A/N Wow only four more chapters to go counting this one. Hehehe Everything is winding up to the thrilling conclusion. Of courese this is anotyher example of me avopiding my thesis paper. Anyways Enjoy the show. Please R and R

Stranger Than You Dreamt It

Chapter 11- Moonlight Masks.

Moriarty stared around the moonlit garden. Several exotic and beautiful fragrances swarmed his nostrils. The stone walk gleamed in the silvery light. Briefly he wondered how he'd got here from his hideout in Paris. Looking around, it was like he was outside one of the many balls that the ton in the past threw. Sighing, he remembered being bored stiff at them, but he would go because his younger brother insisted that he go. His younger brother, the original Professor James Moriarty, felt it was the best way to find potential victims and intelligence.

Certainly he wasn't his younger brother like that Yardie thought. However he was the Moriarty, the eldest of three brothers. It was his job to protect his family. After all he entered the army to do just that. He was good at taking command, seizing control of the situation, being of the rank of colonel suited him, even when he retired at a young age to help his brother's run their empires, he was still the backbone of them. At times, he did wonder why he let the both of them persuade him to go to Reichenbach Falls in pursuit of Sherlock Holmes.

James growled to himself as he remembered that fight at the falls. He should have waited longer for Holmes, studied his moves longer. The man surprised him with his moves. Whatever it was James expected it wasn't a well trained fighter in baritsu and other forms of hand to hand. James was at a disadvantage in that fight. But he did have the satisfaction of taking Holmes over with him. That made the defeat worth it to him. Now here they were again in the future locked in another struggle. Moriarty wondered if any of his own brother's descendents survived. He asked Fenwick once, but the man told him not to worry about.

So he didn't, instead he decided to build his own empire. He wanted to prove that he could run an army of criminals just as well as his brothers. Except the whole world thought he was his younger brother. It was damning and hard to stand on your own when no one knows who you are. Women in the underworld scrambled for his attention. They wanted the power he held. After all, females haven't changed all that much. But there were two exceptions to that rule. The two exceptions that he couldn't have because they belonged to his rivals.

Inspector Elizabeth Lestrade was definitely the different sort of woman. She was confident, intelligent and a little rough around the edges. She had a no nonsense style that helped her worn down her suspects and allowed her to solve her cases. Moriarty enjoyed watching her work, even if her manners needed some work. She was a mystery. He made several offers for her to join his organization using wealth and power as bait. The woman didn't bite. Several time she was very hostile and down right rude to him. He suspected that she was attracted to Holmes and did everything in his power to make her look like a fool in front of him.

He grinned as he remembered those times. The grin slowly faded as he remembered the woman who made him the fool. She mocked his control and somehow seduced his mind. He knew all about her, her past, her present and yet who she really was eluded him. The answers danced in the far flung shadows of the Opera House. He knew the answers lay there, yet he dreaded going near it. Her protector was there watching him. Moriarty was never Jealous in his whole life until he met Erika and the Phantom that controlled her. Moriarty clenched his fists, he needed to lure Erika away, yet he knew she was safer in the Opera House. The Count lurked near by like a demon waiting to ambush unsuspecting innocent. Moriarty wished it was he she was seeking her comfort from. He knew she was attracted to him as much he was to her. But it was forbidden with the Phantom lurking nearby. Moriarty found himself swearing to kill that man and take Erika away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something stir in the shadows. Breaking away from his thoughts, he turned and walked over towards the movement. Just as he reached the shadows, a pair of blue eyes gleamed at him. Moriarty felt his mouth go dry.

Erika stepped from the shadows, wearing a beautiful blue ballgown. A blue ribbon held her hair up. Moriarty stared at her in awe. She looked like a noblewoman of the ton with her pale bare shoulders and elegant neck.A simple chain and gold ring hung around her neck, a symbol of her loyalty to the Phantom. With a secret smile playing around her lips, she looked him over.

"Bon soir, Professor. The ball isn't to your liking?" she asked softly, sending a shiver over his skin and to his very core.

Stiffly, he answered her, "No, it isn't. Is it to yours?"

Erika smirked as she turned to reenter the shadows. "I wasn't born for them. I was made for more dangerous pursuits."

Moriarty followed her into the shadows. Her own scent of jasmine and myrrh acted like a drug on him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He leaned forward and whispered against her ear.

"You were made for me," Moriarty murmured before he started kissing her neck. For once he was in charge of this seduction.

Erika purred, "Am I? What about the Phantom?"

