Disclaimer: I only own Nora.

I apologize for the wait. My overwhelming summer, this final semester, and grad school preparations got the best of me. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Flour, oatmeal, raisins, brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, egg and milk mixture, and pinched-in butter….

I stood in the kitchen in one of Jim's old dress shirts and a pair of his black boxer shorts, mentally checking off ingredients. It'd been quite a few months since the last time I'd made scones. The recipe had been in my family for generations and Jim Moriarty had a penchant for them. I brushed a lock of my freshly-colored brown hair away from my eye with the back of my hand. Rolling my sleeves further up my arm, I dusted my hands with flour, and pressed out a doughy mixture onto a plastic cutting sheet covered with flour. Jim entered the kitchen in his boxer briefs. He watched me for a moment, kissed my shoulder, then smiled.

"It smells delicious, pet!" He picked a tiny bit of dough and put it in his mouth. "I love it when you bake for me."

I glanced at Jim. "Stop it, you. I just folded in raw egg and I don't want you to get sick."

"You always worry about me." He kissed my cheek.

"I'm supposed to, aren't I? Besides, I can't help it."

Jim turned up the volume on the radio as Gold London began to play my favorite Bee Gees song. He moved his hips and held out his hand, "Dance with me, pet."

"Can't," I began to cut the dough into triangles.

"Oh, come on!"

I let out a squeak as I suddenly felt Jim's hands on my waist. He pressed his hips against mine and swayed our bodies to the rhythm.

Music loud and women warm, I've been kicked around since I was born...

"Jim," I giggled before straightening myself. "Jim, stop, I'm busy baking. Besides, I always thought you were more partial to How Deep is Your Love."

"Come now, pet. You know me." He leaned against the counter. "I'm so changeable."

My hand stopped mid-slice. I felt my smile fade. Deep inside I knew Jim wouldn't last long. However, he did last longer than he had the last time. Two weeks I'd had Jim. Two relaxing and romantic weeks filled with smiles, gentleness, dates, and sex even more mind-blowing than usual. Two weeks with Jim caring for my mental and physical injuries from Moriarty's mistakes, until my body completely healed and our relationship strengthened. Truth be told, I'd seen this coming since Wednesday. It started with a front-page article about Sherlock during breakfast that morning. Jim sat at the table, his coffee untouched, with the Daily Mirror gripped in his hands.

"Darling, you know they're just fairy tales." I'd said.

He gave a small smile and laughed it off. "Yes, you're right, pet. Silly little fairy tales."

I knew that the time I had with Jim was swiftly coming to a close. However, a part of me hoped that by some miracle he'd stick around.

"You know, pet," Moriarty began, his eyes intently watching me place the triangles onto a baking sheet. "That's the problem between Sherlock and me. Staying...alive."

I knew what he meant, but I still asked, "What do you mean?"

"The fall. It's about to begin. But I need a bit of help. I need my pets. My tiger and my kitten." Moriarty moved behind me again, his breath tickling my neck, his hands firmly on my waist. "My playful...sexy...cunning little kitten." Moriarty's hands moved to my bottom. "I've never needed you more."

"Darling, now really isn't the time for that," I warned. "Your scones will never get baked."

Moriarty let go of my body but remained behind me. I set the final scone on the baking sheet and placed it in the oven. Once the timer was set, I wiped my hands on a dish towel. Carefully, I turned around, placed my palms on the edge of the counter, and faced the consulting criminal.

"What is it, darling? What do you mean?"

"That night," said Moriarty, "you remember I mentioned leaving London."

I raised my chin, "I do. What of it?"

"I meant it."

"And you will have me wherever you go. I meant it as well when I said I'd run away with you."

"So you will go with me back to Ireland, pet?"

"Yes, Moriarty." I gave a small nod and shrugged. "After all, you are the reason why I am even allowed to go back there."

Moriarty stroked my cheek, "Good, because I was thinking about staying in Dublin after we finish with Sherlock."

"We?"

"Yes, pet. We."

All this talk of returning to Ireland made me uneasy, and it wasn't because of my own record. Now that we were discussing this matter outside of the bedsheets, I could think clearly. If we were fleeing there, just what exactly was he planning?

Narrowing my eyes, I folded my arms and leaned back against the counter. "What do you need from me, James?"

Moriarty smirked. He absolutely loved it when I called him 'James', even though I usually saved it for grave situations like these, or when he was being particularly irritating. He wet his lips and said, "I need you to help me with one, quite possibly two, things. I need you to help me lure Sherlock in and I need you to help me avoid severe punishment. I know what you're capable of, pet. After all, we both know you left out some very important details during your little discussion with Sherlock."

My breath caught in my throat.

"I need you to do it again. You're the only one I trust with this."

"Sebastian—"

"—is assisting me with other things. I don't want to waste his time on a task that you are more than capable of completing."

"James."

"It will be quick and simple, pet."

"James, you know this," I ran a hand through my hair. "We discussed this when I became your pet. I will do anything you want. I will be exactly what you want. I will be ordinary and I will be extraordinary. You would clear my record and my name in Dublin, give me money, a home, your physical and sometimes emotional attention, anything my heart desired. I gave you a condition. I told you I would not do that or anything like that again."

