"Your fish tank out there really does need cleaning," Moriarty said in his dark Irish slur. Behind him were two body guards holding assault rifles. "All the goldfish are going to die of algae poisoning…" he walked around picking up odd little items and assessing their value.
"What the fucking hell is a psychopath doing here?!"
"Not now Greg," Mycroft said silencing him with a raised hand. If looks could kill Gregory Lestrade would have killed everyone in England.
"Oo having a little fun are we?" Moriarty looked at the wet patch on the lounge. He smiled wickedly and peered at the clothes on the floor. "Yes, yes you were!" He almost clapped.
"What do you want?" snarled Greg,
"I believe we have some unfinished business to take care of." Moriarty provocatively made his way towards Lestrade.
"Greg, please... Leave us," Mycroft looked at the floor as he gestured to the door.
"What?! You can't be serious?!"
"Lestrade, please leave us," Mycroft couldn't look him in the eye. Moriarty giggled and Greg stormed out angrily.
It was still and quiet inside 221B Bakers street, the only sound coming from Sherlock slurping his tomato soup.
"Do you want me to help you-"
"I'm fine!" Sherlock snapped at John. They sat around a small cleared patch on the table in the kitchen. Sherlock shook as he slowly lifted the soup spoon to his parted lips.
"Here, let me" said John reaching out to take the spoon.
"I said I'm fine!" He banged his fist on the table knocking over the piping hot soup bowl. "Aaagh! Bloody soup!"
"Look, let's get you cleaned up... When was the last time you had a bath anyway?"
"I can do it by myself!" Sherlock trudged away trundling his drip behind him. John sighed and shook his head, this was the second time now Sherlock walked out of hospital and it wasn't doing him any favours.
Silence.
"John... About... That help?" Sherlock said embarrassed.
John rolled his eyes and smiled. Sherlock stared at the wall whilst John undressed him out of his hospital robes. The bath was hot and it steamed the mirror and condensed on Sherlock's body. "Tell no one of this," Sherlock said as he got into the bath.
"Don't worry your secret's safe with me"
"Aaaahh!" Sherlock cried out in pain. He gritted his teeth. John leaned over and keeled at the baths side,
"I'm here," he said letting Sherlock's head rest on his chest..." Sherlock began, "I never slept with... Her... you know... Janine" There was a pause.
"I know, if you had I doubt she would have stayed," said John mockingly.
Sherlock smiled a brief smile before pain ripped through him again. "Shhsh, its ok, I'll get the ibuprofen if you want,"
"All I want is you," Sherlock muttered quietly.
"What?" Said John stroking his head. "I was saving myself for someone,"
"Well that's nice,"
Sherlock looked into Johns eyes.
"That someone...was yo-"
There was a knock at the door.
"I'm coming!" John yelled, getting up and leaving Sherlock, who was trying to stifle a tear.
Greg stormed in, red faced.
"Whoa, can't say I was expecting you" John stepped back and let Lestrade pace around the room.
"How can we help you?" Asked John after a while.
"He's back."
"Who?"
"Moriarty,"
"I thought... I thought that was just a hoax," said John looking at a newspaper that lay on the table which read 'Moriarty, back from the morgue'
"Apparently not, considering I just spoke to him,"
"Aaah Sherlock there you are," Greg started "we're in deep shit, Moriarty's back,"
Sherlock leant against the wall his dark purple shirt framed him perfectly; it melted into his black sharp cut trousers. His dark eyes stood out against his pale face and his dark brown hair fell in sweet curls, licking at his neck.
John put his hands on his hips and muttered, "so he can get dressed himself.
Greg looked at him suspiciously but Sherlock ignored them.
"What did he want?" Sherlock said eventually.
"Well I- I heard that-"
"Spit it out!"
"Umm, it's quite... Umm personal,"
"We're all... friends here," Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John, who rolled his eyes.
"Moriarty..."
Sherlock sighed and struck open a newspaper.
"Moriarty and your brother are... Plotting your murder,"
Sherlock snapped the newspaper shut and leaned forwards in his chair. "Tell me- EVERYTHING"
"Such a shame isn't it?" Moriarty clicked through the songs on his iPod, "blood against blood,"
"I think he knows," replied Mycroft, pouring himself a glass of port from the tumbler. "I think he knows what we've been doing – or at least expects something."
"So, you would go out of your way to kill him? Huh," The psychopath smirked, "your own brother – for a moment I thought you couldn't do it. But then I remembered, you're English. That…er plan of yours – the plane – boom," he gestured with his hands. "Your idea?"
"Sadly not, the government lost a jet, civil servants were killed and we lost a very respectable young pilot – the one who knows how to keep secrets."
"Shame, we wouldn't want anyone finding out about... Us," Moriarty started unbuttoning Mycroft's shirt.
"He came close to it the other day- started questioning me about goldfish,"
"Goldfish?"
"Innuendo," he said leaning closer to Moriarty, their noses almost touching.
"How's dating Greg working out for you?" Moriarty said defensively.
"You know I'm only doing that to draw attention away from you."
"Yes! But I want us to be exclusive!" Moriarty whined, pouting.
"You want the world to know that a high thought of detective, who is responsible for this country's safety is dating the most wanted man in Europe?!"
"Can't MI5 take care of that...? It'll be you me against the world. I'd be you king" Moriarty winked.
"You don't bow down to anyone anyway," Holmes sighed
"Oh is that so?" Mycroft glared, but then rolled his eyes as Moriarty undid his zip and sucked on something not considered to be a micro-penis.