Hey guys!

I'm really sorry for being that late, but nevertheless, I hope you'll stick with me and enjoy that chapter!

Have fun and please leave some comments!

YOU CHALLENGE ME

DECEMBER

Rumours about Pietro's death spread in the University like wildfire and triggered off the strangest reactions. People were grouping together to fight against crime, others even suggested that the whole case was involved into terroristic actions and others just decided to mourn over a student they didn't even know, putting hundreds of candles in front of the pottery room and wrote letters, words, that should reach the deceased in the afterlife.

But rumours were dangerous. Rumours blurred the truth and made it even more difficult to track the murderer of Pietro down and bring him to court.

People even dropped out of University, just because they were too afraid of even entering the building any longer. I, for myself, should have dropped out even earlier, just the moment James Moriarty had made his way into the lecture hall.

Still, I wasn't that convinced of my theories about myself being involved in what was going on around me. And how far I was involved into Moriarty's doings.

I was strolling around lazily in the main hall. Dr. Watson would be here soon and trying to get some information about Pietro from the Dean or the Headmaster, pretending to be a member of the Hickman gallery, where Pietro's first exhibition, now post mortem, would take place. He would just pretend to come here making sure that there was no piece of art left at the University that the gallery should receive for the exhibition.

"Miss Holmes!"

I turned around and could not refrain from laughing.

"Dr. Watson, is this your disguise?"

Watson huffed and looked down onto his clothes. He looked awful. He wore some old-fashioned corduroy-suit and a very strange faked moustache and some glasses. If someone knew Dr. Watson for real, everyone would see that horrible appearance was total fake. But I hoped that it would suffice to fool the Dean and the Headmaster.

"Actually, it was Sherlock's doing."

Not very soon after that, the Dean and Headmaster were approaching us, but it was too late for me to sneak away. No one should actually see me talking to Dr. Watson, alias Mr Brown from Hickman gallery.

"Mr. Brown, welcome!", said the Headmaster and shook Dr. Watson's hand long and well.

"Miss Holmes.", the Dean said and gave me a very irritated look, but I was happy that Dr. Watson came to my aid.

"Miss Holmes and I were just having a chat, gentlemen. She's a very stubborn young lady, definitely knows the potential of fine modern art. No matter how hard I try to convince her, she just won't sell me her statue of Margaret Thatcher that Pietro Venucci made soon before he passed away. Considering the circumstances, those pieces will certainly raise on collector's value."

I nodded with a shy smile and was hoping that they would buy that lie.

"Pietro Venucci's demise is a tragic affair, Mr Brown. Horrible for all of us, for the whole University.", the Headmaster said and everyone could feel he was tied up in knots. "But I hope that you nevertheless entered the sacred halls of wisdom enjoying the atmosphere that one can usually experience."

He waved his hand and let us all have a good look around and Watson gave him a stiff smile. But that smile even grew stiffer. And my heart sank into my shoes.

I knew it would be better for me to leave immediately.

Because I forgot it.

I forgot that this was London University where he was.

James Moriarty was standing just in the middle of the hall, staring at us. Not even directly staring at us, but staring at Dr. Watson. No disguise, not even a better one than Watson had, would ever be able to deceive James Moriarty. He would know who was standing there.

He knew what it would mean.

And his steady gaze that was resting on our little group was just enough for me, enough evidence to be totally convinced that James Moriarty murdered Pietro Venucci.

The moment I saw how Doctor Watson's and James Moriarty's eyes met, as I passed that horrible seconds that it would take both of them to recognise who each other was, I thought it couldn't get worse. But it did, as James Moriarty slowly came up to us.

"Professor Moriarty, nice to see you, but I have to excuse myself, I am actually having an appointment and no time for you at the moment.", the Headmaster said apologetically and wrung his hands. I could feel him tense even more. But who would not be hamstrung in the presence of the charming Professor James Moriarty?

"My concern won't bother you for a long time, Headmaster. I just wanted to tell you that I perhaps won't be available the next weeks. There are actually very important matters coming up that need to meticulously be taken care of.", Moriarty said and gave us all one of his very stern, but nevertheless irresistible smirks.

"Of course, do as ever you please, Professor.", the Headmaster said hastily, but Moriarty hadn't finished yet. And he did something I had not ever thought of being able to witness. I felt it in my bones, I felt it on my skin, as if I was the one involved in it.

"Excuse me, Sir, I should have introduced myself. Moriarty, James Moriarty. Professor of Physics and Mathematics at London University.", Moriarty said and held his hand out to Dr. Watson, with a hidden, mischievous and challenging glint in his eyes, studying the reaction of his opponent.

I saw Watson hesitate, just shortly. I knew how he must feel. According to his blog, the last time he and Moriarty met, James had bound about five pounds of explosives onto his body, ready to blow Watson's head off.