"The terms have changed. Besides, I never agreed to your condition. I merely said that it would be a possibility." Moriarty's grin grew wider. "You were so desperate then. You agreed without my agreement to your condition."

I opened my mouth, but quickly closed it. Moriarty was right. He had me exactly where he wanted me. My eyebrows knit together and I found my somewhat confident exterior faltering.

"Oh, dearest, why the long face? It won't be completely bad. You and I both know that dark side of you is just itching to come out and play again."

A shiver ran up my back. He was right. He was right about everything. I hadn't told the boys of Baker Street everything. Moriarty hadn't agreed to my condition. That deep, twisted part of me had missed being naughty since my incident in Dublin. It was the same part of me that loved Moriarty more than Jim, that sick part of me that made me more similar to Moriarty than I'd like to be. That same part of me that drew Moriarty to find me in the coffee shop that day. My mind quieted when Moriarty picked me up and sat my bottom on the floury countertop. He slowly unbuttoned my dress shirt.

"That naughty little pet who is capable of more than she lets on." His lips brushed against the center of my chest and I couldn't help but moan. "It's been far too long, hasn't it? Far too long since someone has made good use of that brilliant mind of yours."

"Not now, darling." I said, half-pleadingly. "Not until you tell me why you need me to do that again."

Moriarty grinned up at me and said, "If I were a tourist, what would I wear to look positively ordinary?"

"A tourist? A ball cap and trainers, I suppose. Probably some ridiculous jacket. You'd stop and take pictures of police boxes and buildings with disregard for people walking around you." My gaze shifted to Moriarty's eyes and immediately I knew he was planning something dangerously big. "You'd chew gum. You sometimes chew it when you're dressing as someone else for Sherlock."

"Excellent decision. The gum is a given, pet. After all, it will keep the diamond in place, creating a pressure point that will enable me to break the glass."

"Glass?"

"I'm going to steal the Crown Jewels."

At this point, I had to laugh. Moriarty was going to steal the Crown Jewels. Part of the laughter was from fear of what would happen when he got caught. Part was from shock and disbelief, and not because I didn't think he could do it. Moriarty began laughing as well.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" he said. "Of course I won't actually steal them, I'll just sit on the throne and wait for the ordinary ones at Scotland Yard to finally arrive. Honey, you will finally see me in a crown I deserve. Doesn't that excite you?"

That part of me got extremely excited at his idea. I closed my eyes, shook my head, then opened them again. No, I couldn't do that again. I couldn't. I swore to myself I was done doing these manipulations for personal gain. I was done committing crimes. His hand wandered up my leg and made me focus on him once more.

"It excites you, doesn't it, pet? Your James in a crown."

I touched his stubbled cheek, "You know how much I like it when you wear a crown."

"I do. I also know you like this idea, don't you? It feels...so...good to that naughty side of you...doesn't it?"

My breathing grew labored. If he kept talking this way and touching my skin in just the right way, I was going to say 'yes' to being part his plan. He knew exactly what he was doing and it scared me. He knew just how to bring out that suppressed, manipulative side of me.

"Of course, I will be arrested. But, oh!" He feigned a gasp. "I have a pet at home. One who knows just how to get the jurors to vote in my favor." His hands had moved to the apex of my legs and his lips pressed lightly against my left ear. "Will you persuade the jurors to set me free, dearest?"

I wanted his hands against me. I wanted to buck against his fingers, just to feel a bit of relief from the sexual and emotional tension he was causing me. Moriarty always had more restraint than I, and it was apparent from the lack of tenting in his boxers. A groan of frustration left my lips, half from his lack of touch and half from the realization that Moriarty would definitely be beaten during interrogation once he was arrested. He would never tell anyone other than Seb or myself what his plans were. Most times he wouldn't even tell me. They would beat him and, as much as I would like for someone to beat Moriarty the way he does me, I couldn't do that to Jim. A few days of beatings and incarceration would be more than satisfactory for Moriarty, but Jim didn't deserve to spend the rest of his life that way. I would have to find a way to get the jurors to let Moriarty out. In fact, though the crime had yet to be committed, I already knew an excellent way to get the jurors on our side.

"Yes," I said. "I will set you free."

He looked me in the eyes, "Good girl. Very...very...good girl."

"But what about Sherlock's fall? That plan to steal the jewels hardly seems like it will lead to a permanent solution."

"Not to worry. It's just the beginning. Things are going to go very poorly for him, pet."

I felt myself grin and say, "Wouldn't it be excellent everyone believed that Sherlock Holmes was actually a criminal? What if Jim Moriarty wasn't a criminal but just an idea that Sherlock's crazy little mind created?"

Moriarty tilted his head to the left and immediately kissed me. I quickly returned the favor. His right hand cupped my sex. I gasped, hooked my arm around to his neck, and leaned back against the cabinets. Moriarty groaned inwardly. His left hand gripped my outer thigh, then hooked my leg around his waist. A few short pecks led to him gently biting my bottom lip as the oven timer went off. We pulled apart breathlessly, and he placed his forehead against mine.

"What was that for, darling?"

"I was thinking exactly the same thing."

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