Prompt: Learning that Moriarty would come to have a large part to play in the same film.

A/N: I am not actually as bitter about these films as I sound. But they had been annoying me when I wrote these. And anyway, Moriarty's died enough.

"You did not seriously think you could get away with this, did you, Frankenstein?" asked Holmes cooly, as Watson leveled his pistol at the man's heart. "Your ideas are certainly... intriguing, I confess, but grave robbing is frowned upon in these parts. And when I got wind of your plan to use your creation to further crime in this city, I decided it was high time someone put a stop to it."

"You're too late," said the Doctor, grinning madly. "You cannot stop us now."

Watson's instincts prodded him sharply, and his eyes narrowed, his hand growing slick with a sudden sweat around the firearm.

"I believe we already have," said Holmes, as calmly as ever. "The police are on their way, and I'm afraid they do not look kindly on this sort of thing."

"Oh no, Holmes," said Frankenstein, shaking his head. "No, I'm afraid you're mistaken. You cannot stop us. Even as we speak, your doom approaches. You may be clever, but there are those cleverer than you."

Holmes raised an eyebrow, outwardly emotionless as always, though he was sligltly unnerved at this statement. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"Oh, gladly," said the Doctor, still grinning. "Though I feel it rather unnecessary--I don't believe you can have forgotten him."

Watson felt a chill envelope his body, and he stared at his friend, as though hoping for validation that all that Frankenstein had implied was impossible--surely, surely it was impossible...

Holmes had gone very white. "The brain..." he breathed, as though afraid speaking it aloud would make it come true.

"Oh yes, Holmes. The brain." Frankenstein backed up to the door behind him and threw it open. "Gentlemen, I believe you have met before."

The body was different, of course, but it was him. Holmes had never forgotten the cold hatred in those eyes.

"Good evening, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Professor James Moriarty.

Outside, lightning cracked across the sky. Heavy clouds rolled in, bringing with them a torrential downpour.

It was a dark and stormy night.

~~~~~~~~~
AND ANOTHER!
~~~~~~~~~

Prompt: Learning who Holmes' love interest was going to be played by in the coming RDJ film, and being in a bitter mood.

"Did you really think you could escape me, Moriarty?" Holmes shouted across the rooftop through the dark and stormy night. "I said I would find you--I swore it. You have wronged the best woman who has ever lived, and I'll see you hang for it!"

"My, my," sneered the professor. "It seems Sherlock Holmes has finally fallen in love. How romantic."

Holmes said nothing, but glared through the rain, gun still trained on his nemesis.

Moriarty's brow furrowed. "Wait a minute--you mean you actually are in love with her?" he said incredulously. He looked over at Watson. "He isn't, is he?"

Watson shrugged ruefully. "We don't know why either. It's just another case of misinterpreting the canon, I suppose."

"Oh dear," sighed the professor, shaking his head. "It just gets worse and worse, doesn't it?"

"Tell me about it," said Holmes, glaring. "Being forced into an ambiguous relationship with someone is bad enough, but sequels?"

"Ah yes, the sequels. Unfortunate, that." Moriarty grimaced. "You would think there is only so much that can happen--one of us wins, one of us loses. It can't just drag on like this."

"Tell that to the director," grumbled Watson, rolling his eyes. "One more midnight chase across soggy rooftops..."

"Ah, well. Nothing we can do, I suppose." Moriarty shrugged, then resumed his previous pose, putting his evil grin back on. The dramatic music reached a crecendo. "You cannot take me, Holmes!" he said, in his Evil Maniac voice. "Try as you might, I will always outwit you!"

"Not this time!" shouted Holmes, resuming his Dashing Hero pose. "You cannot get away. Surrender now!"

"I shall never surrender!"

"You would do well to listen to me, Moriarty! It will be the better for you to give in!"

"No no no, you misunderstand," Moriarty pointed out. "I can't surrender. The sequels are depending on me to still be at large, remember?"

"Oh, of course," Holmes groaned. "And that's why I can't resolve this whole blasted question of whether or not my love interest will spurn me or if we'll ride off into the sunset together. Confound it!" He turned away, waving a hand absently at the professor. "Oh, all right, bugger off."

"I suppose I'll see you in the sequel," said Moriarty, preparing to Disappear Dramatically into the Fog.

"Until then," said Watson.

"Very well." Moriarty swished his cloak, then Disappeared Dramatically into the Fog.

Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is absurd. The whole thing is absurd. Our names are being dragged through the mud. What will everyone think of us now? The action hero, his sidekick, his love interest, his nemesis?"

"Oh, cheer up, Holmes," said Watson, putting a companionable hand on Holmes' shoulder. "We still have some true followers, and I don't doubt that they're as angry as you are. The sarcastic fanfiction has been pouring in."

They clambered down off the rooftop, now wishing they had been allowed to chase their nemesis in drier weather, while Moriarty slunk around London waiting for the sequel to come around.

Below them, a man named Arthur Conan Doyle spun like a top in his grave.