A/N: Sorry this is late! I was so busy yesterday, I completely forgot that I was supposed to update. I know that's no excuse, and I promise I'll make it up to you guys. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! :D

When Lauren woke, Jim was already up and about, and by the sound of it, in the kitchen. She leisurely pushed the sheets from her skin and stood, adjusting to being awake. She padded to the farthest corner of the room where she had set up a little desk. Her robe was draped over the back of her chair, and she slipped into the silky fabric and walked out of her room, her loose hair cascading over her shoulders in atrementous waves.

The smell of food, something sweet, greeted her nose as she entered the kitchen, and Moriarty was at the stove stirring something in a pot. Lauren crossed the room and sat down on a chair by the counter, watching him.

"I made breakfast, if you're hungry," Jim said absentmindedly, turning the stove off and taking the pot off the burner. He threw in a handful of something Lauren couldn't identify and mixed it together. He tasted it, and his eyes widened in delight. He licked his lips.

"What did you make?" Lauren questioned, pouring herself some tea. The cup was warm between her fingers, and little wisps of steam rolled blissfully over her face.

"Oatmeal with blueberries and apples," Jim replied, spooning some of the mixture into a bowl. His face was concentrated, almost lovingly so, and Lauren figured he rather enjoyed cooking.

Lauren made a face. "I'll pass, I think. Not big on oats," she told him, choosing instead to take a sip of her tea. It was hot, and she swallowed it anyway, scalding her tongue and suppressing a grunt of pain.

Jim shrugged, looking vaguely disappointed. "That's fine. I won't force you to eat it. But I can't be responsible for my guest starving," he said as he took a rather large bite of his creation.

He sat next to her, and she looked at him, holding her cup in front of her face with both hands. She studied the way his jaw moved as he chewed, the way his throat constricted as he swallowed. He was handsome, truly, with a strong face and wiry brows. His cheeks were clean-shaven, and his eyes were deep brown, as glossy and dark as the shell of a chestnut. His inky hair was pushed away from his face, neat and perfect, although still damp from the shower he had taken before he made breakfast.

Jim ate in silence, seeming not to notice Lauren's gaze, although she knew he was aware. He was always aware. He finished his food quickly, and rose to wash his dish and tuck it neatly away in a cabinet. He left the room.

Lauren was hungry, and she stared at the pot of oats on the stove. She gave up. The porridge was surprisingly good, and her eyes widened in surprise. Jim walked back in the room, laughing as he immediately realized what had happened.

"That good, huh?" he inquired, gesturing with his chin at the bowl in her hands. She nodded vigorously.

"Yes, actually. It's fantastic," she said after swallowing her mouthful. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

Jim, although obviously flattered, surveyed her and determined that she was being completely genuine.

He allowed himself a satisfied smile. "Just something I do in my spare time. You know, when I'm not planning or executing murders," he said, mostly joking.

Lauren giggled. It wasn't mocking or rude. It was an honest outlet of amusement, and she was not laughing 'at' Moriarty. He let himself relax a bit, grinning at her in an almost friendly way.

Lauren cleaned up her now empty cup, and she offered to wash the oatmeal pot.

Jim made his way to one of the chairs, lowering himself into it and crossing his ankle over his knee. When Lauren sat down in the other chair, he was back to being perfectly guarded and closed, as was she.

"So tell me, how exactly did you fake a case for our dear little Sherlock?" Jim asked, a mask of indifference on his face.

"Easy," Lauren said dismissively, wrapping her robe tighter around her body. "I didn't fake anything. Well, he obviously didn't know that I was actually getting information for you, but then again, he doesn't know you're alive," she said casually.

Jim lifted an eyebrow, curious. "Oh? Is that so?" he asked carefully, precisely. "I'm really not surprised at his level of idiocy, however, I'm a bit disappointed that he didn't miss me," he gave a mock pout. His eyes turned cold, fixed on Lauren. "Tell me about this case. How did you do it?" Jim folded his hands over his knee. He already had an idea, but he wanted to see what she would say.

"I killed my neighbor. Pretended to be completely distraught, and terrified, thought he had been murdered." She curled her legs into the chair, pulling the edge of her robe down over her knees. Moriarty internally scowled. At least she wasn't wearing shoes. "Of course Sherlock took the case. He was bored out of his pathetic mind, likely contemplating going back to his cocaine habit. John was obviously stressed as well, probably driven halfway mad by the detective's manic energy. Hopelessly simple, really," Lauren explained.

Jim gave her a respectful grimace. "You killed your neighbor to get information. That's quite... unwholesome. How did you do it?" He leaned forward a bit, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

"A syringe full of air. I stuck it between his toes. He already had a wound there, from what I can't imagine, but to most people it would just seem like he had a heart attack."

Jim looked skeptical. "And Sherlock really believed that this was just a casual death?"

Lauren shrugged. "I guess. John's the doctor. He told Sherlock it was a heart attack. Even if Sherlock found out it was a murder, he'd never trace it back to me, and if, by some miracle, he did that, he'd still never know that I was using him for information to take him down. Not even he is clever enough to figure that out. The thought wouldn't even cross his mind," she insisted.

Jim didn't quite believe her, and he knew she was aware. "But why would you want to take out Sherlock Holmes?" Jim asked. "What do you gain from it?"

"The game, James. Beating the world's most brilliant man at chess. Isn't that what you wanted? To prove how much smarter, more clever you are than him?" Lauren asked slyly.

She was right. That was exactly what Jim wanted.

"We both want the same thing, James," she continued. "You couldn't kill him. I couldn't do it either on my own. But with us both, it's both of our brains, my charm, and your men against him. And his mind pales in comparison, don't you think?" Lauren had a distant fire in her eyes, the kind that turned deadly quickly if it went unchecked.

Now she was talking sense. But Jim wasn't prepared to trust her, not entirely.

"What exactly is your plan?" Jim asked, shifting his weight in his chair.

Lauren smiled widely, wickedly. She had been waiting for him to ask.

Jim leaned forward.

"One more question, darling. What is your real name?"

The woman just smirked.