Reservation Names

Within ten minutes, Moriarty and I were stood outside a lavish, bright restuarant, watching as the car left. Leaving us completely alone. He looked at me expectantly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

We entered the already open doors and stood waiting for a waiter. I looked around the place. It was dimly lit, with most tables having several candles arranged neatly, giving the place a warm but expnsive vibe.

I looked at the sort of people that were in here. Many elder, middle-class women appeared to be dinight tonight, laden with pearls and jewels. Their dresses all looking similar and embellished in a range of colours. I also noticed a few young couples and business men. From the clearly wealthy array of people, I assumed that we were in Chelsea, the higher-classed and grommed part of London.

Moriarty looked very well grooomed tonight too. His suit was a dark blue, designer and very well tailored. It fit him in all the right places. His hair was styled with a bit of volume, it bounced a little, looking a little teddy boy-ish. His own scent was very strong, slightly spicy even but very nice. He looked impecable, to say the least, I had to admit.

Finally a young waitress came to us, her head held high and chest pertrouded as an attempt to attract us to her. Moriarty looked at her as if she were vermin, which made her stiffen up, losing her facade. Before Sherlock, I would probably have found her attractive. She was curvacious but slim and had thick blonde locks styled neatly into a curly ponytail. She was attractive and she knew it. That explained why Moriarty's lack of interest had made her recoil. She looked at me instead, searching for some kind of attention, smiling bright at me.

"Do you have a reservation?" She asked, her white, perfect smile unfaltering.

"Yes. In the name of intoxiqué." He said, sounding and looking incredibly bored. He then looked at me and his lips stretched upwards in a dark smile. I didn't understand the French, but I knew it would have some significance. I wished Sherlock was here to translate it and make deductions. I however, would just have to continue cluelessly.

The girl shuddered a little, Moriarty seemed to intimidate her. She coughed awkwardly to cover up her small noise of fear and looked down at the list before her.

"Yes, I have it. Follow me, sirs." She said monotonously.

She took two menus and lead us to a cosy table nearer the back of the restuarant. She cast the odd paranoid look over her shoulder as Moriarty closely shadowed her.

We arrived at the small table and she placed a menu on each seat placement. She then muttered something about coming back soon. Moriarty glided round to pull out my chair, I smiled akwardly and sat down. I opened the menu curiously, with genuine desire to know what the recommended dish was at this establishment. Maybe I ough to re-think my priorities.. I was on a dinner date with the world's most dangerous criminal psychopath and I'm worrying about how to sustain my apetite. Mycroft would be proud, ha-ha.

Moriarty opened his menu but didn't glance down. He kept his eyes levelled on me, smiling and staring.

Another waiter appeared, something about him seemed vaguely familiar and this worried me. Who was he?

"May I get you fine gentlemen a drink?" his voice was husk and I remembered it, though I couldn't place where I'd heard it.

"Your finest red wine will do." Moriarty winked at him and the waiter disappeared. Soon enough, he was staring back at me again. His energy focused entirely on me. It felt as though I was being put on a stage with a spotlight constantly shining down on me. It wasn't very comfortable feeling.

"Have you missed me, John dear?"

I put on my pokerface and began to put on the act that I had last performed at the Dungeons.

"Oh, I'd be a fool not to." I smiled widely. "I was thrilled to be seeing you again."

The waiter returned and poured our wine, before taking our orders. I wondered why the previous waitress wasn't doing this, as It was the standard procedure usually in these places. I shook it off, trying my hardest to recognize who this man was. I requested the Spaghetti Bolagnese, as did Moriarty. How very Disney of us. I sipped at my wine.

"How's life at 221B?" Moriarty asked, seeking to the stir the pot. I wanted to tell him the truth, and anger him but I knew that it would definitely not be wise.

"Dull. Doing the comands of my high maintenance lov- *I coughed* um flatmate isn't an... enjoyable experience." I lied, mentally strangling myself for nearly saying lover. Apparently, he hadn't noticed.

