Describing my experience with Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson is not an easy thing to do. I have learned so much in the year that I've been in Britain and a majority of which was through my experience with them. I cannot thank you enough, Professor, for the opportunity despite what happened in the end of it all. But this is not a paper depicting my year with the two detectives. This is a paper dedicated to Sherlock Holmes. A paper that I hope he would be proud of, because I am not about to dwell on what happened to him more recently. I wish only to write on what he has done. His deductive skills, the psyche of him and his enemies that I assisted in helping him arrest, and how psychology and criminology played a heavy role in the time that I spent helping with his cases. He would rather it that way, I believe. Less embellishing than John's stories, more factual, more… curious. And how else could I do that, than by starting at the end? The beginning of the end and the man who started it all: Moriarty.

Three months earlier:

"'Boffin.'" Sherlock snapped tossing down another tabloid. "'Boffin Sherlock Holmes.'"

"Everybody gets one." John mused as Sam typed away on her computer beside him; trying to finish up her paper before her deadline and returning to America.

Yet another thing that had Sherlock frustrated. Sam hardly seemed to care she was leaving.

"One what?"

"Tabloid nickname." John responded, looking over the paper himself. "'SuBo', Nasty Nick'. Shouldn't worry. I'll probably get one soon."

"Page five, column six. First sentence." Sherlock spouted out and John quickly flipped through to find it as Sherlock picked up the deerstalker hat that the police station had given him and punched it.

"Why is it always the hat photograph?" Sherlock complained.

"People like it." Sam said, not looking away from her paper. "People like the hat. Gives you character or something."

She shrugged as Sherlock frowned and John began complaining about his tabloid nickname.

"'Bachelor John Watson?'"

"What sort of hat is it anyway?" Sherlock went on.

"Deerstalker." Sam hummed.

"'Bachelor'?" John scowled. "What the hell are they implying?"

"That you're single, bored, and available." Sam tacked on, settling for commenting on both of their rhetorical questions.

"Is it a cap?" Sherlock asked, flipping the hat around. "Why has it got two fronts?"

"To protect your face and neck from long exposure to the sun while you're hunting."

"'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson'…" John quoted as Sam rolled her eyes and shut her computer.

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you going to do? Throw it?" Sherlock frowned as John looked further down the article.

"…'confirmed bachelor John Watson'!"

"Some sort of death Frisbee?" Sherlock muttered, swinging the hat now as Sam sighed and rubbed at her eyes.

"Okay. This is too much. We need to be more careful." John declared as Sherlock frowned.

"It's got flaps. Ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John."

"To keep your ears warm when you're hunting in colder weather, Sherlock." Sam chimed as he moved to the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Yes." Sherlock and John both called out and Sherlock threw the hat to John, who caught it easily. "What do you mean, more careful?"

"I mean, this isn't a deerstalker now. It's a Sherlock Holmes hat." John explained. "I mean that you're not exactly a private detective any more. You're this far from famous."

"Oh, it'll pass." Sherlock droned as he sat in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chin.

"It'd better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn and they'll turn on you." John urged and Sherlock lowered his hands to look at him.

"It really bothers you."

"What?"

"What people say."

"Yes." John agreed seriously.

"About me? I don't understand. Why would it upset you?" Sherlock frowned in confusion and John looked to see if he was serious before turning away.

"Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news."

John flipped open a paper again, settling back on the couch as Sam walked in with the tea; passing John his first and then Sherlock.

"You really should, you know." She commented, making both men watch her as she moved back to her computer. "Or at least think up a plan should they turn."

"What are you hinting at, Sam?" Sherlock complained and Sam looked at him with a tired gaze that made Sherlock sit up, almost in concern. "What? What is it?"

"Something's coming." She said simply, looking away. "And we all need to be prepared for it, because there's nothing I can do this time around. It all has to play out exactly as it should and no one is going to be happy."

