She wore her best pencil skirt and her best blouse as she stood at the bench in front of a court room. Some weeks early James Moriarty had made something of an attempt to steal the crown jewels. She didn't know what his game was playing as he winked at her from his chair earning a venomous look, but she was called to make an expert witness. However, she found it all to be so pointless. He would get out through with lies and deceit, but who was she to say no to the defense?

"Doctor Lorraine," the prosecutor started approaching the bench., "I'd like you to elaborate briefly on your knowledge in your field." She sighed already exhausted with the questioning. The only consolation she had was that Sherlock would be called to the stand as well; that would certainly prove entertaining.

"Why?" she asked already.

"Excuse me?" the prosecutor asked.

"Look, James Moriarty is a one-to-one psychopath. It means he's insane by every definition but more than that. He knows that he's insane, and he embraces it. At any minute, he could snap and kill us all, but he won't, because he's clever enough to convince us all of anything he wants. He's unhinged, and he's dangerous." She looked at him, and he waved at her making her sigh. "That being said he'll walk free, and nothing I say will change that."

"Why do you assume that Doctor Lorraine?"

"He likely has the entire jury in his pocket one way or another," she replied simply. Her eyes glanced at the jury; they seemed nervous. "He knows what pushes people; he knows what unhinges them and pushes them to their breaking point. He's a dangerous psychopath, who will do anything he wants, and he'll get away with it, because everyone has their price, and he knows it." There was a rumble in the courtroom dissatisfied with her assessment, but she didn't care about them. Her eyes fell on Jim, who was grinning at her. It was clear he was satisfied with her evaluation even if no one else was.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Are you worried?" Jen asked sitting down at the edge of the couch. Sherlock was looking up at the ceiling lying on the couch; he was thinking about what had happened in the courtroom, and what would eventually happen. It was all so obvious.

"You know as well as I it'll come back not guilty," he told her glancing at her very briefly before looking back up at the ceiling. "If he wanted the crown jewels, he would have them. No, he wants something else."

"He wants you," Jen replied obviously. "He wants to play his game; he's bored. That's what psychopaths like him do."

"He'll come here," Sherlock told her looking at his watch. "Any minute."

"Should I stay or go?" she asked him. He paused and looked up at her; he knew what he wanted. He wanted her to stay, but that posed a possible danger for her. He couldn't allow that even if he didn't want her to go.

"Go," he replied, but it was very obvious he needed someone to stay. Jen smiled and put a hand on his.

"Too bad. I'm staying," she said with a flicker of a smile. Her hand remained on his a little longer before she removed it quickly and stood. "I'll make tea." She made to go off to the kitchen, but Sherlock grabbed her hand. She looked down at him not expecting this particular reaction.

"Ginny…" He wanted to say thank you, but it wasn't in his nature to be grateful and to express such things, so Ginny smiled knowing what he wanted to say.

"You're welcome," she replied with another flicker of a smile before heading to the kitchen. She heard Sherlock playing violin as the water boiled. Jen looked for some sort of biscuit to put on the tray as well, but the flat barely had any food as well. John and Sherlock ate too much takeout. Jen put the tray of tea on a side table near Sherlock's, John's, and her chairs before heading back in the kitchen. She needed to prepare herself for this. One-to-one psychopaths were difficult to deal with, and they affected her in extremely negative ways. This wasn't her brother; this one had no sympathy for her. She took a deep breath.

"Most people knock," she heard Sherlock say making her pause. "But then you're not most people, I suppose. Kettle's just boiled." She heard footsteps enter the room, and her eyes caught Jim Moriarty passing by. She remained in the shadow of the kitchen not sure whether to stay in the kitchen or not.

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled. May I?"

"Please." Jen shut her eyes listening to the conversation making up her mind. She shouldn't walk in the sitting room; her presence in the kitchen was Sherlock's knowledge, and it was enough for him to know she was in the flat. So she just listened.

"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end-"

"-and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it," Sherlock finished for him.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody.

