This chapter is pretty much entirely Moriarty. I'm trying to make up for the lack of Jim in previous chappies, but he may end up acting a bit OOC. By "may", I mean that Moriarty will most certainly be seemingly out of character, but this is how I think he'd act if he didn't have to be all high and mighty and was just toying with an ordinary person, especially a love interest. Anyway, please enjoy the following:

Chapter 10

Tackled

(3rd POV (Moriarty))

Ari looked sad. Jim Moriarty couldn't tell why she looked so sad, but she did, and he didn't like it. She was supposed to be feisty and strong, not depressed. He'd thought that she'd be a challenge to break, but here she was, breaking herself for him. He was getting bored again, not finding her silence amusing.

"Do something," Moriarty commanded, but she didn't seem to hear him. "Hey!" he called, not liking being ignored. She still didn't respond, and he felt himself getting annoyed. Instead of doing something he might regret, like killing her, he took out his phone and checked to see whether the Adler woman had completed the first stage of the plans. Not yet. Though, he hadn't expected seducing two of Mycroft's key workers would be a walk in the park, despite how easy she made it look.

He put his phone back and watched Ari intently, until she finally moved. He grinned at her as her mismatched eyes fixed on him, and she raised one white and gold eyebrow, "What?"

"You just froze for five minutes," Jim smirked.

She sighed and went back into her living room, curling up on the couch and turning on the TV. "What's up?" he asked, curious to see what ailed his victim.

"Shark week."

"What?"

"My monthly subscription to Blood Waterfall?"

"Still don't get it."

She rolled her eyes, "Mandatory sacrifice to Satan?"

"Um…"

"I'm on my fucking period," she sighed, curling up on the couch. He cocked his head to the side and sat down next to her. He had to admit, this had not been the response that he had expected. She continued on, "Five stages of grief. I wake up in denial. Then there's anger, which you saw. Bargaining doesn't really work, since God's pretty much the one to blame, but I still try anyway. Right now, I'm on step four: depression. After that is acceptance, but that'll be a while."

"How long am I gonna have to deal with this?"

"Three days," she whined, and he couldn't help but grin.

"Only three days?"

"Yeah, but the cramps are hell, and my emotions are like the weather on the top of a mountain. Unpredictable and inconsistent, and typically negative."

"That could be problematic," Jim muttered, more to himself than to her, "Or advantageous. Why don't I go buy you chocolate or something? Isn't that what girls like in this…situation?"

"Nah. I just wanna be left alone to work," she whined, watching the telly.

"You're not working right now," he smirked playfully.

She groaned, "Just leave. Please?"

He thought for a second, pouting slightly. She wasn't going to simply let him stay, that at least was obvious, but how would she react if he downright refused. Eventually she'd have to give up when it came to trying to get rid of him. She could go over to Sherlock's, though. He grimaced, knowing that she would if he got too annoying or whatever she called it. But he wasn't going to leave. Not without a fight.

"Baby, I am not leaving," he finally sneered, sitting down on the couch by her feet.

"I have a name, y'know, and I'd prefer it to pet names."

"I know you've got a name. You've got…what…five?"

Ari sat up, moving farther away from him, before standing up entirely and walking away to grab her laptop, and Jim turned the telly off, not liking the background noise. She didn't come back, so he got up and went into the kitchen, sitting down at the counter and watching her work. She would have to acknowledge him sooner or later. He just had to wait.

(1st POV (Ari))

I sank into my world, feeling my heart beat calm and my muscles relax. This was where I belonged; at my desk. I no longer cared if Moriarty stayed. He wasn't doing anything. If I ignored him, he'd probably leave anyway, and if he did anything, I'd go to Sherlock's and work there.

Blanc took a deep breath, looking at the screen on her phone for a second, before puffing her cheeks and dialing the number. It barely rang once before it was picked up and answered, "Peyton! It's been a while!"

Blanc bit back a retort, though not well, because it still escaped her lips, "You are the only person I know who feels obliged to remind me of my given name. I know it on my own, thank you very much. How did you come by it, again?"

"Birth certificate," he laughed, and Blanc didn't doubt it. She rolled her eyes as he continued, "Are we just going to chat or do you have a reason for calling me up. Don't get me wrong, I love our little talks, but I'm rather busy at the-

"No, you're not," Blanc corrected him, "You answered the call immediately, and you're not the kind of man to drop everything just for me. I thought you ran a business? What happened to your customers?"