Sherlock didn't like that response and went to press for something other than her riddles, but as he looked her over, he changed his mind. He already knew she hadn't been sleeping well, and was taking John's sleeping draughts when she needed to. She had been distracted too, though Sherlock assumed it was this paper she needed finished. She'd been hitting the backspace key enough to wear down the word printed on it, last he checked. Getting nowhere then. Her anxious habits were starting up again as well, and he'd seen her offering to go out to the store more; undoubtedly to buy the packs of cigarettes she'd been plowing through when she thought no one was looking. Whatever was coming, it wasn't good, and Sherlock was determined to take care of it before the real Sam slipped back behind that quiet and submissive mask once more. It had taken him this long to pry her true self out. He wasn't about to let something mess that up.

True to his word, Sherlock stayed out of the news as best he could and I appreciated it. I had been lucky enough to stay out of it myself with Sherlock brushing off my existence to those bringing us more important cases. After informing him how I could get sent back home early should I be in the news, he'd been quick to keep me out of the papers. That, and if my brothers got word, they'd maim him and me. What I wasn't sure of though, was when exactly Moriarty broke into the bank, prison, and Tower of London. And with the date for my departure looming over my head, I was concerned that I might very well not be around when the Fall happens. Something I wanted to adamantly stick around for. While I wouldn't be able to change much of anything—Sherlock needed to fall, Moriarty needed to die, and John needed to stay cluelessly uninvolved—I did want to be there as some sort of support. For Sherlock and his decision, and for John after the fact. However, with Moriarty interested in me as well, things were going to change. Things that I couldn't even begin to predict.

"Sam, the bath is free." John said, having exited the bathroom in a robe and I nodded, pulling off my headphones and closing the document in front of me as I went ahead to go shower and change.

I welcomed the shower, the hot water relaxing my tense muscles instantly, because while Sherlock and John assumed I had been writing my paper lately, the truth was I was writing up various scenarios to the mess we were about to end up in. I'd written up the way it was supposed to go without my involvement, then wondered what I could say to help and how it might have changed the ending. It wasn't easy, guessing the move of someone I knew only from a television series, much less someone as unpredictable as Moriarty, so it was no wonder I was having difficulties. I sighed, cutting my shower short as my thinking had ruined whatever relaxing I'd been doing, and I began to get dressed. My phone buzzed on the sink and I frowned, picking it up to check only half dressed with my pants on and a towel around my neck hiding my chest.

Excited to play with you again

Sammy~

Jim Moriarty x

I paled, swallowing thickly and resisting the bodily urge to chuck my phone to the ground as I read and reread the message. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, tightening my grip on the phone before letting it out and glaring determinedly at my fogged reflection in the mirror. Let the games begin.

"That glass is tougher than anything." Lestrade commented now that Sherlock, John and Sam had joined him at the Tower of London to watch over the footage of Moriarty's break in to wear the Crown Jewels.

"Not tougher than crystallized carbon." Sherlock mused, seeing Moriarty place a small diamond in the gum he stuck to the glass. "He used a diamond."

Lestrade backed the footage up though, revealing the message Moriarty had written on the glass.

Get Sherlock

It wasn't long before Moriarty was to go on trial and as Sherlock, John and Sam pulled on formal suits, Sherlock eyed her. He was the only one who had been called as a witness, thanks to Mycroft managing to keep Sam's kidnapping a secret, but something was off about the young woman. Sherlock could tell easily enough. She'd barely said a word since he'd gotten the message from Moriarty and her brows were permanently furrowed in the middle. He couldn't quite tell if she was angry or worried, but he didn't like the effect Moriarty's reappearance was having on her. He'd asked her the previous night if she wanted to stay at Baker Street for the first part of the trial, seeing as she wanted to avoid publicity, however, she had been adamant about going. It was a definite change in the woman who could hardly speak his name up until the end of the Irene Adler fiasco. He only hoped that it wasn't just a front and she'd be able to keep up her determined mask when face-to-face with the man.

They headed downstairs and Sherlock glanced at Sam.

"You sure?"

She nodded, tugging at the tie around her neck to loosen it slightly; having chosen a suit over a dress, as Sherlock expected.