"Neither can you. That's why you've come."

"But be honest: you're just a tiny bit pleased."

"What, with the verdict?" Sherlock asked.

"With me... back on the streets," Jim said simply. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain. You need me, or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I– except you're boring. You're on the side of the angels."

"Got to the jury, of course as Ginny said," Sherlock replied and then want to curse himself; he worried even mentioning her. As she said, Moriarty was a psychopath and could kill anyone at anytime.

"I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network."

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalized TV screen, and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm. Easy-peasy."

"So how're you going to do it... burn me?"

"Oh, that's the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet? What's the final problem? I did tell you," he said in a singsong voice, "but did you listen? How hard do you find it, having to say "I don't know"?

"I dunno," Sherlock said nonchalantly making a smile fall on Jen's lips. Always a smartass even when in front of a psychopath.

"Oh, that's clever; that's very clever; awfully clever," he said with a chuckle. "Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?" She tensed not liking Moriarty bringing up Sherlock's friends. They could so easily be used against him, and she knew that.

"Told them what?"

"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything?"

"No."

"But you understand."

"Obviously."

"Off you go, then."

"You want me to tell you what you already know?" Sherlock asked.

"No; I want you to prove that you know it."

"You didn't take anything because you don't need to."

"Good."

"You'll never need to take anything ever again."

"Very good. Because ...?"

"Because nothing ... nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London, or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three."

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy. Nuclear codes – I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown."

"You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do," Sherlock replied.

"And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities, terrorist cells. They all want me. Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex."

"If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?"

"I don't. I just like to watch them all competing. 'Daddy loves me the best!' Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know: you've got John. I should get myself a live-in one.

"Why are you doing all of this?"

"It'd be so funny. Oh, and let's not forget Doctor Lorraine, though I would never call her ordinary. Isn't that right, Doctor?" he asked toward the kitchen. Jen pushed off from the counter before entering the doorway. She leaned against the frame watching them. Sherlock's eyes flickered to her worried she may become a target.

"Hello, James. How long have you know I've been there?" she asked keeping her arms folded as she leaned into the frame. Her grey eyes focused on him as her eyes flickered over him trying to figure him out properly. He still intrigued her even if he was unstable.

"Caught a glimpse of you when I came in," he told her with a slight smile before his eyes quickly ran down her and eyed her green sweater and jeans. "You look nice. Heard you got your sister out of trouble."

"You can thank me for the knowledge of the jumbo jet," she told him though she was sure he already knew. She just wanted to be smug.

"I can thank you for a lot of things," he told her taking a sip of his tea. "The code came from your little friend, Ulric."

"Ulric wouldn't," she defended. She knew Ulric, and she knew no matter what was threatened he would never give information like that to a madman or to anyone for that matter.

"A man would do a lot of things put under… the right pressure," he told her with a flicker of a smile. She frowned but wasn't going to indulge him.

"If you're trying to unhinge me, it won't work," she replied simply stepping into the room. She leaned over the both of them to take her own cup from the tray; she might as well join them.

"I can you see why you like this one, Sherlock," Jim said eyeing her as she sat in her chair. "She has a certain… form about her." He dragged his eyes down her making it clear he was remarking on more than just her personality. Her body stiffed, but she said nothing but sipped her tea.

"What is it all for?" Sherlock asked getting impatient with Jim and attempting to change the topic away from her. Moriarty sat forward continuing to speak softly.

"I want to solve the problem – our problem; the final problem," he said lowering his head. "It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall." Jen's whole body tensed as Jim whistled as he his head lift and fell into a dropping motion. "But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying except there's a more permanent destination."

"Never liked riddles," Sherlock said standing and buttoning his check.

"Oh. It's no riddle, Sherlock," Jim said. "I picked my words very purposely. From the way, your lovely friend, Doctor Lorraine, is shaking, she knows exactly what I'm talking about. How many people have you caused to fall?" Jen's cup went clattering on the floor as she threw her hands around Jim's neck toppling them both to the floor. He was laughing, but her face was twisted in madness and fear.

