Sherlock stared out the window of the living room, counting the visible constellations in case any extra-terrestrial life forms had killed off a star or two in order to make contact with the human race. He sighed, an overly exhausted and an I miss John, why am I so stupid, why was I such a dick sigh. He was so bored, he was almost relieved when his phone rang and he had to make physical sacrifices to fetch it from his coat. He pulled the gadget from his trench coat pocket, expecting a thousand texts from concerning Sherlock's absurd behaviour that night. But instead there was only one?
COME JOIN JOHN AND I WE'RE HAVING A BLAST, WELL AT LEAST I AM, HE'S JUST KINDA SCREAMING.
DULL.
I'M SURE YOU'RE LOADS MORE FUN! MEET US AT THE ABANDONNED SWEET FACTORY THREE STREETS FROM ST BARTS.
I WANT TO PLAY A GAME. – JM
Sherlock cursed under his breath. He couldn't take backup. He knew Moriarty all too well. If Sherlock turned up with anything more than himself, Moriarty would shoot John on the spot.
He hung his coat on the couch chair, it would only slow him down, and his gun he hid in the most concealable pocket in his suit though he knew Moriarty would see right through and there would snipers on his every angle. He knew what to expect from this man, Moriarty liked to challenge himself with finding the most ridiculous and brilliant ways to fuck with people on a daily basis.
He picked up his phone, and after confirming his arrival with his enemy, grabbed a biscut from the kitchen table and left the flat casually.
THE GAME IS ON- SH