Hallo you beautiful readers! First off, I would like to thank anyone who favourited/followed/reviewed me or this fic. You're rawr-some. Secondly, I would like to mention that there will be a prequel to this called 'Tricks of the Trade', but more will be said about this at the end. For now, enjoy the Sheriarty goodness ;D


Disclaimer: DeiDei still does not own Sherlock, nor any of the characters. It will probably stay this way for quite a while..


Chapter Two;

A constant and irritating ringing broke Sherlock from his light sleep. Squinting his eyes, he turned to glare at the ofending object, his mobile phone resting on the bedside unit. A bedside unit that was decisively not his, but recognised from the previous evening. He was still in Moriarty's apartment, in his bed, with what he presumed [hoped] was James' arm wrapped around his slender waist. Turning his head, his thoughts were happily confirmed, as the psychopath was snuggling deeply into his bare shoulder, a contented smile on his lips. Sherlock almost felt guilty for having to leave, but obviously it was necessary and James knew that.

Reaching out a thin arm, his long fingers grasped at the mobile, taking a few moments to blink the sleep out of his eyes. Glancing nonchalantly at the time, his eyesbrows raised quite swiftly. It was almost 10am! No wonder he felt drowsy. But then again, the bed was warm and the body beside him was just so comfortable.. He was about to slink back down into the covers again when his phone bleeped and buzzed in his hand, showing yet another message. Groaning softly, he unlocked it.

17 missed calls

12 new messages

'Well' he thought 'That was to be expected'. Reluctantly, he dragged himself lethargically from the criminal mastermind's arms, pulling his tight muscles into a seated position. Hearing the other grumble slightly behind him, probably from the loss of both warmth and a 'pillow', he glanced back at James. Laying back against the silken sheets, Moriarty was blinking heavily as he was welcomed back to the waking world. Sherlock smiled lightly as he watched him yawn widely, like a small child from a nap. As adorable as the psychopath may appear at that moment, the detective realised he should probably check his messages before something dramatic occurs, like his brother barging through the door. Or rather, Mycroft sending others to barge through the door. Out of the twelve text messages, ten were from John and two were from Lestrade. Good. They hadn't got 'the british government' involved yet. Sighing quietly, he figured he should probably get it over and done with.

Sherlock? Where are you? -JW

Have we got a case? -JW

You could at least text back -JW

Fine. Be that way. -JW

I won't be there to get you out of it this time -JW

Could've at least left a note -JW

We're out of milk again, if you feel like getting some -JW

Getting a bit worried now. -JW

Sherlock? -JW

Answer me or I'm phoning Lestrade. -JW

Sherlock? John asked me to text you. Give him a ring or something mate -GL

I'm giving you an hour to call John before we trace your phone, Sherlock. -GL

Heaving a heavier sigh, the sociopath checked his missed calls. Every one was from John, ranging between three and ten minutes apart. The last text had been almost twenty minutes ago, at 10:02 meaning he should probably text his flat mate to let him know he hadn't been kidnapped or something. Pulling up the text screen, he was barely startled by the feeling against his shoulder.

"You're not going to tell them, are you?" It was more of a statement than a question and both of the rooms occupants knew that. And yet, Sherlock answered anyway, after quickly sending John an 'all okay' message.

"Of course not. Not yet, at least."

Most would be dissapointed by this answer. Some would feel angry or ashamed, but James didn't. He understood the reason behind it. After all, he wasn't exactly the most favourable person in the world. He was the reason for the paper scandal. He was why Johnny boy thought his flatmate had topped himself. He was the reason why Shirly had spent two years hiding out with Miss Adler, not that he was complaining. Although, there was also something else. Moriarty would see the fun in what others saw as madness, treating every aspect of life as a game, one he intended to win. That's all this would be. A game. A very seductive and pleasurable game but a game none the less. Not only a game, but a secret.

Jim was knocked from his thoughts by a soft chime sound and an aggravated grunt from his current cushion. A response then, from his blogger.

Where are you? I've been worried sick! -JW

Out. -SH

Doing what? -JW

For a moment, the detective thought. Barely a second, but a suitable solution was formed. It wasn't exactly a lie but it wasn't the truth either. It was something in between. His lips twitched slightly as he felt smooth fingers stroking along his shoulder, filed nailed tracing over his collar bones. It made him sigh in satisfaction to feel the warm body pressed lightly against his back, to feel anothers soft skin touching his own. He could feel as James' heart beat faster in his chest, the blood rushing through his veins and flushing his skin. He could feel as the heat in his own body intensified, burning pleasantly throughout him and make his own heart race in time with its partner. Whilst he still had some self control, he sent a quick text to John, one he knew would recieve no argument or further questions. The thing his flatmate knew very well what would result from interuption. Throwing the mobile none too softly back onto the bed covers, Sherlock dived onto the shorter man, pinning him to the bed and drawing out a quiet chuckle.