"And where's your fall if I murder you in cold blood?" she hissed pressing her hands harder into his throat.

"Ginny!" Sherlock shouted throwing her off him to the side. She watched a bullet just barely missing her and hitting a chair.

"I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I ... owe ... you," Jim said with a smile as he stood rubbing his throat satisfying Ginny. He looked down at Jen and Sherlock on the floor. "You should keep this one. She's rather feisty," Jim said turning around and slowly leaving. "Maybe I'll let her live," he called out before leaving them. Sherlock and Jen both didn't move until they heard the door close.

"You alright," Sherlock asked her.

"No, Sherlock," she said exhausted. "I'm not alright! I was just mentally raped by a psychopath only for him to tell me he plans on making you fall!"

"Calm down," he told her holding her wrist and staring directly into her eyes. His steel gaze kept her in a prison from the outside allowing her to calm down, but she didn't want to be calm. She wanted to be on edge to get her adrenaline going. Jen stood and ran out of the room down the stairs and to her flat. She needed help, she realized taking out her phone and shakily dialing a number.

"Ginevra, what is it?" the male voice answered.

"Mycroft," she said shaking, "he was here, Moriarty. He threatened Sherlock with a fall. I'm scared."

"Calm down, Ginevra. You panicking will not help him."

"And neither will you!? He's your brother!"

"I will do what I can," he assured her making her scowl before hanging up the phone. She leaned against the door taking a breath. There was nothing she could do; she couldn't drag anyone else into this mess. It would be their death. She let herself fall to the floor trying to calm herself down, trying to find some sort of solution, but in the end, she found none.

Come down to the lab. –SH She raised an eyebrow at the text before looking to her patient. Carrie was of course always open to leaving her office behind.

I am with a patient, Sherlock. –Jen

Bring them with. I don't care. –SH

Jen sighed. "That man is insufferable at times," Jen said putting her phone back in her pocket.

"Care to join me down in the labs?" Jen asked the girl, who was staring out the window with some sort of longing.

"What for?" Carrie asked.

"Sherlock's being demanding," she said standing before she sighed again. Carrie stood as well snickering.

"You love him," she teased.

"Shut it before I diagnose you with schizophrenia," she told her as they made their way down the hall and toward the lab Molly worked in. Sherlock was working at the lab bench, and John and Molly were both assisting Sherlock.

"Hello, darling," she said kissing John's cheek before turning to Sherlock, "and dear," she said kissing his cheek, "and of course, my lovely," she said kissing Molly's cheek. "What are we doing?"

"Kidnapping," Sherlock told her looking through his microscope. "Sit," he demanded pulling out a stool for her next to him.

"You remember Carrie," Jen said gesturing to the Carrie who sat next to Jen.

"Yes," John said at the same time Sherlock said, "no."

"He probably deleted you. Take no offense to it," Jen told Carrie. "He does it a lot. So I take it dinner's canceled then?" A clattered was heard, and Jen looked over to see Molly. "God damn it," she muttered. It wasn't a date; she swore it wasn't a date. They just... did things together. They went to the cinema and museums and dinner sometimes, but they weren't dates. Normal people just couldn't understand that, and Molly was one of those people. This was dating to her, and it broke Jen's heart knowing it was hurting the woman. BUT it wasn't a date. It just wasn't a date. Neither of them dated... it wasn't a date!

"Yes, sorry," he said continuing to look into the microscope.

"No you're not," she laughed not bothered by him canceling their plans; it happens. "You're thrilled that you have to analyze a footprint."

"Incredibly," he told her with a smirk. She laughed at the little things that lit him up. He had to find a kidnapper by analyzing a footprint; how often did that happen?

"Well, I'm glad you're thrilled. We'll break into a kitchen another day," Jen told him starting to get up. "Is that all?"