"I hate talking to you over the phone. You always seem so much smarter when your voice is distorted. I'm coming down there to talk."

"No, Brae, that won't be necessary."

"I'm outside your door." She heard the smirk in his voice, before the door opened and Blanc saw the pale, short, dark haired menace of a man advance toward her, phone in hand. She hung up, glaring at him, aware of the gun in her belt. Had she loaded it? She sure as hell hoped so. "So much better, isn't it, talking face to face?" Brae sneered, gesturing to her.

"Not when it's your face in question," she spat, "But I suppose it was necessary."

"So, why'd you call me," he asked, "Peyton?"

Blanc grimaced, itching to shoot this bastard, but he was important to her, deep down she knew it. She wouldn't have any real fun if it weren't for him. "I need you, Brae."

He raised his eyebrows, taking a step forward, "Ooh, Peyton, I'm flattered!"

"To help me solve a case, asshole."

He sighed, "Dear me. Just when I thought we were finally getting intimate. Maybe someday, right?" Blanc shook her head, and he continued on, "Why would Peyton Blanc, American Crime-Fighter extraordinaire, need the help of an incredibly handsome notorious criminal mastermind? Or did I just state the reason myself?"

"I need to know if you've orchestrated any murders lately? This one's not very elaborate, but sometimes I feel as though I'm working with a group of underqualified toddlers. You, at least, know how criminals work, narcissistic as you may be."

"I would be 'orchestrating' a murder right now if you hadn't scared off my clients!" Brae frowned.

"It's because I caught you, isn't it?" Blanc grinned, and Brae growled at her. "That struck a chord," she raised an eyebrow, "Feeling touchy, are we?"

He half nodded, "I thought I was the flirtatious one."

"I'm not flirting. I'm insulting."

He bit his lip, "Didn't seem that way to me."

"I'm sure it didn't, you fucking masochist," she snapped, feeling nervous again and reaching halfway for her gun.

"Gonna shoot me, are you?" he mocked.

"Fuck you!"

"I'd much prefer if you'd do it for me?" he laughed, taking another step forward.

"When hell freezes over."

"That can be arranged," he sneered, speaking in a low, gravelly voice, and without warning he wrapped his arms around her and

I lost my train of thought there. I had no idea what it was like to be grabbed by a horny someone whom you both loved and hated, especially a criminal. My mouth dropped open and I turned around to see Moriarty, sitting on one of my stools and staring out the window at Sherlock's flat. He was the perfect description of my villain, Brae, who both adored and despised my character. If he grabbed me, I could relay what needed to be written. I winced, worried about how he'd react if I let him seize me. Yeah, not a good idea. I'd have to be an idiot to consider it.

I'd always been a bit of an idiot.

I stood up, turning to Jim and leaning back against my writing desk. "Oi, Moriarty!"

He looked over at me, a playful smirk playing across his lips, "Yeah?"

I sighed, "I need you to grab me. Believe me, I wouldn't ask you to if I didn't have a reason."

He laughed, "Finally getting intimate, are we?" I stared at him, then looked back at my computer, then back to him. There was no way he could read my computer screen from all the way over there, so how could he sound just like my character? The resemblance was uncanny.

"N-no!" I gasped out after a pause that was probably too long.

"Oh really?" he asked, standing up and pushing his stool back against the counter.

"It's for my book, okay? The villain grabs her and I need to know what that'd be like!"

"That's quite a thin excuse, darling," he grinned, fidgeting with his hands and looking at me calculatingly.

"The loathe each other and he also adores her in a sadist kind of way, so I figured you'd be able to act that out," I shrugged, trying to act as though I was asking something completely normal and ordinary.

"How does she feel about him?"

"She's conflicted. She hates him visibly, but sometimes enjoys his presence. It's mutual, except he's more…forward." He had that expression again. The same expression he'd had on his face prior to asking to smell my hair. I began to feel like this wasn't the best idea, and maybe I could just ask Sherlock. "Actually!" I said anxiously, "Never mind. I'm just gonna ask Sherlock, instead." I backed up to the door, and turned around quickly to open it. Big mistake.

In a second he had his arms around me, one at my waist, holding me against him, the other at my neck, threatening to constrict my wind pipe. I gasped for air, trying to pry him from me, but he was having none of it. I could feel his breath against my left shoulder as I was nearly crushed against the wall. "Like this?" he asked, almost whispering, his voice identical to the way I'd described Brae's.

"Yeah, good job," I choked, "You can let go, now!"