Moriarty froze for a brief moment before resuming, more intense than before. Damn the Phantom to hell and back. Right now he had Erika in his arms and soon he would have her to himself. Then he would worry about the Phantom and what to do about him. Dismissing the thought from his mind, he pushed Erika deeper into the shadows.

Suddenly a gunshot rang out. Moriarty froze as he felt Erika jerk in his arms. Alarmed, Moriarty pulled away and looked down as Erika looked at him in shock and pain. Unable to identify the feeling that welled in him, Moriarty gently sat down with Erika in his arms. Erika was bleeding badly from several wounds. Moriarty worked frantically to stop the bleeding. He looked up at her attacker.

The man stood half-concealed in the shadows. However, Moriarty recognized him immediately. The Count grinned triumphantly at the dying Erika and an angered Moriarty. His eyes danced with glee.

"I win this round," he proclaimed loudly.

Moriarty let out a roar and lunged at the Count. The Count leveled the gun at him and squeezed the trigger. Moriarty heard the roar of the shot. Then everything went black.

Moriarty woke up tangled in his own sheets. He could still smell Erika's blood as it spilt on him. Groggily he got up from the bed. His mind spinning from the dream, he slowly got dressed. What did it mean?

He knew Erika was being hunted by the Count and there was a bad history between them. She was obviously wasn't too afraid of the Count to openly challenge him twice. Or maybe she didn't really care what he could do to her. Either way, he needed to see Erika again and he wanted answers.

Grumbling, he walked out of his room. He was going to try the club again. Maybe she had returned to her dressing room this morning after leaving with the Phantom. And if she hadn't, he wanted a closer look at that mirror.

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Holmes looked around the fog-covered field. He'd been in his bed a moment ago, but now he was here, wherever here was. As he slowly moved through the fog, tall stone monuments seemed to loom in front of him. He studied a few and determined them to be tombstones. The carvings had long since eroded away, hiding the identity of the bodies underneath.

As he moved slowly he noticed a figure walking ahead of him. Holmes regarded them intently as if to identify the cloaked figure. The person looked over her shoulder with big expressive blue eyes. Holmes stared at Erika until she turned back around and continued her journey. Hesitantly, he followed her. Something inside wanted him to follow her.

The two walked through the garden of quiet stones. The fog swirled around them as they moved. Neither talked to the other as they moved. Yet Holmes knew Erika wouldn't harm them. So far she had tried to help them with her clues and remedies. He figured she was the one sending those notes to them in the hotel.

Soon they reached a huge crypt. Holmes looked at the structure. It was very old and looked like it dated back to before his own death. Erika stood next to the entrance and motioned him to enter the shadow-filled interior. What was inside that she wanted him to see? Holmes looked at Erika as if to divine the answer in her eyes.

Suddenly the sounds of a struggle reached his ears. Holmes looked into the dark as if to see what was happening inside. The dark stared back at him with concealed eyes. His blood ran cold when he heard Lestrade's voice cry for backup. Swallowing his own uncertainty, he dove into the shadows to help his partner.

Holmes ran through the darkness until he reached a moonlit portion of the tomb. The first thing he saw was Lestrade trying to fend off the Count. The two struggled, heedless of the masked men watching them from the walls. Stark white masks watched the dance with an intense interest, yet none moved to help the Yardie. A rage built up in Holmes. Pulling his cane out, he stalked towards the two combatants.

As the Count aimed his gun at Lestrade, a figure in black burst from the shadows and lunged for the Count. Holmes stood, frozen to the spot, as the Count tried to defend against the masked man. The two dodged and struck at each other in rage and hatred. The figure pulled out a cane, only it wasn't a cane but a sword. It slashed at the Count, who staggered back and aimed at the masked man, who lunged again.

Holmes yelled out; none of the players in front of him acknowledged his presence. The roar of the shot echoed through the crypt as the figure in black fell. Coldly, the Count aimed at the figure and shot it again. Holmes went to move but couldn't. Lestrade got up and went to attack the Count.

Holmes struggled against whatever forces held him as the Count took aim. He watched in horror as Lestrade met the same end. Holmes flinched as he watched the Count shoot her twice. The Count laughed wildly as he disappeared back into the shadows.

Suddenly, Holmes could move and he ran towards Lestrade. He knelt down next to her and tried to treat her wounds. He looked up at the other figure. Erika lay in a pool of her own blood. Holmes ached to help her but he couldn't leave his partner. Both women looked at him for help. Holmes was torn. He could only save one of them. He closed his eyes as he tried to decide.

When he opened his eyes again, Holmes stared at the cream ceiling of the hotel. It was a dream, a very bad but realistic dream. Holmes took a deep breath. Apparently he was feeling conflicted. He wanted to help Erika get free of the Count, but was he leaving Lestrade open to attack? Could he protect both ladies?

