Author's note: I did want this to be longer but I'm incredibly busy of late, so I was torn between churning out a short chapter or leaving you guys hanging for a long time. Don't know when I'll get the chance to write again =/

"I want to see him," she demanded. She was standing now, her face but a pencil's breadth from his own, having stepped in his way before he could leave the cell. She glared at him, her green eyes fixed with an assertion Moriarty was all too familiar with.

"No," he replied, "Not until we talk first."

Samantha sighed heavily, her eyes glistening. She was angry. Good.

Moriarty didn't like it when something was out of his control. Samantha was definitely one of those people he had no leverage on…until now. It was Nika who spotted Samantha and Paolo together. This was after Moriarty's last encounter with her, when she left with a gun to his head and a promise on her lips. Back then he had no leverage. She was a vagrant and an agent of an organisation so obscure not even he knew where to start looking for it. But then Nika discovered Paolo, the woman's mentor, the only person in her life that mattered to her. With that man in chains Moriarty knew he could keep Samantha in check, because right now he needed her.

"We should go upstairs," he said, "This cell is making me claustrophobic."

Moriarty had taken residence in a small abandoned mental asylum. While he had much of the upper floors refurbished to his liking, the basement remained relatively untouched, apart from the padding being removed from the cells.

"Wouldn't want any of our enemies feeling too comfortable down here," he had told one of his clients during refurbishment.

He brought Samantha up to what was once the staff lounge. It was still technically a lounge, he reckoned, but it had a small fitted kitchen on one side of the room. He offered Samantha a seat on the charcoal-grey Portobello sofa while he boiled the kettle.

"A fitting environment for someone like you," the woman spoke from where she was sitting.

"Oh, I get it, because you think I'm crazy. Ha, ha," Moriarty drawled sarcastically.

"You're beyond crazy," she said with some assurance.

He took that as a compliment. He brewed a mug of tea and buttered a couple of slices of bread. He brought the food over to the sofa and presented it in front of Samantha.

"It'll help settle your stomach," he said, aware of the after effects of the drug Nika had dosed her with.

"Gee, thanks! What's this one laced with?" she asked, eyeing the tea sceptically.

Moriarty smiled. She really hadn't changed a bit.

He sat next to her, stretching his legs out in front of him and resting his arms on the back of the sofa.

"He's still in London," he said, pushing aside any desire for pleasantries.

Samantha's brow furrowed as she nibbled her bread tentatively.

"Sherlock?" she questioned, "Are you sure?"
"Not many places a dead man can go," he responded poignantly, "He's hiding. He doesn't want to be in the limelight for whatever reason, but if I know Sherlock he'll want to stay close to his friends."

"I'd rather not show my face in London again," Samantha stated, "If you recall I was wanted for murder at one stage. And while the agency have removed my files from the record, people will probably still recognise me."

Moriarty studied her for a moment.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, and scooting closer he clasped her dark hair either side of her face with his fingers and slid them down as far as her chin so that her hair looked shorter, "We could give you a makeover."

He noticed the pulse on her neck was racing. His touched had apparently stirred something in her. He leaned a little closer, inhaling subtly through his nose. She still wore the same perfume. It was faint obviously as she had been out cold for the last twelve hours or so, but he recognised it nonetheless. And there was something else - her own scent - one that brought him memories of his time spent with her between the sheets. Before he could linger on those thoughts any longer he sat back again and returned to business.

"Do what you can," he said, "But I need you to get close to his friends. Sherlock's bound to be nearby."

"You seem so sure," said Samantha.

Of course he was sure. Sherlock was willing to burn for his friends. He was still alive and he sure as hell didn't stray too far from home.

"Can I see Paolo now?" She was asking rather than demanding this time, and this brought a faint smile to Moriarty's lips.