And here we are folks! The exit of Houdini and the enter of the true plot! Hello John... finally! Thanks for reading up until this point, this is where it starts getting good! For your information, I created this story as a prequel to a story I have in the works, 'Unburied'. This will feature a lot of BAMF John. A lot. Yup. So, read on, dear readers, and leave crit. I love the crit.

Chapter 6:

The boy's head lolled backward, his eyes never leaving Moriarty's.

Well Damn. Why didn't I see this sooner?

"All the evidence was pointing in this direction. I'm surprised you didn't put it together sooner. I'm a bit disappointed to be honest," Erik said, picking at his fingernails nonchalantly.

Moriarty was paralyzed. He could hit his head against a wall right now. How could he have not seen it? Sure, the boy was a little younger than expected, but age doesn't necessarily matter. You don't have to be old to be ruthless.

His mind ran through all the events leading up to this point.

…had one fingerless glove covering his left hand…

…What kind of urchin picks the name Erik for himself? There must be some significance…

"A magician never reveals his secrets Mr. Moriarty…"

The boy had practically given it away with that last hint. A magician never reveals his secrets? That practically screamed double meaning. But, what was the past is in the past. Since he happened to have the leader of a prominent crime syndicate at his mercy, might as well ask a few questions.

"Houdini," Jim said, grinning as he said the name. It fit the boy well. "The shadowy leader of an underground crime organization. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He cocked his head to the side and let his words lilt on their own accord. The boy sighed dramatically.

"On business, I'm afraid," he lamented. He moved his head to the side so that his neck cracked. His eyes turned hard. "Here to discuss something on behalf of all of the Homeless Network." His lip curled upwards, all traces of mischief vanished. He had had his fun, now it was time to get his point.

"Oh?" Jim asked. He didn't know that the crime network was intertwined with Holmes's Homeless Network, and he doubted Sherlock did either. It had the sense of being very covert.

"We're not very happy Mr. Moriarty. Not happy at all. Since you began your pathetic cat and mouse game with Sherlock Holmes, you've been disrupting many of our own operations. Why, that last explosion during the Great Game you two play? It killed a lot more people than mentioned on the news," he said angrily. "A great many more people. We had to cover things up for weeks. Assassins, higher ups, family. Dead, Mr. Moriarty. Millions of quid in valuable assets. Just because you're bored." He spat.

"You're not the only criminal network on the board!" Moriarty roared, suddenly furious. "I could crush you. I could crush you so fast that you wouldn't even know what hit you."

"It seems as though you underestimate the extent of our operations." Erik said calmly.

"It seems as though you underestimate mine." There was tense silence for a moment. "Erik." The boy's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. "What's to stop me from killing you right now?" he purred, fingering the knife in his hands deftly. He touched Erik's shoulder with it, the point digging lightly into his shirt. Erik stared straight ahead, not even looking slightly scared.

"It seems as though you underestimate the extent of our operations," he said again cryptically. With alarming accuracy, Moriarty's knife slashed down towards Erik's left hand, shredding the glove that covered it. The covering faded away, revealing a truly alarming sight. The boy's hand looked as though it had been stuck in a fire. The skin was pink and shiny, and a couple of knuckles were crushed. As soon as it was revealed, Erik snatched his hand away. Jim only got a quick look at it, but it was enough.
It was a lot worse than even the most terrible rumors. The one Houdini didn't manage to escape from unscathed. Mycroft Holmes.

"You go too far," Houdini hissed, his face going cold. His hands flew up under his shirt, coming back with two knives. He leaned down and cut away the bindings on his legs and jumped up quickly. It all happened in seconds; Jim barely registered what was going on. Erik grabbed his knife hand and twisted it, causing him to drop the weapon. His surprisingly strong arms crossed over his windpipe, not tight enough to choke him, but enough to make it uncomfortable. The edge of one of Erik's knives pressed lightly into his throat.

"Nothing's stopping me from calling in some thugs to pound you, you know," Jim said, seemingly unaffected. He shifted slightly, testing his boundaries. Erik gave no leeway, but didn't tighten either.

"Listen Moriarty," he growled, dropping honorifics. "I could easily snap your neck. You certainly deserve it. But I won't. It's rude." He sneered and let go of the Irishman slowly, slinking back to the chair and sitting down as though nothing happened. He looked at Moriarty expectantly. Jim indulged him.

"Well, what happened there?" he gestured towards the teen's mutilated hand.

"Mycroft Holmes happened. I had to cover a lot of loose ends after my employees died in that damn explosion of yours… and I attracted some rather unwanted attention." Jim's eyes narrowed.

"I'm pretty sure that's not legal." He didn't really care about legality, but he was curious.

