This chapter was ridiculous to write. I'm not as happy with it as I'd hoped since I got a writers block trying to start the chapter. And Sherlock is a much more difficult character to work with then Moriarty is...
Still, enjoy.
Criticism is greatly appreciated.

PART 3

The area around Angel Station was bustling with people going about their lives, on their way to lunch from work or off to meet friends. Normal people, living their normal, boring lives. Pulling his coat closer to him to guard himself from the bitter wind that was whipping around the area, Sherlock made his way through the crowds, eyes darting around for anything that seemed out of place. Anything that Moriarty could have set up at the tube station…

There was a couple nearby snuggled together from the wind, clearly a married man and his mistress from what Sherlock could tell…He had the haggard look of one in a particularly long and tedious marriage and the way he was clutching the much younger woman…Well, it wasn't how one would cling to a daughter or his current wife…

A group of teens emerged from the entrance to the underground; knocking into the couple slightly as they passed…the Detective was certain the gent would discover his wallet missing shortly…Pocketed by the teen with the blue cap…

All this going on and still Sherlock couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary. Just average people and average lives.

Until he spotted the suit. The all too familiar £600 Westwood suited figure cutting its way through the crowd towards him. James Moriarty.

Sherlock watched him, tight lipped, as the criminal made his way through to him with a grin on his face.

"You came!" He said, beaming at the detective. "Not that I had any doubt you would of course… I do know you quit well, if I do say so myself!" Jim was level with Sherlock now, not stopping in his walk as he placed his hand in the small of Sherlock's back to guide him back towards the direction he came from. "Let's go for a little walk, shall we?"

Without a word, Sherlock followed Moriarty's lead. Walking in step next to the criminal as they slowly emerged from the hectic crowd into the far calmer shoppers further down the street. It was still busy though, still too busy for Moriarty to attempt any sort of open battle of sorts with Sherlock. So perhaps this was more of a test of wits then a scheme in this grand plan of his…

"I figured this would be a fitting place for us meet again…" Moriarty continued. "Angel Station… You always do seem to be on the side of the angels, very unlike myself in that regard…" He pulled a slight face at the idea of this. "Very boring on that side, I imagine… No spontaneity, no recklessness… No, little pleasures." His eyes flicked up to Sherlock's face as he spoke, still steering him through the people.

Sherlock's brow knotted into a very slight frown as the pair walked, where was Jim going with this…? "So you brought me out to this place merely to make small talk about the differences in our life choices?" He chided, keeping his voice in the same single tone he always managed to speak in. "Or is there another reason you wish to waste my time?"

A laugh. "My, my…You really aren't one for pillow talk now, are you, my dear Sherlock?" Moriarty's eye's sparkled with glee as he eyed Sherlock's face. "You say that I'm wasting your time here and yet here you are…still walking along side me and listening to me talk. I daresay that if you had already lost interest in this situation, you would already be long gone."

The detective didn't say anything in response, he was correct of course. If Sherlock didn't want to be there any more, he wouldn't be. But as usual, there was just…something about Moriarty that kept Sherlock intrigued. Something that neither man could really name, this strange almost morbid fascination the pair had with each other.

"Dull isn't it?" Using his free hand to gesture at the nearby market venders and patrons, Jim pulled a face of contempt at them before his smile returned once more. "Still, at least we have each other, you and I, to wile the days away…" He slipped a hand into his inside jacket pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes and flipping the pack open with his thumb and pulling one out using his lips. "You don't mind of course?"

Sherlock swallowed, ever so slightly at the sight of the cigarettes. How long had it been since he'd last had a cigarette…A proper burst of nicotine rather than just the small, pathetic hits the patches plastered to his arms gave him. A quick shake of the head indicated for Moriarty to go ahead and pull out the lighter, sparking the flame into life as he used his other hand to shield it from the wind. Thin blue eyes stayed glued to the end of the cigarette, watching the Tabaco and paper catching alight. Jim took a long drag on it, savoring the flavour before breathing the smoke out into the air.

The detective breathed in, heavier than he had previously; catching the hint of flavour he had so missed these past few years. The corners of Moriarty's eyes crinkled ever so slightly. Thus began the real game.

"I am sorry!" He exclaimed, pulling the packet back out from his pocket. "I'm being rude aren't I?" The packet lid opened as he extended it towards Sherlock. The taller man hesitated, and then plucked one of the cigarettes from the packet, swiftly examining it. This was all too…normal… It was beginning to unnerve him. Why was everything about this meeting normal? He couldn't pick up on any trace of poison or tampering on the cigarette, it was just….normal.

He slipped the butt of the cigarette in between his lips as Moriarty lifted the lighter up to the tip of it, his eyes glued to Sherlock's as he the flame sparked back up between the pair of them burning and igniting the Tabaco.

Breathing in the smoke heavily, Sherlock's eyes widened, staring directly at Jim as he opened his mouth the cigarette falling unceremoniously to the floor as he coughed up the smoke currently seeping into his lungs.

"What have you done?" He bit out quietly, covering his mouth as he choked. The flavour was wrong. All wrong. There was something else mixed in…Something that was at this moment attacking his immune system. He could feel it working its way through him as his head began to swim.

An arm encircled his waist, pulling Sherlock's own over a shoulder as Moriarty dialed a number into his phone. "Oh nothing much…Just a potent sedative… I had that packet made especially for you...Sleep well darling."

As darkness fell for Sherlock Holmes, he saw a black car coming along the road towards them and pulling up nearby. Struggling against Moriarty's steps, he felt himself sag against the criminal. A dead weight, unconscious to the world.