Osaka, Japan

Present Day

When Samantha came to, she was surprised to find herself in the same hotel room. She was not surprised that she was tied to a chair. She became aware of the pain in her cheekbone where she had been hit with the wrench. The swelling expanded to just beneath her eye so that it hurt to blink.

Before her, Moriarty sat up on the king sized bed. His shoes and jacket had been removed, the collar of his crisp white shirt had been loosened and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. He picked casually at a bowl of nuts while scrolling through Samantha's phone.

"You won't find anything on that," Samantha said as she tested her restraints. Her arms were tied with some sort of electrical cord, probably ripped from a lamp or something. She could probably free herself if she was persistent enough.

"I know," Moriarty piped in disappointment, "This phone is squeaky clean. You left your Facebook logged in though. It pains me to see you so disgustingly ordinary, you know. I'm almost tempted to troll your measly friends list." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and held up the screen so she could see.

"Who's this?" he queried.

It was a photo of Betty with her arm around Samantha, their foreheads touching. She had almost forgotten about that. It was taken by a friend of Betty on one of their first night's out together. She wasn't tagged which meant Moriarty had gone through the effort of digging through her connections.

"Why? You looking to dump her in a lake?" Samantha muttered, twisting her wrists in attempt to loosen her restraints.

Moriarty grinned and pocketed the phone.

"Oh I see," he said, "This is a revenge story. You're here to...kill me? Torture me? Lecture me to death about how I'm a bad person?"

"What?" Samantha frowned.

"Oh come on." Moriarty stood and stepped toward her. "Of all the gin joints in all the world. You can't honestly expect me to believe that you being here at this exact time is a coincidence."

Samantha's mind raced. She had thought that Moriarty was locked up. Did Mycroft know he walked free? If he did, why wouldn't he have told her? Was Moriarty somehow involved in the money laundering scandal that led her here?

Moriarty crouched to her level. He studied her face for a moment, his dark eyes flitting back and forth with scepticism. "Who are you working for?" he said, deadpan.

"I'm a cleaner. Can't you tell?" Samantha nodded at the uniform she wore.

"You normally clean with a gun, do you?"

"We can work with difficult people sometimes. Speaking of which, where's your guard dog?" Samantha glanced around for the Russian woman.

"She got bored, probably went clubbing somewhere," Moriarty shrugged, "Who are you working for?"

"I'm self employed," Samantha stated.

"Who are you working for?"

"Goldman Sachs."

"Who. Are you. Working for?"

"Honestly, would you believe me if I told you?" Samantha sighed, "You could have your minion work me over and you'd still be hard to convince."

"Oh don't worry. I know torture is wasted on you." He reached out and to Samantha's alarm began to unbutton her blouse from the bottom up.

"What are you-?"

He stopped about halfway up and reached inside, revealing her skin with one hand.

"Interesting," he murmured as he brushed his thumb along the pink scar that was once the tatooed identification number given to her by her ex-employer. Her skin prickled at his touch and her ears burned. His hand rested on her waist for a moment as he gazed intently at her.

"You're not here for me at all, are you?" he uttered.

"Get your hand off me," she demanded, staring him down. He used to touch her like this when they were together. She knew he was trying to throw her off guard.

"Where is it?" He whispered.

"Where's what?"

"Whatever you came here for. Where is it?"

"I don't have it," Samantha sighed, seeing futility in lying.

He ran his hands over her body, more methodically now, frisking her. When his search came up with nothing he stood up and searched through the cleaning trolley and her handbag. Samantha tugged at her restraints more urgently now that his back was turned. She started to feel the cords loosen slightly.

"Where is it?" he asked again, his temper seeping through the cracks of his composure.

"I told you I don't have it," she insisted, "Why would I lie to you?"

"Because that's what you do!" He yelled, his eyes wide with fury, "You lie and you cheat and you stab me in the back over and over and over! It's what you do." He paused, shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "So just tell me where it is so I can be done with you." The switch in his demeanour was frightening. Samantha wasn't sure what to expect from him without knowing exactly why he was here. She suspected he was looking for the same thing she was sent for but of what significance it was to him was a mystery. She felt the cord loosen enough just then.

"You walked in before I could get to it," she said, "Under the rug, there's a safe. You'll need to break into it."

Moriarty eyes her suspiciously.

"Take a look," she said.

He kicked up the rug and revealed the trapdoor. Samantha untangled the chord as discreetly as she could, her hands now free. She watched as Moriarty crouched to open the trapdoor and with that she leapt up, whipped the cord around his neck and clung tightly. He threw himself backward so that they both collapsed to the ground. Samantha maintained her grip despite becoming trapped under him. His head knocked back against her bruised cheek and she tried to stifle a cry through her teeth. The more he struggled the tighter the cord wrapped around him until oxegyn ceased reaching his brain causing him to pass out. Samantha's arms flopped to her sides and she let out an exhausted sigh. She then wriggled out from under the limp body. She grabbed her phone from Moriarty's pocket and snatched her handbag on the way out the door. She hurried down the corridor, adjusting her uniform and fixing her hair. She realised then how hard her heart was beating. She did not expect Moriarty of all people on this job. What would she tell Mycroft? How was she going to deal with this? As she reached the stairs she spotted Abramovich ascending from the floor below. Shit. She tried the elevator but the door wouldn't open fast enough. She was going to be caught. Hide! She whipped out the master key and used it to hide in one of the rooms. She held her breath and watched through the eyehole until the Russian woman walked passed. She waited a moment to make sure the coast was clear.

"Hey!"

Samantha turned to see a sleepy headed man emerge from the ensuite.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, "I didn't order room service. Get out!"

"Sorry, sir, my mistake!" Samantha babbled as she slipped back out again. She checked the corridor. Empty. With a sigh of relief, she hurried down the stairs and out of the building. She hailed a passing taxi and hopped into the backseat when it pulled over.

"Where to, miss?" the driver asked.

Samantha gave him directions to the accommodation she was staying. With that she sat back and let out a long sigh. Her adrenaline levels slowly petered but her leg twitched in agitation. She was surprised to find herself smiling. She hadn't felt like this since she worked for the agency.

Jim Moriarty, she thought. What on earth are you doing here?