I knew it would be more than hard for John Watson to touch the man in front of him, the man who nearly had been killing him, the man who had challenged his best friend to a duel to the death.

"Brown, Hickman gallery.", Watson said shortly.

I shivered as I saw those two shaking hands, with a firm grip and a faked smile on their faces.

Then, Moriarty shortly looked at me and our eyes met as well.

I hadn't seen him since that day Pietro was killed. He hadn't contacted me since too, as if he knew what was going on inside my mind, as if he knew that I was suspecting him. No one else would have seen what he actually told me with his look at me. With those dark eyes, that just seemed to rest shortly on my figure, without even really fixing me. But I saw that he hadn't expected this. I knew that he hadn't expected I would consult Sherlock Holmes and his companion John Watson.

He knew how my relation to Sherlock looked like. He knew it wasn't even a relation at all.

He wanted and expected me to act, me, but not making someone else doing it.

I knew that I could no longer refuse him. No matter if I did really consult Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who were trying to infiltrate the University to get some information, I could no longer run away from James Moriarty.

I still presumed I was not even playing a part in that game, but at least now, with me consulting Sherlock, I had brought myself in. No matter what, I have made myself part of it.

Dr. Watson cleared his throat and I looked at him again. He was as pale as death and he looked at me directly, as if he wanted to accuse me having not warned him that he could actually meet James Moriarty at University.

But still, I had never mentioned in front of Sherlock or Watson, that I knew who Moriarty really was. I had even successfully evaded that inquiry of Sherlock about that new Professor.

My big mistake was, that I hadn't thought the whole thing through. I had not ever thought that Watson and Moriarty could really stumble upon each other in here. And I didn't even dare to think about the consequences.

"Miss Holmes.", Moriarty bowed slightly before me.

I just took one step back, felt that my whole body began to tremble.

Because I knew I would have to do it now, immediately.

I had to approach Moriarty.

I had to speak to him.

"Excuse me now, I will return to my office.", James said and made his leave.

"Now, shouldn't we head to the pottery rooms?", the Headmaster said and the small group set in motion, after shortly saying goodbye to me.

But I didn't really hear them anymore, as I already was on Moriarty's heels. I did not really follow him, just went slowly after him, keeping more than a secure distance and even stopped at the black board to have a look at it, without really reading something.

I felt like Jim Moriarty had bound a leash around my belly and was constantly dragging me towards his office. I felt I had no choice anymore. I had to run after him, face him, do whatever it needed, to show him I was there.

I was there to finally be a part of the great game.

There I stood.

I stood in front of the door of James Moriarty's office, just a mere wooden door separating me from entering and finally speaking to him, confronting him with everything that was going on inside me. I would not even try to play any games, just put my cards on the table and face him.

I breathed hard.

Then I opened the door and stepped in, found Moriarty standing with his back to me in front of the big windows, his hands folded at his back.

My hand clasped around the doorknob and I was rooted to the spot, just having to look at this figure of him standing there, observing the city, seeming to be so very distanced and yet the centre of everything that happened. Everything bad that happened out there.

"Close at least the door behind you.", he said, not even turning around to face me. I breathed in sharply, but did as he asked. As I turned around, he still was not facing me.

"So you only come up to me when you want and never when I invite you to?", he asked in a calm voice, sweet and comforting.

I took one step closer, rapidly scanning the office, not even really caring what was inside here. Perhaps it was just the set for one of his innumerable disguises and would tell me nothing about him anyway.

"How did you know it was me?", I asked, my voice shivering with anger about my body quivering with agitation and anticipation. At least, he didn't see it, but I bet he would even feel it instead.

"You are the only person inside the walls of this University, who would not ever care to knock before she enters the room. Just because of your lack of respect.", he said, still not turning around to me, keeping me tense and on pins and needles.

" I simply do not accept you as my professor. Secondly, I know different kinds of people named James Moriarty."

"So what took you so long, coming up to me? Have you been busy strolling around in town, doing your Christmas-shopping, having a look at all those remarkable sights of London?", he asked again, even a bit reproachfully. But the hell I knew how he could act!

"I am not the sightseeing person.", I said, throwing my bag onto one of the chairs in front of his desk and crossed my arms, trying to calm myself down.

"For such a long time, I had always wanted to visit the Tower of London.", James murmured.

"Well, it would be the right place for you.", I answered and bit onto my lip, just imagining how nowadays a criminal like him would be arrested and kept in prison at such a place. Somehow it was delightful to imagine him squatting in a corner of the bloody tower.

"It is indeed a remarkable place. It's walls know so much history, it's rooms so much dignity, it is just such a royal palace. Don't forget to mention the precious crown jewels. I am convinced I'd look gorgeous in a crown."

