'Do you have a fridge?'
John didn't recognise the voice.
Christ, who else is coming here today? The cavalry?
He could only stare as a dark-haired man walked into the room, carrying a pack of Petit Filous.
John raised a brow, but didn't comment. The day was weird enough already, a little more weird could hardly hurt.
'Gotta keep these cool,' the man mumbled.
James Moriarty pointed towards the fridge. John didn't ask how he knew where it was.
Blogger and Consulting Criminal both watched the man put away the yoghurts.
'Potato?' the man offered, pulling one out of the pocket of his jeans.
Moriarty sighed, giving John a look that said, sorry about him.
'Uh, no thanks,' John said.
The man put the potato back in his pocket. An awkward silence began.
'You're not leaving anytime soon, are you?' John said.
Moriarty winked at him, and went to sit down in Sherlock's chair. The man followed, perching on the end of the armrest. 'Put the kettle on, will you? I could just murder a cup of tea.'
'What's the magic word?'
John regretted asking that as Moriarty began to bat his eyelashes at him. 'Pretty pleaseā¦'
Tea would make everything better.
Wouldn't it?