John looked between them both. "Ready?"

"Yes." Sherlock said and he opened the door as they hurried past the bustling paparazzi.

A police car drove them to the court and after a moment, John turned to Sherlock.

"Remember—"

"Yes." Sherlock cut him off.

"Remember—"

He did it a second time. "Yes."

John looked at Sam pointedly and she closed her eyes with a sigh.

"Try to be slightly less of an arse."

Sherlock smirked, glad to hear some of her sass. "No."

She shot him a look and John continued.

"And please, just keep it simple and brief."

"God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent." Sherlock drawled.

"Intelligent, fine. Let's give smart-arse a wide berth." John countered and there was a pause before Sherlock spoke again.

"I'll just be myself."

"Are you listening to me?" John complained. "Sam, control him."

Sam scoffed. "Me? I'm not his mother. So long as he doesn't get kicked out of court before he says his bit, I could honestly care less."

"Good God, you're influencing her now!"

"I try." Sherlock grinned and Sam nudged him with a small quirk of her lips herself.

Once they arrived, John and Sam began to head to the courtroom as Sherlock chose to use the facilities before they started, but Sam paused and grabbed him.

"Hm?"

She frowned. "I'll tell you this now, and I hope you listen. It probably won't change much, but do me a favor and play nice with the reporter."

Sherlock scowled. "A reporter?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yes, shut up. I know. A reporter, journalist, whatever. Just give her something. Don't upset her. You'll thank me later, if you do."

Sherlock continued to frown, but Sam released him and started to catch up with John, only to pause again and look at him.

"Good luck."

Sherlock's lip twitched. "And you."

I mentally berated myself for giving Sherlock that advice. I'm not sure he'll listen, but as much as I hate Kitty, if she doesn't hate Sherlock as much it's possible for some things to change in this. Hopefully for the better. John paused by the door and reached over to squeeze my shoulder comfortingly.

"You alright?" He asked, probably noticing my tenseness and I nodded, taking a deep breath as we entered and moved inside to sit in the public gallery upstairs.

I could feel his eyes on me the moment we stepped through the doors; Moriarty. I tried to ignore it, but knew I would have to make eye contact at some point and decided that it should be on my terms. As soon as we found our seats and sat, I locked eyes with the man. A chill went through me as he smirked and I glared. Images of his grinning face had haunted my nightmares since he'd taken me and already I could feel an ache where his sniper had shot me at the pool. I had prepared for this though. I'd done my best, anyway. I'd gotten photos and used them as my laptop background, I'd named my files Moriarty documents, Moriarty pictures, etcetera. I constantly reminded myself of him after my panic attack at Baskerville and pushed myself to get used to his face, his laughter, everything. I had to. But nothing could prepare me for meeting him face-to-face. His very essence trickled into my bones and made my hands shake, but I forced myself not to look away. I can be as scared as I want, but I won't let him have the satisfaction of seeing me that way.

The trial began then and Sherlock soon ended up on the witness stand to testify against Moriarty, though I already knew what sort of problems he would cause.

"A 'consulting criminal'." The prosecutor announced and Sherlock nodded.

"Yes."

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating." The prosecutor clarified and I rolled my eyes.

What are they, morons?

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler." Sherlock quipped, earning a few chuckles here and there.

"Would you describe him as—"

"Leading." Sherlock cut her off.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness." Sherlock announced, looking at the defender. "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

The judge looked finished with Sherlock before he'd even started and I wondered what strings Lestrade had to pull to get him in charge of Sherlock's case.

"Mr. Holmes." The judge sighed and Sherlock ignored him.

"Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?"

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help." The judge chided him as I spotted Kitty coming in and attempted to see if she was put off or not.

Can't tell much, though it doesn't look it. Wow, perhaps he listened.

"How would you describe this man—his character?" The prosecutor continued, drawing my attention back.

"First mistake. James Moriarty isn't a man at all. He's a spider; a spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances." Sherlock rattled on and I held back a wince as Moriarty nodded as though accepting that definition of himself.