"Oh, I don't think I want to do that. I'm fine where I am, thank you. And you're obviously very comfortable." I could hear the smile in his voice, his words laced with raspy sarcasm, and I couldn't help but shudder as his warm breath moved from my shoulder to my neck. I couldn't help but notice that this guy was really hot. I mean, he was literally hotter than a furnace. If I ever actually chose to sleep with him, I imagine I would never need a blanket again. He must've noticed that I wasn't struggling while I thought, because he kissed my neck. I yelped and went back to squirming, but he just pushed me farther against the wall. I tried to stomp on his foot, but he pulled it back, out of my range. Thank god for that, because when he was no longer perfectly balanced, I bent my knees and pushed off from the wall. He fell, but didn't let go of me, and we ended up falling onto the floor, me on top of him.

"Let go of me!" I yelled, managing with difficulty to turn myself around so that I was facing Moriarty. He just laughed, holding me tighter and kissing my nose. He rolled us over so that he was on top of me, and he sneered.

"Well now, it would appear that the tables have turned, Ariadne!" he said friskily, and I knit my white and gold eyebrows, propping my forearms between him and me to keep him farther away.

"Get off, Moriarty," I hissed, and he raised his dark eyebrows in a display of nonverbal sarcasm. His meaning was quite clear. He was the one calling the shots; not me. I shoved him, refusing to give up that easily, and he laughed and pinned my arms down.

"Is this what you were looking for?" Moriarty asked playfully, curling a strand of my hair around his finger. I rolled my eyes, a movement he noticed and imitated. His sweet, spicy scent was beginning to rub off on me, and I knew Sherlock would notice without fail.

I pouted, eyes trained on Moriarty's. I knew that I was short, but his being two inches taller than me felt like an insult. "This was not what I was looking for, but it might still prove helpful. Will you please get off now?"

Moriarty sighed, resting his forehead on mine and closing his eyes. "You smell delicious." I blushed, trying in vain to pry him off me. "Hold still," he groaned, and his grip slackened as he relaxed.

"Tired?" I asked, and he nodded lazily. After all of that struggling, I'd worn him out. I smiled slightly, proud of myself, and I finally wiggled out of his grip and sighed, standing up and walking to my desk.

Moriarty lay there on the floor for a little while longer, and I smiled fully, watching him lie face up, eyes closed, arms behind his head and legs bent. I had to admit, he looked adorable when he wasn't being a psychotic asshole. "Ari…come back…" he whined, and I fought back a laugh. He was begging now? Hilarious.

"No, you little murderer. If you're tired, get out of the middle of the room and sleep on the couch or something."

I sat up and pouted in my direction, huge, puppy dog eyes drilling into my own. I grinned and he stood up, coming over to read over my shoulder. "You really think I'm attractive?" he asked, kneeling next to my chair.

"Blanc thinks that Brae's attractive. What I think about you doesn't factor into this," I told him flatly, trying to tune him out.

"I beg to differ," he purred, leaning against my shoulder. I shrugged him off and he glared at me sideways. I just kept writing, aware of the warmth of his legs against my own. "C'mon, let's go do something. I'm bored."

"I am doing something, Moriarty," I chuckled, and he moaned almost silently. I turned to him slowly, "What the hell was that?"

"I love it when you say my name like that, Ari."

"That's it, I'm leaving," I sighed, standing up and closing my laptop.

"Running to Sherlock, are you?" Moriarty asked, and I could've sworn I heard some anger in his voice.

"Jealous?" I raised one eyebrow. He bit his lip, and I opened the door.

"Don't tempt me, Darling!" he called after me, and I turned around.

"Tempt you to do what?"

He sniggered, "Come back in and put the computer down and I'll tell you."

"You do realize that I'm not an idiot, right?" I questioned, walking again, "Don't touch anything while I'm gone!" I saw Mrs. Devyn coming down the stairs, and she peaked in through the door. Upon seeing Moriarty leaning against my counter with untidy hair and disheveled clothes, she turned on me, obviously angry.

"Another one, dear!?" she inquired, and I could smell a rant on safe sex or moral code coming like someone might smell a storm on the air. I stuttered, trying to explain that Moriarty and I weren't having sex, but he came to the door a second later, practically radiating mischief.

I gave him a warning glare, and he winked, "What's the problem?"

"The problem, young man," Mrs. Devyn started, "Is that you've been taken advantage of by this darling girl. I told her; warned her; I said Don't you go bringing men home left and right, and what do I get? He's the third this week, Skylar Caelum! I expected better behavior from a lady like yourself! Now get back inside and apologize to this poor young man!"

