John woke up with the side of the bed that Sherlock had occupied fairly warm still. He looked over and saw Sherlock occupied while looking at pictures most likely from the crime scene. The man was so occupied that he didn't even look up when John rose and left the room. John went upstairs to get some clothes for the day and discovered Moriarty wasn't there, so he was most likely downstairs somewhere.

Going downstairs, he wasn't really surprised to see Moriarty sitting at the kitchen table. He was, though, surprised when Moriarty looked up, a calm expression on his face.

"You're out of milk. Sorry." John doubted the man really was sorry and was tremendously curious as to what had possessed him to say such a thing. Probably trying to act friendly after what had occurred between them. Nice try.

"Okay, I'll get some. If Sherlock gets up, don't tell him I went off to die." John remarked and Moriarty's face split into a shit-eating grin and John realized he probably shouldn't have asked that of a psycho. Way to go John...

John booked it to his coat, as quick as he could without showing too much gratitude towards not having to sit with Moriarty, and went out the door. Moriarty waited until he heard John's steps on the stairs before he rose and went to the window. He watched the doctor walk down the street with a purpose, his coat pulled tight around him due to the cold.

Immediately after knowing John was gone for a while yet, he turned on his heel and stalked to Sherlock's door. If he could get such a strange reaction from John without an explanation, such as that he wasn't gay, maybe he'd be able to get something from Sherlock.

He didn't knock, but rather opened the door and peered in. Sherlock was sitting on a chair, staring at a bunch of pictures of dead women, most likely those Moriarty was being framed for. He stood for a while, wondering if Sherlock would notice, as usual, someone was there. After a good, solid five minutes, Sherlock had barely made a move.

Creeped out, Moriarty walked into the room and his eyebrows drew together as he realized that yes, Sherlock was not only still awake but breathing. His face was screwed up in thought as he looked at the pictures, his hands clasped in front of his face, fingers touching his lips gently.

Interested, Moriarty slipped behind Sherlock and looked at the pictures. The murders were sloppy, which he knew Sherlock could see. There was no way anyone should think Moriarty had done them. It wasn't clean enough. Besides, he had to just look at the photographs to know their links. So why was Sherlock so intently staring at the photos? Trying to find out who would do this, blaming Moriarty.

He slowly pushed his hands forward, making sure to calculate the correct pressure that John would do. Given the fact that both men had been in this room last night, he desired to find out how special their relationship really was. Sherlock's shoulders ever so slightly shifted and he made a noise. Smiling, Moriarty pressed up gently against the mans back, breathing on the back of his neck.

"John, i'm busy..." Sherlock started but then stopped, flinching so hard Moriarty pulled back quick as lightning. Sherlock spun and rose, scattering photos along the floor. His eyes flashed furry. "Moriarty..."

"Spare me whatever you were to say. Are you and John really..." He smiled, implying the reaction he'd received by touching Sherlock.

"John and I are friends, strictly so. At times, he uses strange methods to pull me out of thought. He's touched me around the waist before. He wanted to make sure I didn't hit him when I fazed back. What you saw has actually happened, only John claims I struck him once." Sherlock explained calmly, as if it were the honest-to-god truth. Moriarty, sad to say, couldn't figure out if it was a truth or lies. Sherlock was almost impossible to read currently, for some reason. Other times, he was see-through. Sometimes, he was a solid wall.

"Do friends sleep over in each others' beds?"

"Only if there's a psycho murderer in one of their beds." Sherlock's eyes burrowed into Moriarty who would have been less than stupid to not catch the implication. Moriarty couldn't honestly say if the man was telling the truth or not. Yet why did he have reason to lie? Moriarty already knew that he had to go for John if he wanted to phase Sherlock. Why would acting as if them being a couple make it worse for them?

Accepting the possibility that they were honestly just really close friends, Moriarty dropped the subject and looked at the pictures.

"The murders are sloppy." He commented matter-of-factly. Sherlock nodded.

"I can't seem to figure out who would want to blame you for such work. You've never been sloppy. They can't possibly think it'd work."

"Had it been? With the police I mean?"

"Some think so but not all of them. They seem to have taken my word for it that you aren't responsible, though I haven't pushed the issue. No point in it if there are no other leads to go on."

"What leads do you have?"

"John seems to think they're related due to their dyed hair, fake nails, and tans." Sherlock eyed Moriarty, wondering what he'd say to this. A wide grin spread across Moriarty's face.

"He completely missed it, didn't he?"

"I wouldn't expect him to notice it, since the detail is so small." Sherlock smiled. The two men, their minds constantly running wild and crazy, shared a knowing smile as the pictures Sherlock was looking at suddenly seemed so obvious and Sherlock felt, honestly, like he wasn't the only intelligent man.

It was a warm feeling. Moriarty's smile softened as he picked the pictures off the floor and spread them out. The two men immediately pointed out in each picture what drew the killers to them. They together answered the "Why?" The only question now was who.

When John got back, the two men were in the living room, staring at the wall where pictures and strings mapped out the murders and times and they were talking so fast at each other that John couldn't understand a word. Neither noticed of his existence so he went to the kitchen with the milk and made tea as well as something for breakfast. He'd been gone under an hour. Curiously, he was dreadfully worried as to what had transpired while he'd been out.

By the time he had finished and cleaned up after himself, both men had quieted and when John peaked around the corner he saw them bent over paper, each with a pen writing furiously at each other. John didn't know exactly how to handle this. Having two of them was going to be difficult to deal with. Maybe he should go see if Mrs. Hudson needed anything...

"John!" Sherlock cried suddenly and John flinched, looking at the man as he held a hand out. "I asked for a map?"

John frowned, confused. Then he rolled his eyes and sighed, going in search of a map. Of course Sherlock had asked for one. Probably a while ago while he'd been out. Who knew?

Handing him the map, Sherlock snatched John's hand and looked up with a smile that almost melted John on the spot. Moriarty glanced up, frowning ever so slightly before bending his head back down to the work. John felt his cheeks flush and Sherlock smiled wider, knowing he'd borderline embarrassed his blogger.

"Thank you," Sherlock said and John nodded, taking a step back and Sherlock let him go and bent back to the work.

John stood a moment before turning. He paused, looked back for a second look. Something about the first victim caught his eye.

"I know that." John murmured to himself. Both geniuses paused, looking up at him. John reddened but leaned down, pointing at a spot just behind her left ear. The picture showed a tattoo, just barely. The tattoo was of a crescent moon and a sun mingling with each other.

"Where do you know it from?" Sherlock asked, intensity in his eyes.

"One of the women in the crowd... while you were looking over the second body that was found. She was one of the people behind the tape. Lestrade had questioned her but I felt like I needed to ask a few questions of my own. She had the tattoo in the same spot."

Both men looked at one another, smiles lighting up their faces.