Box

"What do you want?" John snapped and adjusted her dress, ignoring the twitches running up and down her leg.

"I'm sorry," Moriarty said, sounding anything but. "Was I interrupting?"

"No, no." Sherlock called, as polite as if they were at the watercooler. "We'll always make time for you."

"As you should," Moriarty growled, immediately spinning back to a happy tone. "As will I. Because as you can see- Oh. You can't see. Silly me. One moment." The screen lit up and Moriarty's face came into view. "There we are!"

Moriarty was as pale and gorgeous as Snow White, her lips a poison apple red and her hair falling in curls of raven black. She was dressed in her usual ensemble, from what John could see of her, the top of a white button up blouse poking around her neck, smears of something that looked like ketchup on her collar, and two earbuds tangling around her neck, one placed in her ear.

"Oh, but that's not fair," Moriarty pouted, sticking out her bottom lip. "I can't see you!"

Sherlock clicked a few more buttons and held the phone up, showing herself.

"And where is our favorite doctor? Johnny boy!"

John shuffled into the camera shot. "Still a girl."

"Oh my, my. Yes you are," Moriarty yelled enthusiastically. "That colour suits you. You look good enough to eat." She paused, her eyes flickering. "And I see Sherlock had the same idea. I really was interrupting."

John crossed her arms over the dipping neckline on her chest and Sherlock glared.

"I must get myself a live in," Moriarty drawled. "You really need to let me borrow yours, Sherlock." She flashed her teeth. "I promise not to bite off more than I can chew."

"I can see you've already eaten," John snapped, knowing it was not the best comeback, but Moriarty was just as neurotic about being clean as Sherlock. "There's ketchup on your shirt."

"John," Sherlock warned. "That's not ketchup."

Moriarty burst out laughing. "Oh you are so precious! I'll get you a collar with a little bell on it. OH!" She started jumping up and down. "I'll name you Princess!"

Sherlock's grip on the phone tightened. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to see," Moriarty whispered, then yelled, "-what was TAKING SO LONG!" Her eyes flickered back and forth, her mouth sliding into a greasy smile. "Now I know. Don't you know toys are a reward, Sherly?" She tisked and her finger swayed back and forth. "No candy till you eat all your veggies."

John gritted her teeth. "This is just a suggestion, but have you ever considered therapy?"

Moriarty's eyes flashed and her smile was all teeth. "I could always borrow yours. Couldn't I, Jooooaaaannnnn."

It was odd enough to hear Moriarty calling her Joan but it was stranger to think Moriarty bothered to learn about Ella. Surely Moriarty did not find her former appointments all that interesting. John tucked her arms tighter around herself.

"What's in the box?" Sherlock demanded.

"What's in the box?" Moriarty echoed and then started yelling. "What's in the box?! What's in the box?!" She burst back into laughter, the camera shaking as she buckled over. She snapped upright and breathed in deep, shaking her head. "You don't even know that yet? How very disappointing Sherlock. You are slipping."

"You were withholding," Sherlock growled. "I only just received all the puzzle pieces."

"Did you?" Moriarty batted her eyelashes and cocked her head to the side. "You seem very sure."

Sherlock's fingers curled into a fist. "I've linked your web together. I'm only missing the fly."

"Yes, yes." Moriarty waved her on, as childish and psychotic as ever. "You found my video game. It's a lovely program. So hard to reach the youths these days." She sighed loudly, smacked her lips and blew a raspberry. "Your pet detective won't be able to make arrests for very much longer. There are other ways. Other webs. Other spiders."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose incrementally. "Get along with other spiders, do you?"

"Not always." Moriarty smirked and leaned in so they could only see her lips, as if sharing a particularly juicy secret. "I've been told I don't work well with others." She pulled her face back and chuckled darkly, suddenly back to anger. "But people just don't follow directions. They DON'T LISTEN!"

When the image stopped shaking from Moriarty's outburst, the shot panned behind her and revealed a man. He was naked and bloody, dangling from the ceiling of the fluorescent lit room by a network of complex chains. A middle-aged man, chubby with a long beard.

Ben Noles.

"Sherlock-" John started.

"I see."

Moriarty was back in view a second later, sighing and pouting. "That's the problem with men." The camera moved as Moriarty walked closer to the bloodied man. Noles' audible wet panting suggested excruciating pain. "If they don't listen, all they're good for is their swimmers."

John hissed under her breath, "Isn't he in prison?"