"That man," he spat, "is practically the British government. He can get away with some questionable interrogations." He sniffed arrogantly. "My network eventually found him though and got me out… but not before some rather unfortunate damage to my hand."

"So, you went through all this trouble just to warn me not to interfere anymore?" Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm not impressed." Erik smiled wanly.

"Despite our rough start Jim, I'm not your enemy. I had to go through hell working with Mycroft's arrogant prat of a brother. It was really hard not to kill him, honestly."

"But you didn't…"

"Because I honor other people's claims Mr. Moriarty." Houdini's eyes were dancing again. "He's your adversary." His mouth quirked up into a half smile.

"I appreciate it… Erik," Jim said slowly.

"Besides, I have a pretty big tie to your organization. Do you know how many people I've directed here to work for you? Criminals and homeless genius that came to me for a fresh start… I sent them over to you." Jim frowned.

"How many?"

"Enough." Jim contemplated this and decided it didn't matter.

"So, if not just to tell me to back off, what business do you have in my humble abode?" the consulting criminal asked while walking away from Erik. He grabbed a chair from a corner and set up opposite of the boy, sitting down gracefully.

"I really do respect your work Mr. Moriarty," he said, his brow crinkling in concentration. "So I came to give you some advice."

"Shoot," Jim said, easing back into his chair casually.

"Mr. Holmes," Erik licked his lips, "I mean the younger one... Sherlock...you were too quick to overlook his partner."

"The doctor?"

"Precisely." Houdini moved to the edge of his seat, exactly the opposite of the way Moriarty was sitting. His knee was bouncing with excitement, in fact, his whole person radiated it. "Among other occupations, of course." He had a sly look on his face.

"Explain."

"Well, he's not what he appears to be," he said enigmatically.

"Just spit it out," Jim snarled. He was growing impatient.

"John Watson, that sly dog," Erik cackled, "used to be just... like... you... and … me." Nothing changed in Moriarty's position, but Erik was pleased to see there was an interested gleam in the Irishman's eyes. "I suspect he still is, actually. It's just buried."

"Supposing this was true," Moriarty said casually, leaning forward a fraction. "How would you know?"

"He was a freelance assassin, very learned in many areas. Doctoring, marksmanship, math and science; you name it, he probably could do it. He didn't have a name back then, about ten years ago, I think it was. He had black hair then, not sandy blond. He was picking apart our organization," he paused here, licking his dry lips.

"Mycroft?" Moriarty questioned, his interest peaked.

"That's what we thought at first. The leader at the time, Romulus, finally got his hands on him. We questioned his relentlessly, we had our most sadistic interrogators on the job."

"What did you learn?" Erik laughed dryly.

"Only that he had an impossibly high threshold for pain. He got away before we learned anything else. But not before we gave him a token of our affections." He smiled, patting his shoulder, the one where John's legendary war wound was located.

"So how do you know it wasn't Mycroft?"

"Two months later, he was taken into custody. Apparently he was trying to take Mycroft out of power for an anonymous client. He got pretty far along, too, until he was caught. That's where the genius assassin died and John Watson was born. He escaped the elder Holmes' grasp and then fell off the criminal map. The only reason why I knew John Watson was the assassin from a decade ago is because when I was working for Sherlock to try to find you, John was there. He may have gained a little weight and dropped the beard and black hair, but I'd know those eyes anywhere."

"And he fabricated himself a life, how fascinating!" Jim rubbed his hands together.

"Don't underestimate him, yeah? He's a fantastic actor. Acted all nice and stuff towards me even though I helped put a gun to his shoulder all those years ago."

"And Mycroft never noticed John was the no-name assassin?"

"Oh, he had his suspicions. But John's background is impeccable. Besides, he seems to be off duty now, so, why not let him go free?"

"But you suspect he's not?"

Erik grinned. "Once a killer, always a killer, Mr. Moriarty. You, of all people, should know that. I think he's just buried in there, under all of those jumpers and tea. Wouldn't it be fascinating if we could bring the criminal back out?"

"Sounds like fun."

"Well, I'd love to help you with that, but I should make myself scarce. Being around you may attract Mycroft's attention again and I'd rather not push my luck," he smiled lopsidedly. "And I'm pretty sure John isn't too fond of me either. I'd rather not be killed by a trained freelance assassin. I have a business to run. Good luck." They both stood.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Houdini." Jim smiled genuinely. They both shook hands and Erik made his way towards the door.

"Keep in touch," Erik called as he left.

Moriarty couldn't believe he had been so wrong. If Erik was one to trust, he had been focusing on the wrong person. It was Watson who was the genius, and Sherlock who was the idiot pet being played for a fool. This is going to be fun.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA Hello obsession, goodbye OC!