"And how long—"

Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "No, no. Don't. Don't do that. That's really not a good question."

"Mr. Holmes." The judge snapped and Sherlock begrudgingly gave in.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun, he tried to blow me up, and shot a good friend of mine. I felt we had something special." Sherlock spat out, a bit harsher than I remember in the show, but then again; this wasn't a show anymore.

"Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?" The judge questioned but Sherlock responded.

"Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample."

"Mr. Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

"Oh, really?"

John brought a hand to his face, knowing what was about to happen, and he grumbled under his breath. "I get that he's trying to protect you, but honestly?"

I blinked. "Protect me? From what?" I whispered and John looked a bit nervous at me having heard that, apparently; Sherlock down below deducing the jury at a rapid pace.

"Testifying." John muttered back, glancing around to make sure no one was listening in to us. "Lestrade was insistent you take the stand because you were kidnapped and would know Moriarty better than anyone having been with him for the longest. Sherlock and him argued about it, because word would get out about your kidnapping. Sherlock managed to convince him otherwise and promised to go up onto the stand and behave himself, so long as you remained uninvolved."

I glanced down at Sherlock in shocked disbelief, never having expected that from him, much less towards me.

"Anyway, should his testimony get thrown out, they would need a better witness. Lestrade would have no choice but to pick you." John continued.

"So he's proving that he can be a reliable witness after just two minutes with Moriarty…" I breathed out, unsure what to think as my heart raced with an emotion I didn't recognize. "C-Christ… Why the hell would he do that for me?"

John looked shocked now. "You… You really don't…"

I looked at him with wide eyes, only further proving that I had no idea why Sherlock would treat me this way and John grabbed my arm.

"Sam, he honestly cares for you. More than you could imagine."

"B-But—"

I was cut off as the judge shouted lividly and a guard went ahead and arrested Sherlock. Our discussion was quickly forgotten as John groaned and a recess was called; the two of us getting up to go bail Sherlock out. I offered to stay outside and wait while John went to go finish watching the trial; knowing that nothing after Sherlock's arrest would be interesting and not wanting to sit in a room where Moriarty could just stare at me the whole time. It wasn't until the trial was over that Sherlock was finally released and John joined me.

"What did we say?" John complained as Sherlock got his things from the guard. "We said, 'don't get clever.'"

"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap." Sherlock said back as we headed off. "Well?"

"Well, what?" John questioned.

"You two were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish."

"Not me." I interjected, earning a raised brow. "I knew it would be boring and his staring was driving me up the wall."

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement as John went ahead and told what happened—or didn't happen—for the rest of the trial.

"Like you said it would be. He sat on his backside, never even stirred."

"Moriarty's not mounting any defense."

We headed back to Baker Street in relative silence; Sherlock trying to figure out Moriarty's game plan while John did much the same. I though, yawned tiredly, having not taken a sleeping draught the previous night and having a hard time sleeping. We were soon back home and John started speaking out loud to help Sherlock try and piece things together.

"Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why. All we know is—"

"—he ended up in custody." Sherlock finished for him, pacing as John sat in his chair and myself making tea, before he stopped.

"Don't do that." John sighed, making Sherlock frown in confusion.

"Do what?"

"The look."

"Look?"

"You're doing the look again." John repeated.

"Well, I can't see it, can I?"

John gestured to the mirror above the fireplace and Sherlock looked at his reflection with a frown as I wandered out and leaned against the doorframe to watch the two in amusement.

"It's my face."

"Yes, and it's doing a thing. You're doing the 'we all know what's really going on here' face." John explained.

"Well, we do."

"No. I don't. Which is why I find the face so annoying."

I snorted. "You didn't even try, John."

John turned to me, pouting. "You don't get a say. You know more than both of us."

I shrugged, unable to argue with that and sipped at my tea as Sherlock explained what he'd figured out.

"If Moriarty wanted the jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there." He said, pacing again. "Somehow, this is part of his scheme."