Experiment -SH


It was almost two hours later when Sherlock came thundering through the door to 221B. Not that he was angry, rather that he was one to add a dramatic flourish to everything that he did. He was once again wearing his mask and left no clue to where he had been during his absense. As per usual, as soon as he entered the room, he slumped down upon the sofa, ciolin in hand, coat and scarf abandoned beside the door he had just crashed through. All this happened so swiftly that John barely had time to comprehend the detectives return before he was sat nearby, eyes glaring off into the distance as he locked himself away in his mind palace. Although he knew it was probably pointless, John still felt the need to ask the question that had been playing on his mind since he had woken that morning to an empty flat.

"So, feel like telling me what you were doing?"

For about ten minutes the room was in silence. before the doctor concluded that he had been accidentaly ignored, again, and left to make them some tea. It was almost 1pm when the genius removed himself from his mind and answered Johns question. Leaning back and staring at the teacup as though confused to how it got there, he tried to answer as nonchalently as possible.

"I told you. It was an experiment."

Being used to such extended responses, Watsons own answer was quick off the mark.

"About?"

"Nothing important John. You probably wouldn't understand anyway." And with that, his eyes glazed over and the conversation was ended before the doctor could take offense.

'Maybe' he thought 'he hasn't really changed that much at all'


John was busying himself in the kitchen when the deep voice echoed from the living room, giving him a bit of a fright as he tried to determine the difference between leftover stew and blended innards.

"How was your date?"

It wasn't so much the suddeness of the voice that startled him, but more the pure... un-Sherlockness of the question. After all these years, the man continued to confuse him. Quickly pottering over to the doorway, he stared at the detective, who seemingly had not moved a muscle since the bathroom almost an hour ago. The TV buzzed in the background but he really didn't pay it much attention. Something about an angel saving a guy from Hell or something like that. Instead, he focussed on Sherlock as his eyes shifted to lock on his own, blinking heavily from the lack of moisture.

"What?"

"I said How was you date? Really John, keep up."

"Yes, I know you said that. It's just.. Never mind. It was fine. Great, even. Going well.."

John had never felt more awkward and embarrassed than he did in that moment. He had never discussed his dates before, really. Especially in front of a genius sociopath who probably wouldn't know romance if it slapped him in the face.

"Brilliant. Will you be going out again? That's what people do, isn't it?"

"Uh.. Yeah? Next week like usual Sherlock. Why are you asking?"

"Oh, no reason.."

Unbeknownst to John, Sherlocks lithe fingers tapped at the keys to his mobile and a brief smile flitted across his face as he checked his messages.

Same time again next week? -JM

His attention flicked back to the doctor, giddily sending the response but hiding it well. His teacup was hovering gently beside his lips as he made a vague attempt at continuing their conversation. Irene had taught him manners aswell, and he would see they were put to good use. Even if his mind was currently preoccupied elsewhere..

"That's uh.. that's great John. Really, really... Good."


AUTHORS NOTE: Guys, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter but I've got a bit of bad news. I probably won't be able to post anything for the next two weeks as I am going on a week long university residential in London next Tuesday and won't have access to FF. This means I won't be updating anything unless I manage to write something by Monday evening. I am also sorry for my failed attempts at writing John. I find it really hard to write his character actually IN character, so I hope it wasn't too bad...

However, on the brighter side, I can confirm that there will be a prequel to this story, showing my views on what happened when Sherlock faked his death but this has blown up into a monstrous multi-chapter fic that is never likely to happen but you can enjoy it anyway.

Prequel Summary:

"Tricks of the Trade" - We all know that Sherlock faked his death, but what we don't know is how? And what exactly did the detective do during those two years away? Spending time with a certain Dominatrix and learning how to 'really' use that riding crop is not what we would have expected.. But then again, when has Sherlock Holmes ever been normal? WARNING: Contains sex, nudity, swearing and may result in nosebleeds.

So, basically, Sherlock hides out with Irene. She teaches him her 'tricks' whilst he teaches her tips on deducing people. Not Sherlock/Irene [Sherene?] but more of a.. friends with benefits kind of thing. Tell me what you think :D

PS, some of the things Miss Adler teaches him get used later in this story ;)