"No, sit there," Sherlock told her as he pulled her back down to the bench she was sitting in. "You're a conductor."

"I'm uh… what?"

"It's Sherlock's way of saying you help him think," John explained understanding the detective more than Jen did at times. "Said the same thing to me."

"Oh," Jen said. "Well, I can only be here for ten more minutes, then I have a different patient, and they would be driven mad having to conduct their session in a lab. Sorry."

"No, that's fine," Sherlock said looking at a new test tube.

"Something's bothering you," she noted getting closer to him. She was getting better and better at the emotional analysis of Sherlock Holmes. "What is it?"

"Stalling's over," Sherlock told her. "Moriarty."

"You think he has something to do with this?" she asked as he continued his tests.

"I think there's a huge possibility," he told her. She put a hand on his shoulder near his neck. He looked up at her, and she gave him a smile and a very sincere look that threw him off a little bit.

"You'll be fine. Everything will work out," she told him confidently.

"How do you know?" he asked appreciating her confidence in him but beginning to doubt himself more and more. He didn't know exactly what Moriarty was planning, and it was unnerving.

"I don't, but I have to hope for the best," she replied with a smile. "You're far more clever than him, Sherlock. He's just a psychopath. You're much more. You're the World's First Consulting Detective; you're the cleverest man I've ever known, and you have to beat him, or I don't know what I'll do."

"You endure," he told her simply. "That's what you do; that's what you've always done." She smiled at him, and gently slid her hand down to his arm. He watched hers hand before his eyes glanced up to her with slight confusion trying to understand her properly. She often gave him some sort of physical affection even if it was just small things, and she had faith in him more than anyone else (with the exception with perhaps John, who had just as much faith as Jen) not to mention all the times they go out together for no other reason than to do something. He supposed most people considered that to be... no, that's ridiculous. He was married to his work, and she was far too mentally unstable for a relationship. Then again, she was getting better, and he- no, that's nonsense. Simply, ridiculous. His eyes glanced back at her delicate hands.

"Jen," Carrie said getting her attention succeeding in making her jump, and Sherlock nearly knock over the test tube rack trying to quickly get back to work and wrap his mind around the case instead of the woman next to him. "Time to go."

"Right," Jen said hopping off the bench. She kissed Sherlock's cheek again. "Have fun with the case, and don't worry. I believe in you, Sherlock Holmes." Carrie and Jen left with Jen thinking about the fact that Moriarty was just playing with them, and Sherlock was slowly becoming nothing but a toy to him.

"Jen?" Carrie asked sounding worried about her psychiatrists state. Jen looked to the girl and shook her head.

"Don't worry about it," she muttered as they continued down the halls. She couldn't spend forever dwelling on what would be.

"Hello?" Jen asked later in the evening answering her phone. She was doing some last minute work before she headed back to Baker Street exhausted from a few restless nights.

"Jen?" John asked on the other line sounding a bit winded. "Pick us up?"

"Um, get a cab," she replied simply writing something in a notebook not willing to play chauffeur if Sherlock was covered in blood, a distinct possibility.

"Can't," he replied simply sounding slightly panicked. She frowned; oh, lord, they were likely in trouble.

"Why's that?" she asked switching ears.

"Check the news." Jen tisked before she turned on the television in the corner of her office only to nearly drop her phone. A picture of John and Sherlock was plastered on the news claiming they were wanted.

"What the hell happened?!" she shouted standing in shock not sure what to do with her care.

"Car, Ginny!" Sherlock shouted making her jump and head across her office to the coat rack.

"Yes, yes, where are you?" she questioned grabbing her coat ready to help them.

She stopped at the corner where John told her, and she was bombarded by the two making her jump and curse. They both sat in the back as they were handcuffed together. She sighed. What sort of trouble did they get themselves into this time?

"Evening, gentlemen," she said trying to remain calm before pulling forward to the address John had given her. It was to the reporter that was apparently about to reveal Sherlock 'for what he really is.'

"Stay here," Sherlock demanded.

