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"What do you mean?" the DI demanded before Mycroft could stop him. He had most likely planned out this talk. But Greg had to know. Trevelyan had brought Moriarty back to life; they had have had some form of contact. And the consulting criminal had to at least suspect how he had been saved.
He had to. And they would make him tell them, no matter what they had to.
Moriarty raised an eyebrow at him, and he tried to imagine what it must have been like for Sherlock and John to meet him for the first time. He knew about the pool, he knew that Moriarty had kidnapped John and used him to threaten Sherlock, he knew what had taken place between him and the consulting criminal on the rooftop.
It was strange to imagine now that Sherlock had once been excited at the prospect of a criminal who could challenge him, now that he had heard the consulting detective had faked his death to save his friends' lives. Sherlock had changed. He was neither the young man who'd broken into a crime scene nor the consulting detective who had never cared for human contact. Moriarty, though, hadn't changed. He was still like he'd always been, a monster enjoying inflicting pain, playing games.
All it took was him raising an eyebrow to make the temptation to shoot him almost overwhelming. It was easy to see why. The gesture was so familiar; Sherlock did it all the time.
"What I mean, Detective Inspector? I mean that I can't bring them back."
"And why not?"
He knew that Mycroft was most likely not happy with the direction this conversation was taking, but he couldn't help it. Sherlock and John were out there, and there had to be a way –
"Because Doctor Trevelyan has the only device that enables a man to enter a different dimension in existence, and since he is in another world as we speak, I can't reach him" Moriarty explained. "We will just have to entertain ourselves" he added cheerfully.
"I don't like your form of entertainment."
"I thought so. The good friend, always listening to Sherlock. You just want to save them, don't you? Boring."
He looked at Mycroft.
"What about you, Big Brother? We had a very profitable arrangement, didn't we?"
Greg felt Mycroft stiffen beside him. That wasn't good. He was always calm and collected, and if he were to lose his temper now – this man had cost his brother years of his life. With his help.
He wouldn't blame him if he killed Moriarty. He would gladly do so himself.
And the consulting criminal knew, he was sure. He knew they would gladly rid the world of him, he knew they couldn't, and he was having fun. He was mocking them, taunting them with his survival, waiting for one of them to crack.
"I fail to see how our "arrangement" would be considered "profitable" for either of us" Mycroft replied. He sounded as calm as always.
Maybe he wasn't about to get angry. Greg thought he knew him better than most, but he couldn't be sure.
"We both got what we wanted. I might have lied, but you demanded information, not the truth".
Mycroft's right hand, the one Greg could see, half-clenched into a fist; he relaxed it again immediately, but of course the other man had noticed.
"Not that much of an Ice Man after all" Moriarty commented; it wasn't clear if he was amused or disappointed, maybe a bit of both. The banter, if it could be called that, continued, but Greg wasn't paying attention to their conversation; instead he was thinking about what the consulting criminal had said until now, one sentence repeating in his mind.
We both got what we wanted.
But what had Moriarty wanted? Sherlock's death? He couldn't have meant that because Sherlock was alive. Sherlock's disappearance? What good would that have done? If anything, Moriarty had been bored in the three years...
And then he understood.
Moriarty had wanted to die.
He had probably been bored, bored even with his games and Sherlock, and wanted it to end. He'd been the spider, he'd broken into the Tower of London; maybe he had wished to go out at the height of his career.
It had been suicide, Sherlock had told him. Moriarty had chosen to kill himself on that rooftop.
The consulting criminal had wanted to die. And Trevelyan had taken his choice from him.
A strange hope flared in Greg's chest. It was crazy, and unbelievable, but still...
Why should Moriarty tell them he couldn't bring Sherlock and John back? There was no fun in that. If he had said he could, he would have been able to use Mycroft and Greg as his puppets, their consulting detective and his doctor as leverage; but he had simply admitted that he didn't know how to –
Of course. Puppet.
Trevelyan could change time. Trevelyan had changed time. Moriarty had been brought back against his will – he might not have a problem with that, though, as long as there someone to occupy his mind, in this instance Mycroft and Greg. But he would always be dependent on Trevelyan. If he could change his decision to end his life, he could change everything. Moriarty would never be sure that what he was doing was what he wanted to do. Maybe it was simply Trevelyan, once more changing the world they knew.
And Moriarty wouldn't want that. Moriarty wouldn't be able to stand being controlled.
He had told Moran not to do anything. He obviously wasn't scared of them, but then, he never had been scared...
And yet... What if Greg was right?
Mycroft thought of everything; the theory had probably already crossed his mind and he had rejected it –
But Greg had been a police officer for many years, and this might be one of the situations where logic didn't help you. His theory was more of a feeling, really, flittering through his consciousness, having taken root and refusing to leave.
And yet he was confident that he was right.
He shook himself out of his thoughts to find that Moriarty was looking at him; there was still glee in these eyes, he had fun, but at the same time... There was weariness too, one Greg had never imagined when he'd heard and read about him.
He didn't appreciate being forced to have fun. The DI didn't know how he could be sure, but he was.
Again, this had nothing to do with logic, so Mycroft probably hadn't believed it worthy of consideration.
He bit his lip.
On the one hand, this was the man who had made the lives of his friends a living hell... and his own too, to be honest. He had caused Sherlock to disappear.
One the other hand, he was clever, and he would be a useful ally against Trevelyan.
He wished he could talk to Mycroft alone. He couldn't tell what the British Government was thinking.
He decided that it would be better to listen again.
"You will understand that it is in your best interest to follow us, Mr. Moriarty".
The atmosphere was growing tense, and Greg saw Moran's fingers twitch, the sniper ready to pull his gun. Moriarty grinned.
"And what good would that do? I told you I can't bring your brother back – and really, it is a little strange how desperate you are now, considering you were more than happy to let me out –"
"If you don't, you'll just be Trevelyan's servant, and I don't think you want that" Greg interrupted him, surprised at how confident he sounded.
Mycroft shot him a glance he couldn't read, and Moriarty looked, really looked at him for the first time since they had arrived.
Silence fell between them. He could tell that Moran was growing more nervous, and he had troubled not to look away from the piercing stare.
When Moriarty spoke after a few moments that felt much longer, he didn't say what Greg had expected him to.
"I see why Sherlock keeps you around. Capable of surprising people. Interesting."
He experienced a strange mixture of slight panic and pride that the consulting criminal considered him interesting.
He looked at Mycroft, who was studying him, frowning. Then understanding dawned on his face, so subtle that few would have noticed it.
He didn't have to say anything; Mycroft took over the conversation once more.
"I assume you will come with us".
It was a statement, and Moriarty sauntered over, looking pleased.
"Why not. After all, there is a madman out there who could change everything we know. We have to stop him."
Moran moved, and the consulting criminal turned around to glare at him.
"Sebby, resume your duties." For a moment, Greg thought the sniper would protest, but then he closed his mouth and nodded.
"Shall we, gentlemen?"
They didn't answer, but turned around.
Without a look back, Moriarty walked out of the warehouse at Greg's and Mycroft's side, obviously comfortable with his company.