"Well, while you figure that out, I think I'll go ahead and take one of your sleeping pills, John." I hummed. "I could do with a decent night's sleep."

John looked surprised. "You're not going tomorrow?"

I shook my head as he got up to go get the pill. "Nah. It's no fun knowing what's going to happen already. I'll stay and catch upon lost sleep. Sherlock's banned from court anyway, so I can keep him company."

"Well, if you're sure." John gave in easily enough and he handed it over.

Needless to say, I was asleep quickly enough as Nina Simone's "Sinnerman" played in my headphones; hoping that I would remain asleep when Moriarty decided to pay Sherlock his visit.

Sam's prayers were not answered when she woke up with a groan, laying an arm over her face to hide the fact that she'd had another nightmare when the sleeping draught had worn off. Sherlock chose to ignore this, knowing that Sam didn't care for her overactive emotions to be witnessed, and he kept his eyes shut as he dozed. He was awaiting the call from John telling him what he already knew was inevitable. Moriarty was not guilty. This was another way of him showing just how much power he had, just as he did with breaking into England's three most secured places at once. Like Sherlock, he was showing off. Sherlock simply wondered if he should slip another sleeping draught into the tea Sam had gotten up to make or not.

She'd done well in the courtroom, thankfully, though he doubted the same could be said for when the man would walk into the room and join them for tea. Before, Moriarty's attention wasn't focused on her. Now, it very well might be. And with Moriarty's knack for getting into people's heads, he could only hope that Sam had better control over hers than before. Allowing Moriarty to get to her, would only be playing into his hands. Sherlock hoped Sam understood that and would remove herself from the situation should the need arise. A tray with a tea set was placed beside him on a small table and he looked up to see Sam.

"I'll be fine." She said, setting his worries aside with the confident look in her eyes. "You're not the only one who has been preparing for him to come back."

"I take it, you knew." He mused, closing his eyes once more as she went about gathering up the scattered tabloids on the table and setting them aside.

"Again, I know more than you would think." She said, though he caught the tightness to her voice betraying how much that sentence bothered her. "The one thing I don't know is my own part in this play. Moriarty's return was inevitable. The only thing I could do was prepare for it. You should see my screensaver."

Sherlock peered an eye open as she went into the bathroom to get dressed. He took that chance to quickly sneak a peek at her laptop and—upon finding it unlocked for him already—he winced. A grinning picture of Moriarty peered up at him; something he only assumed was a gift she'd managed to get from Mycroft or Lestrade. His eyes scanned the rest of her desktop, making note of the file names as well, before he shut it off and went to get dressed himself; unable to help the small chuckle that escaped him. Shouldn't underestimate her. She'd make for a worthy opponent.

Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play some Bach, listening all the while for Moriarty's entrance into 221 Baker Street. Sam didn't take long in the bathroom either and was soon out and lounging on the couch with her laptop; not bothering with headphones while he played and lolled her into her own little world. There was a creak on the stairs and Sherlock paused in his playing momentarily before continuing as the awaited man himself waltzed in.

"Most people knock." Sherlock muttered as Sam briefly glanced up from her computer at Moriarty. "But then you're not 'most people' I suppose. Kettle's just boiled."

Moriarty wandered over towards Sam though, looking right at her blue eyes silently before grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table beside her.

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled." Moriarty commented, tossing the apple and catching it before looking around. "May I?"

"Please." Sherlock mused, pointing his bow at John's chair, except Moriarty sat in his instead.

Sherlock didn't look pleased, but Sam shifted and brought his attention to her. She simply looked at him, saying so much and nothing at all, and he allowed the unnerved expression to fall from his face as Moriarty pulled out a penknife and carved up his apple.

"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 concluded for him, pouring him tea.

"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." Moriarty mused.

"What? With the verdict?" Sherlock asked, handing him the tea.

"With me. Back on the streets." Moriarty looked up at Sherlock, grinning. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain." He turned to Sam then. "And a damsel in distress."

"Piss off." Sam spat, not even looking at him as she typed away.