"It rather would be the right place for you to have as a life-long residence, but on water and bread.", I sneered, angry about him talking such nonsense.

That was when he turned around.

And there was indeed no Professor anymore to behold. It was a new sort of Moriarty, I had not yet been able to meet. He took the few steps around his table, slowly coming up to me, his face in a hard and angry expression. He was clenching his teeth and I could see his eyes getting darker and darker. His body was radiating something that made me take several steps back, something that I hadn't felt with him ever before.

It was danger.

He followed my every step, came closer and breathed in hard and sharply, raising his hand-

And I turned away from him, my shoulders slightly hunching and an appalled little tone escaped my lips, and I squinted my eyes in anxious anticipation, as I tried to escape from him. But nothing happened and I blinked back at him.

"You really are waiting for me going to slap you?", Jim asked with a low and hoarse voice and his hand still raised in mid-air.

"One could expect that from James Moriarty. But hitting me wouldn't change anything.", I whispered, still crouching before him, not sure what to do next.

"At least it would comfort me.", James hissed through his clenched teeth, "You always tempted me to do it, but not just hit you, even kill you."

"Just like you killed Pietro?"

The slap was hard and hurt so much, that it felt like it dislocated my jawbone. I stumbled back and held my hand against my burning cheek and looked up back at him again. My heart bumped so hard that I thought it would just rip a hole into my chest and I tried hard to choke back my tears.

"Are you feeling any better now?", I hissed, glared at him with all the disdain and hate I could muster. James looked down onto his hand and stretched his fingers.

"Yes."

I spurted forward so immediately, that even James Moriarty didn't see it coming and I slapped him back as hard as I could. But he just bore my attempt with unblinking eyes, his head even not very much tilting and his lips still being pressed against each other firmly.

"Me too.", I huffed, shaking my hand, but somehow feeling joy compensating the pain that burned like fire on my cheek. But I was still bound by his intense and unfamiliar look. It was darker than dark and I saw how much he wanted to stretch out his hand, put it around my throat and slowly squeeze my young and ordinary life out of me.

But still, I wasn't that afraid as I probably should have been.

"Why did you bring him here?"

I looked to the floor. Why did I even feel like I committed a blunder? Why did I even feel ashamed?

It was only natural that Moriarty felt that someone invaded his territory. But it was not only someone, it had been Dr. Watson, which implied that it actually had been Sherlock Holmes.

"You killed Pietro Venucci. Beppo asked the great consulting criminal to end an innocent life, and you did it. Just for the money or just for the fun?", I snarled, even standing more upright and balanced on my feet, preparing for him slapping me again. But even now, I bet the previous slap had just been just an unusual outburst. Still, he seemed to be someone who didn't want to make his hands dirty.

James closed his eyes and breathed deep.

"I am still so disappointed in you, Sharon. You didn't follow my invitation at all and just came here to accuse me.", Jim huffed, repeating the movement of his hand brushing through his hair, "But I am not the right person to be accused."

I rose my eyebrows and clenched my fists, my thoughts swirling around in my mind. Was he lying to me? But for all I knew about James Moriarty was, that he never ever before had been lying to me. But things had changed and so could his behaviour towards me. I'd even felt it just a few moments ago and that still caused my cheek burning with pain.

"It hasn't been you?", I asked, my voice fading.

"How could you even assume something like that?"

"You're the most dangerous criminal in the world. Pietro was killed. I deduced."

Suddenly, an outburst of laughter escaped Moriarty's lungs and he rose both his hands towards the ceiling, as if he worshipped a higher being. But I knew that he was just doing something else with his arms, just to suppress the urge to hit me again. I still felt that he eagerly wanted to punish me for what I said and would say.

"Your powers of deduction are really poor. If you really ever closely listened to whatever I said to you, you would perhaps still be refusing even to enter my little office altogether.", he said, turning around and walking up and down his office, "But I told you, back in March, that Beppo had been coming up to me and I refused him."

"It doesn't change the fact that Pietro is dead."

"But that mess was not even a beginner's doing. It was nastily filthy, impulsive, only despicable in how it was acted out. That's nothing I would strive to be known for. If it really had been me at all, his body would already be washed downstream the river Thames or inside the meat grinder of Mrs. Lovett at Fleet Street.", James snarled.

"Are you trying to say that there are admirable ways of killing someone?"

"Also pleasurable ones.", James snickered and gulfed down his drink.

"You're disgusting!", I cried out and retreated back to the walls of books behind me.

"But he has fuelled my spirit to destroy something. It's been so long since I had some fun. Now I have the urge to misbehave again. Perhaps I will kill someone, finally kill someone named Holmes."