Slowly he sat up and looked over at Lestrade's bed. Lestrade was curled on her side and fast asleep. Holmes gave a small smile. At least he didn't wake her. Throwing the covers off, he got up and went through his daily morning routine.

Questions buzzed through his mind. He had been meaning to visit the cemetery since Lestrade's encounter there. Somehow, he would find the answer to something there. Maybe even encounter Erika, the real Erika, there and be able to question her a little easier. She might open up more, away from the club and the possible spies.

Shrugging on his Inverness, he left the hotel room. He might stop at the police station and see how far Leroux had gotten in his search for clues. In some ways, he liked showing up the police authorities. Sometime even Lestrade, although he was nowhere as annoying about it as he was with Grayson or the others. A few times Lestrade would even join him in the gloating, but she was usually a bit subtle about it and they didn't seem to mind it from her. Holmes shrugged; she was one of them, after all.

Lost in his thoughts, Holmes entered the isolated graveyard. He shuddered as he passed the tombstones that kept guard. He recalled his dream as he walked towards the Noir family crypt. He looked up at the nameplate and saw what Lestrade had meant by 'the cards' origin'.

It seemed Erika was trying to communicate with them without drawing suspicion to herself. But she also sent one to the Count. Did she want to taunt him with his failure to silence her? Holmes froze as he stood at the entrance. Was she possibly the murderer? Stepping into the darkness of the crypt, Holmes decided he would get his answers one way or other.

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Erika pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, concealing her long brown hair. Gently she tucked a few loose strands deeper in the safety of the hood. Content her hair was hidden from view, she wrapped an old red scarf around the bottom part of her face. Her fingers lovingly traced the heirloom that belonged to Christine Daae, her great-great-great-great grandmother. There was once a time she didn't have to hide her face. However after last night, she needed to be careful. The Count would not hesitate now that he knew for sure she was alive.

Nadir didn't want her out on the street at all. He was angry with her for openly challenging a man like the Count. The Phantom's reputation in the Underworld wasn't cemented yet. Enough people feared the De Chagnies still who would destroy her for him. Erika was of a different opinion. True, the Count was powerful in the Underworld, but his prestige paled next to Professor James Moriarty. Everyone knew he had designs on her, one way or another.

Erika smiled gently to herself. The Professor was a definite catch for her. He was intelligent, strong, and willing to fight back, when he remembered to. She knew he'd figured out her ruse in America and who she once was. Now he was trying to piece together her current situation. She truly hoped he got it before the final act.

Everything was tumbling together now. Leroux was sending in daily reports on the detectives. They were further along this time than they were in America. Erika didn't doubt their intelligence at all. In fact, she found them to be two of the few people she respected. An honor on its own, considering she didn't respect or trust many people since her father's death. It was hard when a man you trusted and respected turns a gun on you and tries to take away everything, including your life. Erika still didn't know why.

She stopped at a small flower cart. Everyone nowadays preferred the genetically altered flowers that bloomed longer and were twice as fragrant. However, Erika liked the original kinds. They were more natural to her. Her father preferred them too. He always bought them from the street sellers who couldn't afford the latest in botany. Erika continued the tradition when she could.

Deftly, she picked a white rose and an artificially dyed black one. She paid the seller with a generous tip. Erika walked away with a small wave and continued down the Rue Scribe to the cemetery. The dawn's light began to creep on to the sleepy street. High overhead, she could hear the sound of the hover cars.

She loved the peace of Paris in the morning. Erika smiled as she walked along. Even in her years of hiding beneath the Opera House, she would dream of this time of day. She almost had gone into hiding a second time when she was attacked in the club. Professor Moriarty had helped her and stopped her from running.

Standing outside the cemetery gate, Erika pressed her fingers to her lips. Never in her life had she felt such desperation to kiss someone, and enjoyed it. It thrilled her to know she could still be affected by a simple kiss. For so long she was afraid when the Count shot her that he indeed had hit her heart and killed any chance of a future romance. But that simple kiss proved it wrong. It was ironic that all her teasing and near-seduction didn't accomplish what that simple and desperate kiss proved. She felt awake for the first time since the Count's betrayal.

It scared her too. Pushing through the gate, it scared her that she felt something for the Professor. After all, he was a rival in the Underworld. He also wanted her to pay for spoiling his plans in America. Erika smirked; America had been great fun. Especially once she got under his skin. She enjoyed getting under his skin; it was refreshing to know she could disturb a man the way she seemed to disturb the Professor.