Moriarty spoke on, directing her attention at Noles. "And if you don't even have your swimmers, what is the point of keeping you around?"

A loud bang shot through the other side of the screen and Noles' breathing instantly ceased.

"Oh, god," John gasped and dove for her phone, dialling Lestrade out of view of the camera while trying to keep an eye on the psycho bitch.

"Well, Sherlock, my darling," Moriarty cooed and brought the phone back up to her face. She wiped blood away from her cheek and smiled. "Do catch up. You are above the men, are you not?" She froze and posed with the dead body, grabbed the man's limp arm and used it to wave at them. "Ciao darlings!"

Before the call cut out, they could hear the upbeat lyrics of You Should Be Dancing sounding out from the headphones still dangling around her neck.

"Come on, pick up," John grunted

Lestrade was not answering.

Sherlock slowly put the phone on the table and stared at it from above. "Whatever was in the box was meant to be hers. Another spider took it. She wants us to help get it back for her."

John squinted. "She can't get it on her own?"

"I'm sure she's capable, but she has a time limit or she wouldn't be rushing us along, bloodying her own hands." Sherlock's voice dropped dramatically, her gaze intent on the images only she could see. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that."

John stopped trying to call and gave Sherlock her full attention. "But she won't tell us what was in the box."

"She knows we won't find it if we know what it is." Sherlock smiled to herself. "We won't want to lead her to it."

John's eyes flickered to the ceiling and the corners of the room. "She's watching us."

"Inevitably." Sherlock glanced her way. "No need to worry. I check the flat for bugs every time we return home."

John's phone started buzzing in her hand. She expected to see Lestrade's number rolling across the screen, or even Moriarty for a follow up message, but it was worse than that.

BIG BROTHER

"No," Sherlock hissed. "If you answer that I swear I will-"

"Hello?" John answered gracefully.

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft greeted. "I understand you just had a rather enticing phone call."

"You could say that," John huffed. "I tried to call Lestrade, is he-"

"I've already sent someone to check after him," Mycroft reassured. "Though I am sure he is fine. We've tracked him to a local pub, trying to enjoy his night off."

"Oh," John sighed. Lestrade really never did get a night off. That divorce was soon coming. "Would you like to speak with Sherlock?"

"I rather think this is a matter best spoken about in person. Sherlock and yourself are both expected at my club within the quarter hour. Your cab is waiting outside."

Sherlock looked like she could murder with telepathy, but she did not say no.

"We'll be there."

The Diogenes Club was a strange, stuffy place with old-fashioned ideals. John hated visiting. It was one of the few places in the UK that actually refused women from entering and still enforced a rule of silence. She loathed walking in at all and especially with Sherlock.

"Where is the secretary?!" Sherlock bellowed upon entering, always loving to rile the crotchety old men with her 'womanly ways'. "I demand to be waited on this instant! I'm a woman of providence and I do declare that you shall bring me to my brother this instant!"

An elder gentleman, only fit to be described as the cliche butler, grit his teeth and led the way.

"Did you just say, 'I do declare?'" John asked behind her hand, holding back a giggle.

"They're old, John," Sherlock smiled back. "They expect us to act a certain way and I refuse to disappoint."

Mycroft was waiting for them behind his desk with a scowl. "Must you do that every time?"

"I must," Sherlock chirped happily and lounged in one of the chairs opposite Mycroft's desk, flipping her feet on top of it.

John smiled shortly and took the other chair.

"So," Mycroft started. "Moriarty. What-"

"What has the British government lost now?" Sherlock interrupted, loving the way her brother's face turned pink. "What is in the box?"

"Huh?" John tried not to make the sound aloud but it was too late. Both Holmes spun towards her, pitying her monkey-like stupidity.

"I assure you, sister mine," Mycroft responded, his hands gripping the edge of his desk. "We have lost nothing."

"You lost Ben Noles," Sherlock countered.

"That was the prison system," Mycroft argued.

"Your system," Sherlock argued back.

"And we are questioning the guards responsible for his loss and they will be properly punished."

"By putting them in a room with you?" Sherlock smirked at John. "Are we sure they deserve such a harsh punishment? Is the Tower not a more humane option?"

"Can we please-" Mycroft paused, calming himself to his usual diplomatic level. "Return to the subject at hand."

"She wants what is in the box." Sherlock snatched a metal knick-knack off Mycroft's desk and started spinning it in her hands. "Which means that you want it. Which means you know what it is."

