Sherlock cautiously opened the door leading to the roof of St. Bartholomew's hospital. As welcoming as the sight of an unharmed John Watson was, the sight of an unharmed Jim Moriarty was equally distasteful.

"Ah! Sherl, my darling" he crooned, "so glad you could make it in such a timely manner." Sherlock stayed put, as Moriarty had positioned his gun securely against John's temple. "After all," he continued, "I was kind enough to leave a note for you."

Sherlock took a cautiously measured step towards the pair, but Moriarty clicked his tongue. "Now, now, Sherl, I don't intend to hurt the dear doctor here," he paused and gazed at the sky, "as long as you promise not to hurt me."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "then precisely what is it you want?"

"I want you, Sherlock," he winked, "but everyone knows the way to Sherlock Holmes is through Doctor Watson." John and Sherlock locked eyes, and Moriarty pursed his lips, "What they don't know is the back door to Sherlock's heart. You know it, don't you?"

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Yes, yes you do. It was careless of you to leave her all alone…well, practically alone. You really think that one yard officer is enough to keep her safe from my men?"

"You're mistaken," Sherlock replied, stepping forward once again, and ceasing when Moriarty jerked the arm that held the gun, "I left her with more than just one blithering idiot from the yard,"

Moriarty shook his head in disappointment, "Now, now Sherlock. We both know you let your guard down after I, er," he giggled, "kicked the bucket. Do you know how easy it was to plant cameras and bugs all around your flat? You were practically asking for it when you left this simpleton," he jammed the gun into John's temple, eliciting a wince, "in charge of 221B. If I could get them past you, then surely, I could put some in your friend's homes," he leaned his face close John's, "Your wife isn't so observant when she's this pregnant, now is she?"

John inhaled sharply, "Get your face away from me."

"Oh-oh! Still feisty? Even with a gun to your head!" He turned his face away from John's dismissively, "That is why you like him after all."

Sherlock grit his teeth, "What do you want from me?"

"I told you," he sniffled, "I want you. I want darling Sherlock's heart."

"Oh," he replied, "is that so? I thought you'd already 'burned,'" he made imaginary quotations, "my heart, if I'm not mistaken. Did it not work?"

Moriarty grimaced, "Do you know what I did wrong?"

"You didn't die the first time?" John threw in for commentary.

The side of Sherlock's mouth twitched.

"No," he elongated the word, "I made an assumption. I assumed that you had three friends, each fulfilling their own role for you. Mrs. Hudson, a complex woman that provides you with a constant motherly affection…Lestrade, an ordinary man for you to impress, to make you feel needed…and John Watson, your…lover?" He shook his head, "No, no, how wrong. John Watson is a blend of the first two. He provides you with steady affection, and he places you on a pedestal," he rolled his eyes, "He loves you; yes, yes, he does."

"I do wish you would hurry to the relevant part."

He grinned, "Oh, but you know, I know you know. You love John Watson, but you find sexual, romantic love repulsive, don't you? You'd never allow yourself to admit there was someone you truly wanted to be your lover."

"Sherlock," John interjected, "what has he done?"

Sherlock swallowed.

"Do you want to tell him, Sherlock, or shall I?"

Sherlock made no reply but stepped close enough to be face-to-face with Moriarty at the edge of the building.

"What have you done with her?" He growled.

"Hmm…" he began, scratching his chin with the barrel of the gun and releasing his grip on John, "I do so hate to be cliched, but that's for you to find out."

John backed away to Sherlock's side as Moriarty leveled the gun at them.

"Isn't this fun? I made a new game for us. I know you've missed me. You have missed me, haven't you?"

John mumbled under his breath, "Why exactly isn't he dead?"

"I don't know," came the subdued reply, "Give me a minute."

"Oh, surely you don't want to know why I'm not dead. Not yet anyway. That's part of the fun," he crept forward until his face was inches from Sherlock's, pressing the gun into his side, "You beat me last time; you won't do it again. I know how to break you now. Remember that."

He moved backward suddenly. "Anyway!" He began in a chipper tone, "I really must be off; mustn't keep the little lady waiting." He walked nonchalantly towards the exit, but turned before he reached the door, "Oh, and Sherlock?"

Sherlock held his gaze.

"If you come after me before I tell you to…She dies. Bye bye, now!" He opened and shut the door in a dramatic manner.

John turned to Sherlock as soon as the door shut all the way.

"You shouldn't have come here."

Sherlock's brow creased, "What else was I supposed to do? Leave you to die and me to deal with your hysterical wife?"

"He wasn't going to do anything to me; he just wanted to get at Molly."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but shut it just as quickly. After another minute under John's scrutinizing gaze, he answered, "You're right. I've been foolish."

John inhaled, "We can discuss it later; right now we need to see what shape Lestrade is in."