I was blushing heavily, deliberately not looking at Jim, but I could hear him suppressing a laugh. "Thank you for your concern, Ms.," Jim said, using his most innocent Irish accent, "If you'll excuse us, it seems as though we've got some sorting out to do."

I was about to speak, to contradict him, but he yanked me inside and shut the door, leaning against it and smiling ear to ear. "Why the hell-?! How does she trust you more than me?!"

"It's the accent, I bet," he laughed, "I can't believe you've gone and taken advantage of me, Caelum! I suppose that's your surname?" I nodded, still blushing fiercely, which he noticed and pointed out shamelessly by saying, "Are you embarrassed, Ariadne Caelum, or is it something more?"

"Fuck you!"

"I'd much prefer if you'd do it for me." He was quoting my book now. I bit my lip, trying to push past him and out the door. He grabbed my waist and lifted me into the air. I yelled, hoping that Mrs. Devyn might still be in the area, but, evidently, she'd gone out, because no one came to my rescue. I was still carrying my laptop, and I clutched it to my chest, not wanting any harm to come to it. He easily pried it out of my hands and, holding me to him with one arm, placed it on the desk with his other. "Shall we continue where we left off?" he purred, resting his forehead against mine and practically falling against me. I gritted my teeth, trying to stay upright, and walked backwards into the living room, where I managed to drop him on the couch.

"For a psychopath, you sure are clingy," I coughed, "Buh bye."

Jim snatched my wrist and jerked me down next to him, and all I could think was how the fuck does this keep happening? He pulled me so close that I felt like he was trying to merge with me or something, burying his face in the crook of my neck and entangling our legs. I was surprised at his behavior, as well as his persistence, which was actually rather flattering. He mumbled something incoherently, probably something along the lines of "stay, God damn it". His warm breath tickled the nape of my neck, and whenever he spoke, his teeth brushed my skin. However annoying he might be, I told myself, he's still adorable.

"Off!" I commanded anyway, to which he groaned and moved his head up, so that I was forced to glare into what had to be by far the most enchanting puppy eyes I'd ever had the misfortune of seeing. He knew it to, because he added a tiny, quivering pout to his chin and nuzzled my nose.

I sighed, relaxing, and he grinned, "Finally, you little firecracker. I'm not going to rape you or anything!"

"I feel so much better," I said sarcastically, and he laughed and kissed my cheek. "Okay, stop," I ordered him, and his frowned, apparently not used to my persistence against his advances.

"Do you really want me to stop?" he asked.

"Would I be telling you to if I didn't?"

"Yeah," he thought, "I think you would. You seem like that type of person. Too much pride."

"Like you can talk, narcissist." He let go, and I fell off the couch with a shout. He sat up, cackling at my pain. "You jerk!" I spat, sitting up angrily.

"I thought you wanted me to stop!" he said through his laughter, neglecting to help me up.

The rest of the day was spent with me writing, Moriarty making innuendos and not letting me leave, and the occasional text from a friend. I don't know why I didn't just grab a knife and make him let me leave, except that I was almost positive that Moriarty would know how to counter an attack like that. He was a crime lord, after all. I imagined that he wouldn't let himself be outsmarted that easily.

It was dark out when I finally decided to cut my writing short and go to sleep. Moriarty, who was at my hip, reading, made note of my pause. "Shall we?" he asked, standing up and walking to my bedroom doorway, as though waiting for me.

"We?" I asked skeptically, "I am sleeping in my bed, and you are not!"

He plopped down on the unmade covers, taking his suit jacket off for the first time that day. He undid his tie and through them to the foot of my bed, dropping his shoes over the side and worming his way under my covers. "Nope," was all he said, shutting his eyes, "C'mon." When I didn't move, he opened his eyes again to glare at me, "I said come on! I'm too tired to assault you, so you're safe!"

I scoffed, "Yeah, thanks for the insurance! I feel really safe, knowing that you're too tired to assault me! Sure, I'll come and sleep with you!"

"Good," he grinned, moving over, and patting the space next to me. When I still didn't move, he sat up, "You know you want to!"

"I'll sleep on the couch," I sighed, walking back into the living room and grabbing myself a blanket and pillow. I didn't hear him get up, and, knowing that he had resigned to let me sleep peacefully, I passed out, glad for the opportunity for some quiet.

