"James Moriarty Sr." Sherlock mumbled, sitting up as he pressed a hand to his right eye. His head was still pounding from being knocked to the ground by Moriarty's thug, but it didn't affect Sherlock's memory. "It has been a long time."
Moriarty nodded, humming his agreement. "20 years, Mr Holmes", he continued. "20 years since your 'brother'...", he spat the word bitterly, "...ruined my plans."
Sherlock had been in his mid-teens at the time, but he remembered the day father had been called to Mycroft's office by Moriarty's superiors. The whole affair had been classified and confidential, and Sherlock had never been told what had actually happened. All he knew was that Mycroft had something to do with Moriarty's disgraced disappearance and that Mycroft had done well for it. It was never to be discussed and Sherlock never asked.
Moriarty looked intently at Sherlock. He was so unlike his father and brother. Siger and Mycroft Holmes were both distinguished men. Sherlock seemed like the black sheep of the family. He had a quiet grace about him, but it wasn't the refined finesse of his brother. Sherlock was unruly and wild; alluring and handsome. He could see what both Doctor Watson and Jim had found so charming and addictive. He paused, continuing his study of the younger Holmes. Sherlock had slid himself over to where John was laid, barely conscious on the floor, and he was slowly using his own scarf to wipe blood from the doctor's face and head.
Moriarty suppressed a fond smile. Such caring between the two. He was almost envious.
"Boys", he started, "I hate to break up the romantic moment, but we do have business to attend to. Mr Grover, if you don't mind..?" Moriarty pulled a pistol from his rear pocket and, levelling it with John's head, signalled to his lackie. Mr Grover approached Sherlock and manhandled him onto a chair, tying his hands behind him. He then turned and disappeared out of the side door.
"Your brother, Mr Holmes, owes me." he started, pressing the cold barrel of his pistol against John's temple, groaning as if it had some therapeutic effect. "He owes me, and I intend to collect. He ruined my career, my family and my life. I was separated from my son Jim, for 10 years until I was able to reconnect with him. Ten years, Mr Holmes."
Moriarty removed the pistol from against John and returned to sit opposite Sherlock.
"That's the thing about family, Sherlock", he said, fondly stroking the back of his hand across those captivating cheekbones. "They're so touching and loyal. Mycroft will be joining us shortly."
No sooner had Moriarty finished talking, and there was a commotion from outside.
Mycroft appeared through the side door, Mr Grover's hand firm on his arm.
Moriarty stood and smiled wickedly. "My dear Mycroft", he beckoned the man in, motioning to the chair he had just vacated, "How wonderful to see you."