"Hell, no," she replied parking the car and turning off the car. She jumped out to break into the apartment with John and Sherlock.

"Why don't you ever do as your told?" he muttered as the door swung open.

"Cause I'm slightly unstable, in case you didn't notice," she told him shutting the door behind her. She lounged in a chair as Sherlock and John sat on the reporter's couch.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock asked as the reporter came home and turned on the lights seeing them. "Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said using a hairpin he had found to get rid of the handcuffs around their wrists. He began pacing as John now attempted to free himself from the handcuffs. "The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo."

"I gave you your opportunity," the reporter, Kitty, said. "I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so…"

"And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?" She didn't answered and simply shook her head. "Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone." John finally freed himself. "There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. What were his credentials?" Outside in the hallway was the sound of someone scrambling around. Kitty suddenly rose to her feet as the occupant entered the room. Jim Moriarty stood there unshaven, hair messy, wearing casual clothes. Oh, and what an act it was. Jen felt herself tense.

"Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal," he drifted off, and his eyes stared at Sherlock in horror as Sherlock himself looked surprised. Jim dropped the bag he was holding and backed away in mock fear.

"You said that they wouldn't find me here," he said trembling. "You said that I'd be safe here."

"You are safe, Richard," Kitty told him. "I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

"So that's your source?" John asked pointing at Jim. "Moriarty is Richard Brook?!"

"Of course he's Richard Brook," Kitty said. "There is no Moriarty. There never has been."

"What are you talking about?" John asked.

"Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty," Kitty told him as Sherlock stared at Jim, who was pretending to be a nervous wreck.

"Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man," Jim whimpered, but John would have none of that as John glared at him intensely. "Don't ... don't h... Don't hurt me."

"No, you are Moriarty!" he shouted at him before turning to Kitty. "He's Moriarty!" Then to Jim. "We've met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whimpered before gesturing to Sherlock. "He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Sherlock, you'd better ... explain ... because I am not getting this," John said.

"Oh I'll ... I'll be doing the explaining – in print," Kitty said handing him a paper. "all here – conclusive proof." John looked over the paper claiming Sherlock a fake, but Jen didn't even want to. She was trying to keep her anger on a leash. "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"Invented him?" John asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Kitty confirmed. "Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" John shouted.

"Ask him," she said gesturing to Jim. "He's right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard."

"Look, for God's sake, this man was on trial!" John shouted.

"Yes," Kitty replied, "...and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury." Sherlock was silence as was Kitty. "Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good." She put her arm around Jim as he still coward. "But not so good he didn't want to sell his story." He looks at them pushing his hands together in pleading position.

"I am sorry. I am. I am sorry," he said.

"So-so this is the story that you're gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty's an actor?!" John yelled angry and confused.

"He knows I am," Jim said. "I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!"

"Yeah, show me something," John said. Kitty walked across the room to get a file form her bag. While her back was turned, Jim briefly smiled at Sherlock. Jen felt a muscle in her hand twitch; oh, he was an actor, she'll give him that. Kitty handed the file to John.

"I'm on TV," Jim whimpered. "I'm on kids' TV. I'm The Storyteller." John looked through the folder. "I'm ... I'm The Storyteller. It's on DVD. Just tell him. It's all coming out now. It's all over." His voice became more frantic. "Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him!"

Baring his teeth, Sherlock started to walk towards him not quite unlike an animal.

"It's all over now," he said before shouting. "No!" He backed away from Sherlock toward a bedroom on the upper level of the flat.

"Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!" He tried finding salvation in Jen next, who was leaning against the wall watching him nauseated by this complete and utter bullshit. "Doctor Lorraine, please. You're a psychiatrist. You know how he is."

"You're appealing to me?" she growled pushing off the wall. "You're appealing to me!?" He coward from her as she pushed past Sherlock.

"You can see it. I know you can," he whimpered.

"I can see the madness that runs through you, James, don't push me," she ground out.

"Please Doctor," he cried to Jen.