When I woke up the next morning, there was no sign of Moriarty. Granted, I didn't do much looking for him. I couldn't hear him, though, and I was sure that he would've woken up earlier than me. My point was proven when my eyes fell on a box of chocolates and a note. I stared at in incredulously, as though it were a bomb or something. Finally, curiosity got the better of me, and I reached out to grab the note.

Morning, Darling,

I got you this because, apparently, this is what you girls like when you're…you know. Anyway, I'll probably be back in a bit, so don't worry, I haven't abandoned you. Sherlock texted you, by the way. I told him to Fuck Off. From you, of course. Have a lovely morning, and don't bother running, because I set up more cameras. Text me if there's any trouble, and be here when I get back.

Jim xoxo

P.S.

Your bed is surprisingly comfortable, but I'd prefer if we shared it.

I couldn't believe that Jim had actually gotten me chocolate. More than that, I couldn't believe that he'd texted Sherlock on my phone. I was almost positive that he'd spiked the food somehow, but the box was unopened and the plastic wrapping was almost untouched. I chose not to open it anyway, and instead went on a camera hunt, before disposing of the gadgets out the window and turning on the telly to watch Gotham again.

After an episode and a half or so, I heard the door open and the call of, "Honey! I'm home!" I rolled my eyes and lay back, re-relaxing and listening to his footprints approach my living room.

"Thanks for the chocolate," I said robotically, not looking up from the telly.

"You haven't even touched it!" Jim pouted indignantly when he came around the corner, "I thought girls liked gentlemen!"

"I didn't touch it because I don't trust you. Plus, leaving a letter asking me to sleep with you is not considered 'gentlemanly'."

"You're so picky!" he frowned, sitting down next to me, pulling my feet onto his lap. He was wearing a new suit, I noted. Navy blue, this time.

I sighed, "Am I gonna have to teach you how to be polite, or can you figure it out yourself?"

He grinned, "teach me? Good luck…" After about five more minutes of silence, he sighed, "Are you really not going to eat that chocolate, because I got it especially for you."

"I told you: I don't trust you."

"What if I eat a piece first, huh?"

I sighed, "Alright, go ahead."

He pulled the package open and popped a chocolate into his mouth, handing me the box and swallowing. I frowned, but took one anyway, taking a bite out of it. It was like one of those valentine boxes, I surmised. This one was caramel. I grinned slightly, and he took another one. We didn't talk much for the next hour or so, just sitting back and watching, and eating chocolate. I would've kept the sweet all to myself, but he'd gotten it for me and I was afraid of what he'd do if I refused to share. I didn't even know why I was letting him stay, besides that I didn't have the energy to get rid of him, and he wasn't doing anything disruptive at that point, despite the large display of energy from last night. He was displaying a level of calm that I hadn't expected him to possess, as he occasionally shifted his position. I yawned and tried to ignore the pain in my abdomen, which was only added to by the bruise. I wished for the millionth time that I was a male, but alas, t'was not to be.

"So, you like American television?" Jim asked, and I raised my head.

"My friend does and she recommends shows to me that she likes. She's almost always right when it comes to this stuff, and I've learned to just do as she says."

"Ah."

Silence again, and I looked over at him. He was watching me, and I squirmed a little. I was already uncomfortable, and now this? Not helpful…

"So…orchestrate any crimes, lately?" I asked, somewhat awkwardly.

He laughed, "Yeah, I'm in the middle of setting one up right now, actually."

"Really? What?"

"Can't say," he sneered, "It'd ruin the surprise."

I pouted and looked back at the TV, watching Detective Gordon trying to connect to little Bruce Wayne. I felt Jim's hand spider across my thigh, causing me to shiver and move my leg away. He scooted over to wrap his arm around my waist, "God, I'm tired." Did he sleep at all last night? I asked myself, but then I realized that he must've spent last night planning his new crime. When else would he have done it?

"Off…" I threatened, not feeling very sympathetic.

"No…" Jim grinned, pulling me a little closer so that he could rest his head on mine. I shoved him off, standing up to go get myself some food or something. Anything to avoid being cuddled by the consulting criminal. Again. He sighed, "Fine then. Be that way." I turned back and he was standing up.

"Are you leaving?" I asked, hopeful.

"Yeah. You're no fun."

"My apologies," I grinned sarcastically, and I saw the edges of his mouth curl upward only slightly, like he was trying not to smile.