"I do not keep track of every bobble and bit that goes missing in our country." Mycroft sighed as Sherlock started tossing what was probably a priceless thing in the air.

"Who said it was from this country?" Sherlock countered, throwing the knick-knack at Mycroft and snapping to her feet, pacing from one end of the office to the other.

"What do you mean?" John asked. Mycroft simply hummed and Sherlock threw her hands behind her back. "Can someone fill me in please? I feel like I'm missing things."

Mycroft snorted and Sherlock sent him a glare. Mycroft rolled his eyes and nodded, "Then at least cover it all. No need for our slowest player to hold us back."

John thought she should take offense to that, but frankly she wanted to hear what the hell was going on.

Just then, John's phone rang. "It's Lestrade."

"Answer," Sherlock commanded. "He'll want to hear this too."

"Hey, Greg," John answered.

"John," Lestrade greeted shortly. "This better be worth it. I'm bloody exhausted."

"Did you hear about Ben Noles?"

"Yeah. Mycroft's goon filled me in on that. Sherlock sent me the video she recorded. I assume there's more?"

"Yeah, I'll put you on speaker."

"Thanks, mate."

John flipped the phone onto the table and put it on speaker.

Sherlock smiled and started. "Our prize is the lock box. Whatever is in that box has grabbed the attention of one James Moriarty. It is important, expensive, and deadly."

Lestrade's voice echoed from the mobile. "What's in the box?"

"No idea!" Sherlock replied happily.

"What do we know?" Lestrade asked around a sigh.

Sherlock nodded and leapt into her speech, continuing her pace as she presented the case.

"Kristina Smackle. A pet-loving, university student studying Literature."

"Kristina Smackle?" John asked. "You never mentioned her."

"Shush, John." Sherlock muttered before jumping back in. "One night, after pet-sitting for her mom's friend, Smackle goes out to the pub and is approached by Ben Noles, seemingly out of nowhere. Noles, for whatever reason, is exactly the type of man she is looking for and they hit it off. They start dating. They get closer. Blah, blah, romance, blah, blah.'

"Why is this important? Kristina Smackle is the niece of Stephanie Cornette, though her aunt is only a few years her elder. Teen pregnancies, truly running rampant. Now! Cornette meets Gabby Miller at a yoga class run by the local church. The two grow close. Close enough that Cornette asks her niece to watch Miller's dog when she and her son go away on holiday together.'

"Gabby Miller. A single mother with a boy, age 14. When her son goes to bed, she uses his video-game console to play a very boring and very illegal game named Skivvies and Lemons. Her job as an archeologist involves moving ancient artifacts from one country to another. There is one thing she can do very well." Sherlock paused dramatically but when no one favoured a guess she said brightly, "Smuggling! Gabby Miller smuggles items across the globe and uses the connections in the game to pass information and obtain her payment.'

"One night she receives instructions that lead her to be in the possession of a small lock box. She doesn't know what is inside, but then again, she does not care as long as she is paid. The instructions, provided by Moriarty, are to pass the item onto a man, codename MasterOfAll4434. She begins communications with Master and devises a plan. If the man starts dating her friend's niece, she can pass the lock box onto him, along with any other items that she may smuggle into the country in future, without suspicion. They both agree.'

"However, what Miller does not expect is what happens when Ben Noles AKA MasterOfAll4434 meets her friend, Stephanie Cornette. She knew Noles was not one with the law, yet set her up with Smackle and ultimately introduced her friend to her rapist and killer.'

"Noles takes an interest in Cornette right away. She is young and small and shy. She is lonely and timid and exactly his type. Despite dating Smackle, he starts stalking Cornette, eventually raping her. He uses his money acquired through various illegal activities and his access to the game to hire a professional to finish her off to keep her quiet.'

"That leaves the lock box in the Miller's attic. It still needs to be delivered to its buyer but Noles has been arrested thanks to us-" Sherlock nodded at John. "Who is left to pick it up from Miller?"

"Arnold Haywire," John said, nodding along.

Sherlock pointed in agreement enthusiastically. "Exactly. Hard to keep an expensive addiction to underage pornography when one is low on funds. Moriarty knew this and takes advantage. Through the video-game's private chat, she offers him a large sum of money if he picks up a certain box. Easy enough to make sure Haywire will stay quiet by threatening to expose him. But Haywire is a simple pawn. Who is to keep him to his word? Enter stage left, a manipulating and elusive therapist, Doctor Frank Grant.'

