A/N: Warning: this is a fairly short chapter, and basically a bridge to the next few chapters, so there isn't much action. I haven't updated anything on this site in a while, but, you know, baby steps.

There is a familiar quality to the Diogenes Club. Subordination bleeds into all the old geasers' movements when they glance at me then nervously turn away when I smile. They are aware of the niche, of there place.

"Excuse me," I lilt, although this utterance is obviously seen as taboo. That's part of the fun. "A little bird told me a Mycroft Holmes resides here?" One old man genuinely looks as if he's about to pass out, but the whole thing quickly surpasses being mildly amusing when his neighbor almost has a heart attack.

"No one knows?" I smirk, glancing around the posh little club. It is rather anything but a club, in actuality. "Do you believe I could simply show myself back?"

A pair of men in black push through the door to my left; how predictable, how boring. The elder Holmes is better than this, so much better than this. They link my arms on both sides and lead me farther into the nest of silent politicians and kiss-arse's who have usurped their way to power.

I spot Mycroft before we three men in black enter his office. He looks gravely pale: I smile.

I turn to the guard on my right. My knee presses playfully into his groin. "Is that a Browning Hi-Power Mark 1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" He doesn't laugh, which is incredibly valiant and oh so stoic, but also vanilla: I prefer strawberry.

"Would you be so kind as to take a seat?" His voice sounds pinched. I bow a bit before the chair screeches against the hardwood.

"Ever the polite brother, acting as if I'm actually civilized," I huff with a nagging, offended air. "As if I'm a normal man," I scoff, head lulling against the fancy chair cushion that matches the tapestries.

The elder Holmes brother's eyes train on me. "It has always been clear to me that you are anything but a man," he says carefully, as if any sudden movement will cause my violence to surface; clever boy. "You are a snake, a rat, a spider: everything a man is not and should never be."

"Oh, Johann Sebastian Bach," I sigh lavishly,"enough with the poetic monologues. I rather hate trite cliches." My legs cross as Mycroft shifts in his chair, stiffly sipping his tea. I smirk again.

"Why are you here?" he bites out, still somehow retaining his political temperament, though I can feel the glorious fear in his eyes.

I guffaw, hands falling away from the arms of my chair. "How very plain of you, my darling. And you were doing so well, too." The guards' heat presses closer as they lock around my chair.

He frowns, a thin, automatic thing that ages his face; very unbecoming. "It's been made clear to me that you want something," he says obviously.

"I always want something," I growl, leaning cautiously forward with the agents breathing down my back. "God, even the great Mycroft Holmes is as boring as my hairdresser's conversation starters." My back pushes into the chair again.

He rises and circles the desk to lean against it in front of my chair. Intimidation tactic, psychology tactic, an insulting try at a trick: he must think I'm stupid. "'What' is the priliminary, and 'why' is the secondary."

My eyes trail over the books and cling to anything that vaguely hints to the existence of the great Sherlock Holmes in his office. "What of your brother?" Mycroft's face contorts considerably before he schools his expression. "I hear he's quite clever: do you think we could have a playdate sometime?"

He remains astoundingly quiet for all his talk. "Just something simple," I wave dismissively. I peer up at him from under my lashes. "You know, maybe at our local swimming pool."

"What is it you want with my brother?" he says with a tremulous note to his voice. This is what happens when people try to act high and mighty; you know when they feel exposed.

"A game." My shoulders bunch up in a shrug, but my lips pull into a grin. "He can provide the satisfaction to me that ordinary people can't."

The elder Holmes gestures for the guards to restrain me. I let them and smile politely once more. "I cannot afford an introduction between the spider and the addict. My brother has surpassed the likes of you in every way."

"Oh, but he hasn't, my dear." My teeth show in a sneer. "Down to the core, in his bones, in that lovely brain of his, we are one and the same. His basic function is my basic function."

Mycroft slips into another bout of silence before he starts for his desk. "Show this gentleman out," he calls to the guards. "Farewell, Mr. Moriarty. I apologize that I couldn't be of assistance."

A/N: Writing from Moriarty's POV was both interesting and frustrating. If was at first difficult for me to get into the right mindset, for the first person point-of-view especially. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and that the switch in POV was refreshing. Probably won't happen in a while unless people thoroughly enjoy it.