"What did she want?" John asked when Sherlock came back late this evening.

"She talked," he said and sat down his friend's laptop to check the latest updates on his website.

"About what?"

"Moriarty."

"He's dead."

"She believes not."

"And you believe her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because she died telling me. I called Lestrade, he has probably found the crime scene by now."

"My God, Sherlock," John muttered stunned. Did he have any feelings. "What are we going to do now? If Moriarty faked his death, he's probably after you right now."

"He is, but not to kill me. That's what The Woman said," Sherlock answered and shut off the computer. "Good night, John," he said and left to his bed room. Shaking his head, Watson went to sleep as well.

But as soon as Sherlock was sure that his friend was sleeping, he got dressed again and sneaked out of the flat, not stepping on the stair which made this loud noise. He walked out and tore his scarf tighter. Where was he supposed to go? What did Moriarty expect from him? Go to the place they met last, or the place they met first.

Sherlock decided for the latter and started walking to the swimming pool. He wasn't surprised when he noticed that it wasn't locked and he entered the big hall with the pool itself. He waited a few minutes and already thought that he was at the wrong place.

"Sherlock…how good we meet again," a voice behind him said and he turned around.

"How?" he asked suspiciously.

"How I faked my death? How did you fake yours?"

"That was easy with the right help. But you shot into your own head, in front of me."

"A man only sees, what a man wants to see. Don't feel insulted that I tricked you, Sherlock. But you wished me dead so much," his greatest archenemy said and came closer. He was a few inches taller than Moriarty and looked down on him. What stopped him from killing him right now?

"What do you want?" the detective wanted to know.

"We both died, we both resurrected. It's boring, isn't it?"

"I could kill you now, would it still be boring?"

Moriarty smiled shortly. "Wouldn't it be so much greater if we worked together. We wouldn't fight against each other anymore, we wouldn't die."

"Other people would die…but that's what people do, isn't it?"

"You already understand me, Sherlock. And you're the only one who does. So tell me, how do you feel about me?" he asked and even came closer to his face, standing on his tiptoes right now.

"I…don't know," Sherlock admitted. His nemesis was right. They were alone, nobody could understand them. Only Moriarty really understood playing and challenging Sherlock. And being on the side of the angels, as he had paraphrased it, it was so boring…

Without hesitating now, Moriarty bent forward and pulled Sherlock's head closer to his until their lips touched. Sherlock didn't try to get away. He hasn't done this in ages, and it felt so good. He walked forward, still his mouth nearly eating Moriarty's and finally pushed him against the wall.

"How do we explain anybody?" Moriarty asked when he could breathe again.

"We don't," Sherlock whispered into his ear and arm in arm, still kissing, they walked out of the swimming pool and into a dark, undiscovered future…

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