Erika was lost in her thoughts as she walked towards the crypt. She didn't notice that there were two figures following her. Each were unaware of the other as they followed the woman in the black cloak.

Moriarty had spotted her at the flower cart buying the roses. Mentally, he noted the types she bought. He knew it was her. Just her stance and the way she held herself was enough to tell. Deciding it was the perfect chance to truly catch her alone, Moriarty followed her to the cemetery.

As he followed her, he found he liked the way she walked naturally. She walked like a queen, unwillingly to give an inch unless she deemed it worthy. Moriarty licked his lips to moisten them. She would definitely be interesting to court if this were the old days. She would be one of the few females whom he could enjoy mentally and physically. Too bad she had to challenge him like she had in America. Although she seemed to have many talents, so he could be persuaded to let her join his gang after he killed the Phantom.

The Phantom was another man that Moriarty couldn't stand, like Holmes. He was an upstart that Moriarty longed to snuff out. If only he could find him and corner him, Moriarty would truly be content as he tortured the man. After all, he had Erika, probably in every way possible. Green was not Moriarty's favorite color but he was seeing lots of it when he thought about Erika with the Phantom.

Ruelle watched as Erika entered the graveyard. Who did the chit think she was fooling in that cloak? But she seemed to be on her own. Ruelle looked for her constant bodyguard but the Arab was absent. Ruelle grinned deviously; she was still a little fool. Ruelle stalked after her. She was giving him an all-too-perfect opportunity to finish what he started.

He didn't care what the Underworld was saying about Moriarty's interest in the chit. She was probably warming his bed for protection. Ruelle snorted; all the good that clonehead could do for her. Even now, she was out and about alone. No one was there to protect the girl from him. It was too perfect, too easy.

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Holmes walked around the dimly lit tomb. He felt as if he were trespassing in this resting place of the previous Phantoms. Yet he was now convinced that Erika was indeed a true blooded Noir who was a victim of the great feud. As he inspected the death dates, he noticed the wives of each Phantom had died long before their husbands. Was that part of the feud? That the Noir women died first? Even Christine Daae had died at the tender age of thirty-five, under strange circumstances. Holmes wondered how the de Chagny family's death dates lined up to these.

Holmes ran a finger along the newest marker. Erik Noir V was laid beside his wife. The man was murdered in cold blood, much like Raoul de Chagny. Did Erik know Raoul? Would he have wept over the boy's death? How many more lives would be taken in this fight?

Holmes dropped his hand and walked over to the eldest set. Erik Noir's name stared out at him. Holmes had followed the case closely during his first lifetime. He often hoped to talk to the mysterious genius that hid away from the world. However Fate had other ideas; all interest in the case suddenly stopped after Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny, died in a riding accident and Christine returned to the world of music. Philippe, the Count de Chagny, was outraged but kept it to himself when his rants fell on deaf ears. Holmes wondered if he blamed Christine for his brother's death. That would explain the early deaths of the Noir women.

Holmes froze as he heard the crypt door slowly creak open. He thought for a moment to stay where he was and meet Erika, or whoever was coming in, head-on. A part of him screamed out that she might not be happy to find him here and would get suspicious. That would mean she wouldn't be willing to talk to him about anything. Making a quick decision, Holmes dove into the shadows and behind a few wide pillars.

Erika entered the crypt silently out of respect for the people who were laid to rest there. After making sure it was safe, she pulled down the hood, revealing her hair and face. Loosening the scarf, her sad smile was revealed to the world. She gently walked to the eldest marker and repeated a prayer softly in French. Holmes smiled at how musical it sounded in her native tongue.

Erika curtsied to the original Phantom before moving to her father and mother's marker. She pulled out the roses and placed them on the shelf in front of the markers. Stepping back, her hand wiped the tears from her eyes. It was still very hard to imagine her gentle loving father gone.

"Bonjour, Papa." Erika smiled softly at the marker. "It has started. I know how much you wanted the fighting to end, but peace doesn't look like it is in our future. I know you never approved of the feud. But as long as there are de Chagnies and Noirs in Paris, it is our fate to strike at each other."

Erika took a deep breath and continued on. "Everything is happening so fast now. Nadir is very nervous because the Count is still a powerful figure in the criminal underworld. He is afraid that the Count will try to silence me like he did six years ago. But I'm not afraid, Papa. I'm tired of all the hiding so I'm taking a stand. I will end this whole farce. I promise you that much."

Holmes peeked around the corner. Erika took a moment to compose herself. That last statement came out like a growl. There was definitely bad blood here. Holmes almost stepped out to make himself known; then he felt another at the door of the crypt.