"Simultaneously, Moriarty uses this therapist to make Chloe Bernet want to murder her husband by suggesting he was cheating on her. She never actually caught him in the act. Grant talks her through the steps of the crime, including how to steal a gun from the shop inventory. Grant planned to show Bernet the porn when he needed her to kill Haywire, effectively tying up any loose ends for Moriarty."

"And that's why the couples therapist didn't see the couple," John nodded. "He's a fraud."

"First, Haywire needed to get the lock box. However, they underestimated Bernet's temper and she attacked too soon, killing Haywire when he was only steps away from the prize. She panics and leaves the body, not according to the therapist's instructions. Moriarty's people arrive but the box is already missing."

"Wait," Lestrade interrupted. "There's a therapist telling his patients to kill people?"

"Indeed," Sherlock said.

"How?" Lestrade asked.

"Easily enough," Mycroft said, leaning towards the phone. "People who go to therapy are weak and desperate for guidance. He simply guides them as he sees fit."

"Watch it," John grumbled

Sherlock went on. "Grant is Moriarty's string-puller. He's called out sick every day since John and I tried to pay him a visit. Fake name, no paper trail, but I believe a real therapist."

"You did what?!" Lestrade yelled. "Why didn't you call first?!"

"Wait," John held up a hand. "The box was missing from the attic. Chloe didn't know about it. So who has it now? If not Moriarty."

Sherlock winked at her. "That, my dear John, is the question. Moriarty did not send her best to retrieve it in the first place. She first sent unimportant loose ends that could easily be swept under the rug. In fact, she planned to have them all killed in their own time."

"Including Ben Noles?" John asked. "Why did she wait longer than the others? Why did she send us his balls?"

"When Moriarty kidnapped John in her car-"

"She did what?!" Lestrade yelled.

"Hush," Sherlock replied. "When she kidnapped John she congratulated her on removing Noles from her sex club. He was on her radar. She believed he had information on who took her box. She was trying to get him to talk."

"She was torturing him for information," Lestrade said for clarification.

"He had no information to give," Sherlock said.

"Alright," Lestrade said. "All that is great, but how do we know Moriarty's not just messing with you and it's a box full of rocks or licorice or something?"

"Moriarty would not be so pedestrian." Sherlock scoffed, "Licorice. She's not a carnie."

"So how do we find out what's in the box?" John asked. "It would have to be something small, right? Like a flash drive or something?"

"Not a flash drive," Mycroft said. "No point in smuggling a flash drive. There would be no reason to hide it. Once could simply walk with it in their pocket. Their greatest nuisance would be the metal detector."

"Alright," Lestrade said, "Something small but not a flash drive. That narrows it down to... anything."

"You are forgetting," Sherlock said, "It's something not only Moriarty is interested in. Something another party was privy to. Something Gabby Miller smuggled into the country."

"Where did she last visit?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded at her, "Exactly."

"So that's why you agreed to meet here," Mycroft sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "I get to keep whatever is in the box."

"Huh?" John dumbly asked again.

Sherlock answered her grunt. "Whatever country Miller visited last has had something important smuggled out of it. Something their government will no doubt know about. Mycroft is going to talk to that government for us."

"Naturally, my dear sister," Mycroft smiled. "You will owe me."

"Please," Sherlock scoffed. "John."

"Um, I guess you can hang up now, Greg," John said awkwardly, picking her phone back up.

"I'll work on tracing the Miller family, I guess," Lestrade said, clearly exhausted. "And the murdering therapist."

"Make Donovan do that," Sherlock snapped. "She has a job doesn't she? She must do something to earn a paycheck."

Lestrade grunted.

"If she can't track down a simple smuggler or runaway therapist, then she really is as awful as her choice in men," Sherlock snapped.

Lestrade chuckled and sighed, "Alright. I'll let you know. Bye girls, Mycroft."

John called, "Bye," as Mycroft said, "Good day."

When they were in the cab, John turned to Sherlock and asked, "What about the therapist? Should we be doing something about him?"

"He's not in his office and therefore not able to manipulate the weak minded into killing. He can wait."

"So, we're focusing on the box."

"No. We're focusing on what is inside the box. I have research to do."

John nodded along, wondering how long it would take them to pull Miller's travelling records and if they could contact her office or even Katrina to see if she remembered any recent trips. They were going to be up late, there was no doubt in her mind. She only hoped Sherlock had actually taken a nap at some point or she would start hallucinating soon.

John checked her email, made some tea, and got to work.

Though, she swore she had something else she was supposed to do. She just could not remember what that was.