"I'll make you fall!" she shouted lunging at him, but he ran out the bathroom.

"Don't let him get away!" John shouted.

"Leave him alone!" Kitty shouted. By the time Sherlock got to the bathroom, Jim was gone. Sherlock looked out the window he jumped out of, but he was gone out of sit.

"No, no, no. He'll have back-up," Sherlock said stopping John from going after him. Sherlock headed for the stairs, but Kitty gets in his way.

"D'you know what, Sherlock Holmes?" she asked. "I look at you now and I can read you. And you ... repel ... me." To his surprise, Jen punched her right in the face. She fell holding her nose and crying.

"Stupid bitch," Jen muttered as they headed out the door. Sherlock paced in the street

"Can he do that?" John asked. "Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story," Sherlock told him. "That's what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable."

"Your word against his," John said.

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to-" He pauses as if something occurred to him.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Something I need to do," Sherlock said.

"What?" he asked. "Can I help?"

"No- on my own," he said before walking away leaving Jen and John.

"Somewhere you need to go?" Jen asked quietly. John looked to see how sad she was.

"Mycroft's," he said. She turned and gave him the keys to the car. "Jen?"

"I'm going after Sherlock, John. I need to talk to him. Please, go talk to Mycroft. I need to see what I can do," she told him. Slowly, John nodded before Jen turned after Sherlock and ran after him down the street he disappeared. She caught up to him, and her hand reached out to him and grabbed his jacket. He paused causing her to collide into him, and instead of pulling away, she wrapped her arms around him resting a head against his back. "The only thing left is for him to kill you, Sherlock," she whispered. "What are you doing?"

"The only thing left is for him to threaten to kill everyone I care for or kill myself, Ginny," he told her. "Everyone has their price; you said it yourself. You know this; you know all this. I shouldn't have to tell you"

"But you're my price, Sherlock. What am I supposed to do?" He turned around to her cupping her face gingerly, so she was forced to look him in the eyes. Her stared back at her eyes that practically begged him not to do this.

"You once told me that no one would fight for you," Sherlock told her. "This could very well be the last thing I say to you, and if it is, I want you to know that's this is me fighting for you. Do you understand?" She shook her head.

"Don't say that. This isn't goodbye," she muttered trying her hardest to keep the turmoil she was feeling from slipping out. "This can't be; you can beat him."

"I'm going to try but sometimes a backup plan is required if the consequences of the first plan failing are too great," he informed her watching her carefully trying to make her see this is the only way.

"So your backup plan is to kill yourself!? God damn it! What is wrong with you!?" she shouted pushing him away from her pulling at her hair in frustration. "The world needs you!"

"Well, there's no doubt in that," he replied obviously. "Live well, Ginny. Take care of John." He turned around to leave her, but she grabbed his suit sleeve. He turned to see the tears streaming down her face.

"Sherlock... I lo-," she smiled at him and shook her head. She wouldn't say any parting words that she might regret later; she was running on emotions. "I believe in you; I'll see you at home later." He leaned in and very gently, as it was still foreign to him, kissed the girl's forehead before he turned and dashed off. She quickly wiped her tears as her smile before she fished out her phone to make a call.

"I was expecting your call, Doctor," Moriarty said on the other line. "Meet me out behind the warehouse Damon O'Hera runs his little fight ring. We'll talk there." He hung up, and she caught a cab toward the warehouse. He was waiting for her in the shadows; it seemed appropriate.

"James," she called to him approaching him slowly. She would give him anything he wanted to save Sherlock; she didn't care the price.

"It's curious you call me James," he told her. "Why do you think that is?"

"James sounds more elegant than Jim," she told him. "Jim's a construction worker who hollers sexist remarks as I pass; James is a sharply dressed criminal ready to kill with a few words."

"You're making me blush," he told her as she finally stood under the light near his spot on the wall.

"You know what I want," she told him. "You know what I can give you. I can give you anything in exchange for Sherlock Holmes."