The Count's eye only saw the back of Erika's head; she was still looking at her father's marker. As the Count approached her, Erika's body stiffened as she finally sensed the intrusion. Holmes watched as her hand tightened around an object. Her blue eyes grew dark as she slowly turned and stared down the Count. Her cloak parted enough to reveal a black corset dress.

The Count smiled confidently, thinking they were alone. "Hello, Erika. You look ravishing this morning."

Erika growled darkly, "You already disgraced this place once with your presence."

"You can't still be bitter about that little incident. Not after all we shared -- and we could share it again."

"You are deluded if you think I would ever let you touch me again," Erika spat as she took a step back to keep space between them.

The Count chuckled quietly as Erika walked herself into a corner, "But you will, my dear. Things must be getting very hot for you right now with the great detective on your trail. I can call him off."

Erika slapped his hand away as he reached for her face. "Keep your hands to yourself. I don't deal with mongrels. Not matter how highbred they think they are."

"Feisty as ever." The Count grinned as he pinned her against the wall. "You were always very spirited in bed. It's my hope you still are."

Erika looked him in the eye and demanded, "It wasn't enough for you. You still tried to destroy me. Why, Ruelle?"

Ruelle smirked. "You were absolutely fascinating in every way a man wanted a woman to be fascinating, but you weren't marriage material. You were only worth being a mistress, and even that's being generous to a Noir woman."

Erika's eyes went very dark. A smile flitted across her lips before she kneed the Count in the groin. The Count immediately fell to his knees, giving Erika a chance to escape. Erika ran around him. She stopped to retrieve her red scarf that had fallen where she tried to get away the first time.

It proved to be a mistake. As soon as Erika picked it up, the Count grabbed her. Rage blazed in his eyes as he tightened his grip on her. Erika cried out in slight pain. She struggled against his hold, which made him grip even tighter. Erika looked up and saw Moriarty watching from the shadows. How much had he heard? The Count noticed her attention was wavering, so he twisted her arm viciously.

The Count grinned evilly at her pain-filled cry. "You never learned when I killed your father, did you? You should never ever cross me, you little whore. I know you are sleeping with the supposed Napoleon of Crime. But he can't protect you from me. You are just another conquest. Another chit to bed. You should have died like I wanted you too, then none of this would have happened. But you didn't. I won't say I would be against rolling with you again."

Erika gritted out, "I'll send you to hell myself, de Chagny."

The Count laughed loudly. "You can try. But I'll win in the end. I always do."

Holmes had had enough of this. Pulling out his cane, he formulated a plan of action. He needed the Count to let go of Erika. Holmes couldn't strike until Erika was safely out of harm's way. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out to try and get the drop on the Count.

Moriarty clenched his fists as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Jealousy rose quickly in him when he heard that Erika and the Count were lovers once. He flinched as he heard her painful cries and demands of release. Moriarty had enough. This man was going to pay for the insult to his reputation. He stepped out and walked purposefully towards the Count.

The Count looked up at the series of sounds. Sensing a fight was coming; he shoved Erika to the ground and took a fighting stance. Insanity gleamed in his brown eyes as he glanced between the two intruders. He licked his lips in anticipation.

Erika hit the stone floor with a thud. Indignity boiled up in her but she was also thankful that the Count had let her go. She turned to look up at him and shuddered at the look in his eyes. Feeling the strong urge to get away, Erika scrambled back until she was safely hidden in the shadows. She watched as both men lunged at the Count at the same time. The Count, sensing he was greatly outnumbered and outmatched, scrambled back. Both men rammed into each other and seemed shocked by the other's presence. The Count ran out of the crypt in that moment of distraction. Erika began to inch toward a darkened corner.

Both men stared at each other as if to assure themselves that the other was real. Once it clicked in their heads that the other was really there, they lunged for each other. A few minutes passed of the two men struggling with each other, trading blows.

Suddenly the sound of stone scraping against stone reached their ears. The two combatants separated and turned towards the sound. Holmes soon noticed that both the Count and Erika were gone. He turned to where Moriarty once was, to see that he too was gone.

Holmes stood in the tomb and took stock. It seemed that Erika and the Count were once very close. Holmes suppressed the urge to grimace at the thought of that relationship. Obviously the Count ended it in favor of a better match. He must have found Erika to be a liability, and since she was a Noir, he felt killing her was the best way to rid himself of it.

Holmes slowly walked to the door of the tomb. Lestrade would be up by now and wondering where he was. A smile flashed over his lips. She usually got frustrated when he went his own way. Maybe the knowledge he'd gathered would appease her enough to not seek revenge. But Holmes highly doubted it.