Mycroft was predictably irate with Samantha's lack of effort to make contact, despite her explaining what had happened to her (of which she garnered little sympathy from him).

"Complications happen, Mycroft," she tried to reassure him, "Besides, I've allied with the Tatsumi family since it seems we have a common factor in all this." She informed him of the Tatsumi's role, leaving out Moriarty's involvement of course. A half-truth was still better than no truth she reasoned. She also mentioned Saito, the boss of the other Yakuza organisation, and how he might be crucial to the investigation.

"You suspect Saito is responsible for the money coming into the country?" Mycroft queried.

"From what Rin Tatsumi told me, if he was laundering, it would be uncharacteristic of him," Samantha replied, relaying what Moriarty had told her when she asked to clarify a few things before making the call, "As far as she knows, he never conducted business as far as Great Britain. But also he's in prison, so any current activity within his business is kept small scale."

"Unless he has a traitor in his midst," Mycroft mused.

"Just what I was thinking-" this was actually proposed by Moriarty "-but would they be the same person that killed Rin's father? And what would be their motivation?"

"Power it would seem."

That made sense. One mob boss dead, the other in jail, a power move seemed to be appropriate motivation.

"I need to interview Saito," Samantha continued, "And I can't just walk into a Japanese prison and demand an audience. Is there anything you can do on your end?"

Mycroft audibly groaned which caused Samantha to roll her eyes. Asking Mycroft for favors was always met with disdain.

"Is there no other angle you can tackle this from?" he asked piteously.

"It's the only lead I have right now."

"Oh alright. I'll see what I can do. You're on standby until further notice. Try to stay out of trouble."

"Was that you expressing concern about my wellbeing?" Samantha teased, her mouth quirking upward with amusement.

"Something like that. Consider this a period of sick leave until you recover. I'll be in touch."

He hung up before she could get another word in.


Nika leaned back on the kitchen counter and took a drag of her cigarette. This place wasn't so bad but she wondered how safe they were here. While the Yakuza's hit on her had cooled, she and Moriarty were still wanted by others, and she hoped that their recent activity hadn't appeared on the grid again. Still, it was better than the dingy hostel they had been staying at.

At the corner of her eye, she spotted Moriarty sitting quietly on an armchair. His eyes were shut but she knew he wasn't sleeping. His posture was upright and his arms rested on the sides of the chair. She recognised this as his thinking state. He was deep inside his head solving some complicated problem. Good, she thought. At least he was doing something useful. She took another drag of the cigarette.

"You don't smoke," Moriarty said, unmoving.

"Jirou does," Nika replied, exhaling.

"So you cave to peer pressure?" He turned his head to look at her. She chuckled.

"I only smoke on two occasions," she said, "After I've blown something up, and after sex."

"Oh. I feel kind of bad for never having a cigarette to give you then." He stood and ambled towards her, his hands in his pockets.

"Are you done with him by the way?" he continued, "I do need him to run a few errands for me."

"He's all yours," she shrugged, "I think he likes me best though."

Moriarty pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I miss Sebastian," he muttered.

"Hmm, yes he was a good shag too," she replied fondly.

"Jesus, Nika!"

"Did I say that right? 'Shag'? I think I heard someone call it 'rooting' in New Zealand. English is a funny language."

Moriarty sighed in despair.

"Just send the kid to me, why don't you?" he said.

Nika straightened her posture and regarded him with a tilt of her head. He seemed more rested and focused than before. They now had an objective other than run which seemed to spur him out of his mental rut. And something else... Was he, dare she say, happier too? Still, he wasn't 100%. He was lacking that 'je ne sais quoi' that made him... well... Moriarty.

"It is sounding like you have a plan," she ventured.

"Hmm...Plan," he enunciated as if trying the word for the first time, "I don't really have a singular plan per se, but I do have a sort of mindmap of all the possible circumstances we could potentially hit from here. Why? Are you looking for something to do?"

"Am I on this mindmap?" she chuckled.

"Just work with Jirou. Outside the bedroom, if you can help yourself, or it will be coming out of your salary."

Nika grinned slyly, and the quirk in Moriarty's expression meant he knew she had something she wanted to tell him then.

"He talks, you know," Nika said coolly as she took a smoke. "He has a lot of information he does not even realise might be relevant."

"Such as...?"

The intrigue in his tone gave her a small swell of pride. This she hadn't felt in a while.

"The Tatsumi's used to fight a lot," she said, leaning her elbows back on the counter top.

"The twins?"

"All of them. The brother, the sister, the father."

"The mother?"

"Died in childbirth. The father had a...difficult relationship with the children."

"What did they fight about?"

"Everything."

Moriarty's gaze fell to the side, clearly processing this new information and merging it into his mindmap.

"Well then," he said pensively, " by all means work with him in the bedroom. See what else he wants to get off his chest."

Just then, Nika heard a stirring from upstairs. Not Jirou. It was their other...housemate.

"What are we doing with her?" she said pointedly.

Moriarty's black eyes snapped back to hers.

"We need her," he said.

"Come on," she reasoned, "I can take her out. She's just a liability."

" You will do no such thing."

Nika bristled. Moriarty was the smartest man she had ever met but he was an idiot for that woman. Anyone could see that.

"You have gone soft," she said, and just as she put the cigarette to her mouth, Moriarty's hand shot forward and clutched her by the jaw, his fingers digging hard into her face. He stared, eyes wide and manic as if he were about to cannibalise her there on the spot. She was alarmed at first, but then found herself fighting a triumphant grin. There he was, the real Moriarty. She knew he was in there somewhere.

With his other hand he reached up, swiped the cigarette from between her lips and ground it into the tile floor with his shoe.

"Keep your lungs clean," he said, "I need you fighting fit."

"Yes, boss," she replied with satisfaction.

He didn't even flinch when she released the smoke into his face.