"I could get anything you offered," he told her simply pushing off the wall to stand under the light with her. There was something curious in Jim's disposition; he seemed almost… sad. He was a hundred miles away, and it was annoying her. She was practically throwing her life at him, and he didn't seem to care.

"Something wrong? You seem distracted," she noted.

"You always distract me, darling," he told her with a smile before he closed the sizable gap between them. Gently, he cupped her face with one hand and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb. Such an intimate gesture made her want to shutter or gag, but she controlled herself. "Do you find it curious why I targeted you?"

"No," she told him simply. "You're one to one. What do I care what you do, and why you do it?"

"Hm, perhaps there is something you can do for me," he told her as he began circling her thinking. She was his prey, and she was acutely aware of this unfortunate position. "You want Sherlock Holmes alive I can make sure of it… at a price."

"Anything," she informed him quickly ready to jump at the chance.

"I want Ursa, Reine back," he told her as if raising the dead was the simplest thing in the world to do. Her entire body seemed to shrink in disappointment as the excitement in her eyes was replaced by disappointment.

"She's dead," she told him. "I can't change that."

"That's a shame, isn't it?" he asked putting his hands gently on her shoulder rubbing circles into her bare skin making her uncomfortable. "I guess this is the last time you see your love again," he whispered before she felt a sudden pain and pressure in her neck and darkness took her. She wondered if he would just get rid of her now.

Sherlock held Jim Moriarty over the edge of the rooftop ready to through him to the pavement below; he wasn't scared; he had leeway. He knew it as he spread his arms out daring Sherlock Holmes to throw him to the ground. "Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive," he told him getting a bit more savage. "Your friends will die if you don't." Fear slowly crept into the detective eyes.

"John," he muttered.

"Not just John," Jim whispered sadistically. "Everyone."

"Mrs Hudson," he replied.

"Everyone," he said sadistically.

"Lestrade," he said understanding, and he spoke the last name that he refused to believe Moriarty got to… "Ginny."

"Ah," Moriarty laughed, "the lovely Doctor Lorraine. No, no, she has no gunmen on her, I have a very special plan for her."

"Plan what plan?" Sherlock demanded leaning him farther over the building in panic. Not her. Please, God, not her.

"You know, she came to me," he mused still not scared of Sherlock. "She begged me to release you from this insane idea; she threatened. It was all rather… delicious." A smile grew on his face. "Oh, but not little Ginevra Lorraine Verown. I won't hurt her; I have plans for her."

"Stay away from Ginny," he warned getting rather savage.

"Oh, it's far too late for that, Sherlock, and besides, you won't do anything about it. You're about to die. Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There's no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump," he told him as Sherlock slowly pulled him back looking horrified. He had to go over his options, but from the look on Jim's face, the criminal was sure he was triumphant. "You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ...

"... unless I kill myself – complete your story," Sherlock finished as he nodded and smiled enthusiastically at his little game.

"You've gotta admit that's sexier."

"And I die in disgrace," he muttered thinking over his options so lost in thought in his selfish desires and his desires as a human being.

"Of course," Jim replied obviously. "That's the point of this." Sherlock looked over the side of Bart's to see someone stopped at the benches near the bus stop below them.

"Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop," Jim said casually. "Go on." Sherlock slowly stepped passed him and stood up on the ledge still battling his decisions. "I told you how this ends," he told him as his breathing became more shaky as he looked down to the pavement below. "Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. I'm certainly not gonna do it." He looked up at Sherlock expecting to win.

"And Ginny?" he asked. "What are you going to do with her?"

"Oh, you need not worry about that in your final minutes," Moriarty told him with a wicked smile. "I've already started something that can't be stopped. Oh, it's just a matter of time. Poor girl just a push away from cracking."

"You sound like you care," Sherlock muttered making Moriarty grin.

"Oh, I care, Sherlock; she is one of the most fascinating creatures I have ever had the pleasure of meeting," Jim told him. "Now, go on," he urged.

"Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy?" Sherlock asked glancing at Jim. "Please?" Jim looked slightly disappointed with the response of his enemy.

"Of course." Jim moved away as Sherlock seemed to be thinking and before Moriarty could claim his victory the detective's face lit up and he began to laugh causing Jim to turn around and face him furious with the reaction.

"What?" he asked, but the man continued to laugh. "What is it? Sherlock turned partially on the ledge to smile at the man. "What did I miss?" he asked as Sherlock hopped down from the ledge to walk to him.

"'You're not going to do it,'" he repeated Jim's words. "So the killers can be called off, then – there's a recall code or a word or a number." He began circling Moriarty like a vulture. "I don't have to die… if I've got you."

"Oh," Jim laughed. "You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you," he replied clearly pleased.

"Sherlock," Jim said annoyed that he still didn't understand, "your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

"Yes," he said stopping to get in his face, "but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you- prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you." Jim shook his head not believing him.

"Naah," he said. "You talk big. Naah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary- you're on the side of the angels."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them," he told me as if threatening him. They locked eyes as they both tried to figure out who would win.

"No, you're not," he muttered blinking as if coming back to reality. Jim smiled and opened his eyes. "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me." He laughed out delighted by this revelation. "You're me! Thank you!" He offered his hand to shake in some sort of odd respect. "Sherlock Holmes," he offered causing them both to look down. "Thank you. Bless you," he said looking down. "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out. As for Ginny, well, give Ursa my love while she's torturing you. Good luck."

In rapid succession, he raiseed his eyes to Sherlock's grinning before opening his mouth wide and pulling Sherlock closer as he reached into his waistband with his other hand to pull out a pistol. Sherlock pulled back alarmed as Jim shot himself in the mouth taking away Sherlock's last hope.

She awoke in her flat wrapped in a man's coat; a good thing too since it was so damn cold out that morning, and her flat was like a damn icicle. She frowned disoriented. Everything seemed like dream having woken up back in flat as if nothing happened. She heard Mrs. Hudson call yoo-hoo from the kitchen before she brought her a cuppa. Jen sat up letting the jacket slip into her lap paying no mind to it at the moment.

"Mrs. Hudson?" she questioned her still confused as she clutched her head dizzy from the events of the day. "How did I get here? Why are you down in my flat?"

"Oh," she said happily. "A nice young man carried you in. He said that you had fallen asleep in the cold, and that he didn't want you getting ill, so he brought you back here. Asked me to take care of you; he left his coat for you. Said you could keep it." She pointed out the before Jen gently picked up the coat. Westwood?

"Did he give a name?" Jen asked eyeing the coat. It couldn't be... Moriarty's coat?

"James," she replied making Jen quickly check the jacket for some sort trick, some sort of danger, but there was none. It was just his jacket. Why would he give her his coat? Why would he stop his game just to bring her back to the flat? Why would he tell Mrs. Hudson to take care of her? What kind of game was he playing? His game... his game!

"Sherlock," she muttered standing before she quickly found her phone. She had a text from John.

Come to Bart's.

A/N: I lied. I combined two chapters as I felt that there was a decent amount of script text that cutting that out gives a normal sized chapter, so the sequel will be out a week from today! Hooray! I haven't seen the new Sherlock episode yet! I'm in the states, so I'm waiting for a few hours after it's done on the UK to go find it on the internet and then freak out.

HEY! Sequel Rated M? Yes/No? Pictures? Yes/No?

Thanks to reviewers: .okumura, Protagonist of Life, and Anon (Yeah, I know we don't see much of their 'dates.' We get to see them at their first 'date' at the opera in chapter 30, and we got to see them breaking into Mycroft's. Their dates aren't much of dates, and I felt it would just be sort of repetitive to see all of them, also make this story unnecessarily long. Anyway, of course you can mention it, and copy things and such! Do whatever your heart contents! If you need anything else let me know!)

Review, please! See you Saturday!