I grabbed my laptop as soon as he walked out, turning the TV off and lying on my belly lengthwise on the couch, deciding to write away my pain by killing someone. In my story, of course. I spent about fifteen minutes in peace, and the I heard the door open. "You're back already?" I called, gaining only a small laugh in replication. I tried to quickly finish up the paragraph before turning over. Jim was quicker than I.

I heard quick footsteps and then a Jim-sized weight on my back. I yelped as his two arms appeared by my head, and looking back I could see one leg outside of mine and the other in between. He had jumped over the side of the couch and onto me, which made me feel both anxious and rather flattered. I felt his breath on my left ear, and I shifted my weight to my right side to look up at him. He was almost in a planking position, grinning at his achievement. "What the hell are you doing!?" I asked, the words coming out more distressed than I had meant.

Jim's left arm stayed, but I felt his right move behind me as he slipped down in front of me, pinning me between him and the back of the couch. I would've shoved him, except that he asshole had me mesmerized, curious to see what he would do next.

"Jim, I'm not in the mood," I warned, closing my laptop to ensure that no keys were pressed and none of my work was accidently deleted.

He pouted, big brown, almost black eyes boring into my own. I shook my head and he pushed closer, so that we were nose to nose. He seemed like a puppy, nuzzling my nose with his own. I pushed him back a little and he pulled me closer and kissed the tip of my nose, tangling his legs with my own. I groaned, "Jim!"

"What?" he asked, straight-faced and innocent. I rolled my eyes as he cocked his head to the side and yawned, beginning to rub by back. I hated to admit it, but it felt so good, especially with the cramping, which was agonizing as fuck. He knew I liked it, too, because he grinned proudly and pushed his head past mine to whisper in my ear, "Am I being gentlemanly yet?"

I sighed, "Nope. I was in the middle of working!"

"You like it. Can you just once relax and let me do something sweet?" he purred, before biting my earlobe. I squealed, surprised, and tried to shove him off to no avail. He chuckled darkly, kissing my neck, before pulling back to kiss my nose again. I had no idea why he did that, but he did, and I couldn't complain. At least, I couldn't complain honestly.

"Jim, I was busy!"

"And I was bored, sweetheart, and your reactions are so deliciously entertaining!"

"Moriarty, I'm writing a novel. If I'm going to meet my deadline, I'm going to have to crank it out. Now, normally I do, but ever since you, Sherlock, and John came into my life, I've had to postpone my wok quite a lot. I'm not in a good mood today, and if you don't let go of me right now, I'll knee you where the sun don't shine. Now get off!"

Jim didn't move for a second, surveying my eyes as though looking for a sign of weakness. Finding none, he sighed and sat up, giving me space to grab my laptop and work. I reopened it, but a thought struck me. I hadn't checked my email in a while, and I had been informed previously that I would be called for an interview for some time in April, which was pretty much now. I opened the tab and grinned. I had gotten the email, which said that the interview would be taking place in mid-April, the 20th, to be exact. I wasn't obsessed with the news, nor was I keen on being interviewed, but it was a good way to get my book sold when it came out, and without it, I wouldn't have nearly as many readers.

"What's that?" Jim asked, resting his chin on my shoulder to watch.

"An email."

"Well I know that!" he frowned indignantly, "What's it about?"

"It's an interview. April 20th. For some newspaper. CAM."

"Ah. D'you know who runs the newspaper?" Jim asked casually.

"No idea," I shrugged, dislodging his head from my shoulder, "The only reason I deal with this at all is for publicity. You know, so my book sells. Speaking of which…" I switched gears, going back to my writing, sinking into the clickety-clack of my keyboard.

After about twenty minutes of no interruption, Moriarty got up and walked away, with no explanation. I ignored him, and only looked up when I heard the door open. "Are you going?" I called.

"Do you want me to stay?" he called back.

"No, not really. I think I'll head out, too. John's heading to New Zealand, and I wanted to say good bye."

"Want me to walk you over?" he asked hopefully as I closed my laptop for the time being and plodded into the kitchen and to the door.

"Nope. Even if I did, I don't think Sherlock'll let you within ten feet of his flat."

He sighed and opened the door for me. I smiled, my bright, mismatched eyes meeting his dark, demonic ones, before I walked through the doorway and hopped down the stairs, exhaling when my cold skin hit the calm, spring air.

I hope you enjoyed the entirely Moriarty chapter. Thanks for reading, or skimming, or visiting the page at all, I guess, and don't be a stranger. Feedback is accepted and encouraged, so please tell me what you think. Thanks!