Moriarty's lip twitched in amusement. "You need me, or you're nothing." He said, looking back at Sherlock. "Because we're alike, you and I. Except you're boring. You're on the side of the angels."

Moriarty shook his head in disappointment as Sherlock made a deduction.

"Got to the jury, of course."

"I got into the Tower of London." Moriarty said, glancing at Sam with a frown when she scoffed. "You think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network." Sherlock mused.

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

Sam resisted a shiver when he said this, Moriarty's eyes shifting between her and Sherlock like he had some secret he wasn't sharing. Sherlock, though, removed his coat and sat down in John's chair, sipping his tea as well.

"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?" Moriarty asked. "What's the final problem? I did tell you, but did you listen?" He sang. "I'm sure Sammy dear knows. She seems to know a lot, despite appearances. Don't you?" He hummed, turning his attention to her as he drummed his fingers on his knee; Sherlock watching the movement. "It's a shame he picked you up before I did. We could have had some fun, I think. How's the shoulder, by the way? Still stiff?"

Sam still didn't look at him. "I'll happily shoot you, if you want to know what it's like."

"Ooh, tetchy." He chuckled, watching her curiously. "You've certainly got some bite now. More than before, anyway. You actually talk back. Did Sherlock do that? Push you to the edge until you had no choice but to push back? Ooh, I wish I could have seen that. The most I got was you saying 'no'."

Sherlock caught the flinch in Sam's hand, the stiffness in her shoulder and the way her eyes stopped focusing on the laptop in front of her. He wondered if Moriarty noticed, but it was so subtle he wasn't sure. Sam was doing a good job. Sherlock didn't want her giving in now. He needed to take the attention off her before Moriarty could sink his claws in deeper.

"I don't know." He said nonchalantly, making Moriarty turn back with a small smile.

"Oh, that's clever. That's very clever. Awfully clever." He chuckled making Sherlock plant a smile on his face and hope the man hadn't caught on to what he had been doing. "Speaking of clever have you two told you little friends yet?"

"Told them what?" Sherlock asked.

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

"No."

"But you understand." Moriarty confirmed.

"Obviously."

"Off you go then." The man encouraged, waving part of the apple he'd carved at him before eating it.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?"

"No. I want you to prove that you know it." They bantered.

"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." Sherlock concluded as Sam bit her tongue to stay quiet.

"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 with locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey, you should see me in a crown." Moriarty sung happily as he grinned, missing Sam swallow thickly.

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

"And you were helping. Big client list. Rogue governments, intelligence communities, terrorist cells. They all want me. Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex." Moriarty hummed, eating another piece of his fruit.

"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 best!' Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know. You've got John. I should get myself a live-in one. Someone slightly less ordinary. Do you want the job, Sammy?"

"No." Sam said shortly and he smirked.

"There's that word."

"Why are you doing all of this?" Sherlock cut in, distracting Moriarty so he didn't see Sam close her eyes and take a deep breath to compose herself.

"It'd be so funny." Moriarty hummed, still thinking about having Sam join him as he stabbed into his apple.

"You don't want money or power. Not really." Sherlock continued. "What is it all for?"

Moriarty leaned forward. "I want to solve the problem. Our problem. The final problem. It's going to start very soon, Sherlock. The fall."

He whistled as though something were falling and hitting the ground, missing Sherlock's brief glance at Sam, who was gritting her teeth tightly now.

"But don't be scared." Moriarty comforted. "Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination."

Sherlock stood, fixing his shirt with a blank expression. "I never liked riddles."

Moriarty did the same. "Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I… owe… you." They went silent before Moriarty moved to leave, giving Sam a smirk. "And I'll be seeing you again, my dear Sammy. You can ignore me all you want, but I won't ever forget you're here."

He walked out then, neither Sam nor Sherlock moving until the door to 221 closed behind him and Sherlock picked up the apple the man left behind. Stabbed with the penknife, 'IOU' was carved into it. Sealing the deal and labeling both his and Sam's fate.