I just had the feeling that I had to run. I had to run away from him. A strangely strong feeling of fear let my body shiver and my legs moved on their own, stumbled forward. His appearance changed so suddenly, within an instant, but I wasn't fast enough, to reckon his step towards me. No sooner had he grabbed my shoulders, laid his hands around my neck, while I tried to push him away from me.

"You can't even imagine how easily it is done. So quick, so fast, almost with no effort. But nevertheless it is such a powerful act. The feeling of having someone's life in your hands, the feeling of letting it slip away, is so powerful. It's like playing god.", Jim whispered, pressed his fingers against my throat, squeezing it firmly, but also almost gently. I digged my nails into his wrists, trying to free myself from him. With eyes wide open I met his unreadable gaze, his eyes that weren't really looking at me. Once again, his thoughts were far away from this situation, from me.

"Then, at least say, that it was you.", I hissed, desperately trying to draw breath.

"I did not kill Pietro Venucci. Not even indirectly.", James said monotonously.

"I don't believe you.", I said, some tears already falling down my cheeks and my body leaning against him, as I wasn't any longer to stand on my own feet.

"You have to. You've even already reckoned that weeks ago. I do always tell the truth. but I do not like to repeat myself.", Jim whispered even more softly, laying his hands beneath my ears, his grasp getting even tighter.

"Admit it.", I choked.

"No."

"Admit."

I was close to faint. But he would not kill me, would he? Hadn't I already been sure that there was no purpose for him in doing it? Or would he just love to have my life in his hands, be the one who would take it away from me? This was the side of James Moriarty I hadn't ever seen before. The one which didn't care for rationality, intelligence, purpose and tricky games at all. This was the dark side of him that simply wanted to destroy whatever crossed his path, as long as the act would satisfy him.

"But actually, there's something to admit.", Jim suddenly said, letting me go so suddenly, that I just fell on my knees, choking and coughing hard, "If only such an act like a murder makes you coming up to me, I wish I had really been the one killing that poor boy. Then it would have really been me who made you coming here."

"Who was it then?", I asked, curling myself up at his feet, whimpering just shortly, as I realised that I was coming to a dead end.

"Are you really so stupid that you can't figure that out yourself?"

"Who was it then?", I asked again, grabbing one of his feet, taking it for support.

"I won't tell you. It is your turn now. To be in my favour again, you have to show me that you can act. Well, I fear, discovering the truth of that lumpy case isn't enough anymore.", James sneered, just disdainfully staring down at me.

"Who says I want to be in your favour?", I asked him back and tried to oppose him as I already had done so confidently and cheekily long ago, but he just looked at me, unimpressed and cold-heartedly.

But I looked at him impertinently and steadfastly, that he finally rolled his eyes knelt down in front of me. I swallowed hard as I faced him, his expression slowly growing stern.

I couldn't stand his gaze any longer and looked away, biting my lip.

I knew what he would say.

I knew he would just say what I knew all along.

"You wanted it. You still want it. Pietro's death found a ready welcome, you loved that opportunity to finally participate in the game of Sherlock's and mine. You were frightened, thrilled and pleased by it, you wanted that death and you loved the thought of me being the one responsible for it. You loved to see death."

I bit my lip even harder, swallowed my tears, but James grabbed my chin and made me look at him again.

"You love the dark side, don't you? You want to participate, join in and don't even care about what it would cost."

"No, that's not true.", I moaned.

James raised his eyebrows and I instinctively nodded a little.

That was, what still remained.

James Moriarty's only honest behaviour towards me, was now the one I hated the most.

He indeed always told me the truth and he had done it again.

I couldn't accept it, though. How could I bear the thought that I really did not only mourn the death of a friend of mine, but also saw it as opportunity, was happy about someone dying right before my eyes? I didn't realise how serious I was, how real everything was. Pietro would never return, but all I had been interested in, has been getting close to Moriarty, just to be able to oppose him with proper armour.

I wouldn't have needed the possibility to accuse him having committed that murder, if I just dared to face him as I was.

I was weak. The armour I thought I was clad in, hadn't been there at all.

I didn't even try to hide my tears from James Moriarty, that were silently running down my cheeks. James smiled wickedly and raised his hand, but I pushed it away, struggled with him trying to touch me, pushing him, oppressing my sobbing.

"Sharon."

Jim's voice didn't even sound annoyed or demanding. He just called me and waited, until I somehow calmed down again.

"Sharon."

I breathed in deep, not longer wanting to let him see me loosing myself so much.

"What should I do then?", I asked, pulling the loose strands of my disarranged hair behind my ears, wiped with my hands over my burning cheeks and looked back directly into James' eyes.

James then gave me one of his typical smirks again, which showed me that for the first time, I had asked him the right question, one he would really tolerate and answer me.

"Impress me."

Please review!