(This idea just popped into my head... *smacks face* I'm so weird...)
*four months earlier*
"John..." Sherlock sounded wary and slightly confused, which was a first for him. "Mhm?" John replied absentmindedly. "Why is the password for your laptop '221bSherlockluvsMoriarty'?" John bolted upright. "Um... No reason. I just thought it was uhhhh... A good password? And why are you on my computer, anywa- No! Don't go on to Word!" Too late. Sherlock was already reading. John could only watch and cringe through his fingers, covering his face. The consulting detective's eyes bulged out slightly in shock. John groaned peeking through the lattice of his fingers at his room mate's expression. Sherlock kept on scrolling down. His only comment was, "John. Love is not spelled 'luv'." John rolled his eyes at such a typical Sherlock remark. "I know that!" He insisted. Sherlock just frowned a little. "Are you sure? You spelled your password like that and the title of the last three stories I just read. How many of these are there, as a matter of interest?" John's face burned crimson. "Only a couple..." Sherlock looked up from the computer. "Liar. It says you've written another ten of them."
Moriarty was sitting in the back of a greasy spoon café. He wasn't eating or drinking anything, it was just a convenient place to meet a client. Plus, he barely trusted anyone to satisfy his taste buds without attempting to poison him. The client soon arrived. She was a small fluffy blonde thing with more make up than clothes. He raised an eyebrow at her attire, but did not comment. It paid to be polite, he often found. The client had a surprisingly deep gruff voice, for such a tiny woman. She babbled out her story, and how she needed his skills to rid her of her string of lovers, who all wanted her dead. Apparently, she couldn't commit adultery without getting caught. Silly little dear. The consulting criminal yawned, hand over his mouth. "I do apologise. Please go on, Miss...?" The Fluffy Thing looked startled, but pleased to be addressed by him. "Jolyonia Rumpleworth." He winced. What an awful name. "Do continue, Miss Rumpleworth." "Do call me Jolyonia..." She simpered. "Uh.. Yes." She gave him a sugary smile. He was relieved when in his breast pocket, his phone began to ring. "Stayin' Alive" blared out into the awkward tension of the café. He reached for it, making an extremely fake apologetic face. Sherlock. He grinned. Reaching across the table, he shook the Fluffy Thing's hand. "Terribly sorry. I have to go." He left, whistling cheerfully as he left the Fluffy Thing's squeaking behind him. He put the phone to his ear. "Hello, Virgin..." He purred. He heard a laugh on the other end. "James..." Sherlock replied in the same tone of voice rather mockingly. James? When had Sherlock addressed him as James before? Sherlock sounded excited. "Come to 221B! Now! There's something you have to see!" Moriarty grinned. "I'll be there." Was that a squeal in the background? He rolled his eyes. Turning up the collar of his coat, he squinted into the rain he had failed to notice previously, and hailed a taxi.
Minutes later, Sherlock ran down the stairs, and opened the door, sending a shower of the storm outside followed by a drenched evil genius. Pouting adorably, said genius shivered and looked at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock was practically bouncing in delight. "Hurry up!" He demanded, rushing up the stairs. Moriarty removed his sopping wet coat and held it out an arms length in front of him as he grudgingly followed his nemesis upstairs. "This had better be good..." He muttered to himself. As he entered the sitting room of 221B, Watson - who had previously been slumped in his armchair - squeaked, jumped to his feet and scampered off to the kitchen. Moriarty would liked to think it was from fear, however, he knew that was certainly untrue.
The colour of Watson's face had been a dead giveaway, if you had not been so experienced in reading body language. But the real puzzle was what had caused such a display of embarrassment... Moriarty let his eyes trace over Sherlock for a second, noting every detail, from his slightly ruffled hair to the creases of his trousers and shirt. His enemy darted forwards suddenly and forced a laptop into his arms. Moriarty raised a delicate eyebrow. "Just read it." The consulting detective insisted.
He looked me in the eyes. I gazed back at him, not thinking about tomorrow, not thinking about how he was effectively providing me with a job, just focusing on his dark brown eyes. He smiled at me, and I loved the slight curve in his lips and the little dimples in his cheeks. "Sherlock..." A voice cut in. I sighed, at having been forced from my daydream. Moriarty wasn't there. John stood beside me, holding out a plastic folder full of evidence. "Lestrade said that you have to look into these..." He was apologising. "Yes, yes. I'll see." I replied impatiently, taking the folder from him. I closed my eyes again, and willed for the images to return. I heard John leaving, late for work again. His face danced before my eyes, sorely tempting and sorely missed. Bzzzzz. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Hello, love. JM xx. I smiled and pocketed the device, only to pull it out as it vibrated again. Hey, Sherley. I'm coming round to play... JM xx. My eyes widened in astonishment. Bzzzzz. I see you... ;) JM xx. I rolled my eyes. "Where are you?" I said aloud to the room. Bzzzzz. Here. JM xx. A warm pair of hands clasped gently over my eyes. "Hello, Virgin.." He whispered, breath tickling the shell of my ear. "Moriarty." He bent to kiss me and I turned my head to allow him, making a small hum of approval. I pulled him onto the sofa next to me, wrapping my arms around his waist. Running his tongue along my lips -
"Who wrote this?" Moriarty was crowing with laughter. Sherlock looked faintly embarrassed and annoyed by this reaction. "John did." He replied with a shrug. "Welllllll..." Moriarty purred. "John, you're a good writer. Except that you spelled 'love' wrong. It's 'LOVE', not 'LUV'." John's voice sounded exasperated from the kitchen. "I know that... It was the stupid spell check." He protested. "Yeah, right..." Both consulting geniuses muttered. Moriarty grinned. Sherlock threw him a wry smile. "Now why did you really call me here?" Moriarty enquired. "Well..." Sherlock grinned with a smirk, and the rest he whispered into his archenemy's ear.
When John walked back into the room, he felt like he had fallen straight into chapter 7. "Uh, I'll leave you to it, shall I?" He mumbled. His face turned a pale pink colour as he looked away from the scene unfolding before him. "That would be excellent, thanks." Came the muffled reply, a few seconds later.