he was.

The henchman, meanwhile, had trouble reading his boss' expression. Probably his high and mighty-ness was gettin' it all wrong again. Made a bit of yellin' an' thought he'd be the big lion on the pasture. Would be fun if it couldn't mean that Mr. Boss' anger could get your salary cut by half or more. The Colonel, the man who actually ran the business, would see to that. "Keep the brain happy" as the Colonel always said."I could hire an other pair of hands any day but mad cat Moriarty's indispensable. Got it?"

"Yes Sir, Colonel Moran, Sir." All of Moriarty's men got it or they finished being Moriarty's men soon enough..

All right, make 'im happy then. "Yes, Sir, Mr. Moriarty, Sir. And the doctor, he's on his way, Sir. Just as you wanted Sir." The bully would have given much for a chance to wipe the sweat off his brow when he saw Mr. Boss smile contently. Pooh, that had been close.

"Let's go inside" James added angrily "it has been a long day for me."

"For you?" the henchman thought "an' who's been resting his arse on purple cushions whilst the likes of me were washing the car eh?" God, he liked that phrase from the only theatre play he'd ever visited. But naturally he couldn't use it with his boss, not aloud that was. Aloud, he said something completely different. "Yes, Sir. Of course Sir."

And with that, they both headed inside.

Whilst the associate took Sherlock up to the guest room, Jim went to his library and sat down in the comfy reading chair, thinking, as was his custom, two or three steps ahead of his present situation.

Having Sherlock here for a week was going to be fun. To himself James admitted that he got lonely at times. But that was part of being a Consulting Criminal he supposed, so he couldn't didn't mind it too much. And yet, having Sherlock around would make for a nice change. And didn't he deserve a bit of pleasure? A man with his workload certainly did! Of course, there was the financial aspect to consider. If James Moriarty was the least bit distracted, the Criminal Bond Market would suffer severely. And that was as it ought to be. After all, he was too big to fail!

But maybe, just maybe, he could combine business and pleasure...

James thought his spontaneous idea over carefully. Yes, that would work. And it would the put the Holmes brothers in their shoes while showing a nice profit for the trouble.

Meanwhile, still sitting in his favourite scheming-and-thinking-place, James heard the doctor come, go upstairs, stay for a short while and leave again.

Moriarty smiled to himself, as pleased and satisfied as the proverbial cat that ate the cream. Good, that was good. So he would have someone to talk to for a while as well as his subtle revenge on Holmes where it stung most. He would have to make sure he treated Sherlock nicely. Other than the blackmailing thing, of course. If he was forced to bring Johnny-doggy's well being into it to make Sherlock play ball, so be it. But that had to be as far as he could go in this. No broken bones or the like, as Holmes being hurt would ruin the elegance of it.

Having come that far, Jim felt suddenly tired. He walked upstairs, planning to turn in early today. And yet, despite his better judgement, he couldn't resist the urge to walk past the guest room and have a short peep at the latest – if most probably unwilling and, alas, preliminary - addition to his menagerie.

He was careful not to wake Sherlock when he unlocked the door and went inside. He scrutinized Holmes' sleeping – this time from an injection – form. "Poor thing" James thought fondly. "Don't you worry, the man who did this to you is gone. It's just you and me now." He then pulled the covers over his 'guest'. "We can talk tomorrow about how you can return the favour to me" he whispered softly as he left " you and your brother."

"Good night for now" James added, standing in the door and switching off the light. With that he walked out to the gallery and went to his own room. God, he was exhausted. And tomorrow would be such an exciting day.

The taming of the wild cat would begin.