"Ha, yes. Well, Sherlock isn't putting you to very good use. If you were at my command, I'd make sure all the tasks were particularly... enjoyable, in every sense of the word." He smirked, sipping at his own wine. His big dark eyes keeping their steady gaze on me all the while.

"Now that does sound fun." I imagined Sherlock being seated opposite me, which enabled the flirting to come much naturally.

"Well it doesn't have to be hypothetical." I bit my lower lip slowly and his mouth dropped open a little, he seemed to snap himself out of it. "I'm very, very turned on by you tonight, Doctor Watson." The way he ennuciated my name sent chills down my spine. It was scary. It was admittedly sexy, but still frightening. His hand moved forward to grip mine. I wanted to laugh but forced it back, taking special care in gripping his hand back with gentle force.

"Why are we eating then?" He looked a little confused. "...when we could be putting our mouths to much better use." I smirked and bit my lower lip again, enjoying this a little too much.

Moriarty gasped a little and went wide-eyed, his breathing was slightly uneven and ragged. His mouth was jerked up in a crooked smile. Oh yes, I could see the arousal in him. Moriarty was giving me the advantage.

The familiar waited returned then, disrupting our interlocked gaze and forcing Moriarty to abruptly release my hand and set it on his lap. The waiter and the previous waitress, who had suddenly returned, leaned down to place our food infront of us. The girl placed a bread basket within reach of both of us too, though I had notice that the angle she had placed it at was slightly in my favour. I saw a small white note of some kind tucked underneath it, barely noticeable and hidden in plain sight. I looked up at her, using my eyes to question her. Her own eyes looked slightly glazed over and big, as though she was alarmed and frightened. She seemed incredibly edgy, purposely avoiding being near Moriarty or even casting him a glance. She moved so that she avoided even a brush of her colleague. The two of them dispersed, the girl being much faster than the man.

I decided to keep my own thoughts hidden away in my head, keeping face. I tucked into my food, purposely making each digestive movement (especially the swallowing) more overtly-sexual than normal. Moriarty looked on at me, surprised again- his mouth dropped. He was merely playing with his food, taking the minutest of bites. He dropped the knife and fork loudly onto the plate, pushing out his chair and standing up.

"Um.. excuse me." he muttered, clearing his throat as he straightened his tie and glided towards the men's toilets.

Checking that I wasn't being watched, I reached forward to retrieve the small note that the waitress had left. A note was etched onto a small serviette, she had pressed so hard with her pen that it had almost ripped through the napkin. She also wrote in block capitals with no punctuation, messily, which meant either that the message was urgent or she didn't want to be identified- my guess is both. I realised then quickly, that I was observing a little like Sherlock but I soon swallowed my pride and went back to my business, reading what the note said.

"BE CAREFUL DR

HIS SECOND- SM IS RIGHT UNDER YOUR NOSE

HE'S UP TO SOMETHING IN THE MENS R"

I thought about it. Of course Moriarty wasn't completely alone and stranded here, that much was obvious. A man like him would never allow himself to be an exposed nerve in an operation, he always had a secret agenda. But who was his second? Of course that meant his second in charge, his deputy even... his friend. I then realised who the man in question was, it was the waiter that I recognized. Why else would the girl have acted so strangely in his presence? And why else would Moriarty have winked at him? He had taken special lengths to come serve us, dismissing the girl and giving her the idea that he was up to something. Perhaps, she knew who he was anyway but did not expect an operation of some kind to take place. Either way, I knew that my tranquil week was going to end very soon as there was far more going on. "The game was afoot" as Sherlock would say. I then realised that I needed to find out what was happening in the Men's Room, where Moriarty had disappeared to. I looked about me to see that his "second" who's initials were "SM" apparently, though I couldn't recall anyone I knew of that name, was near the entrance speaking to new customers. I took this opportunity to excute my plan of attack. I knew my acting skills now had to be outstanding and completely believable, I could not have any more word mishaps. I would compelte all of my action with the upmost precision, I would be like Sherlock. I feared that if I lost my concentration, Moriarty's unpredictable nature would get the better of him and something catastrophic could happen. No pressure, John.

I slid out of the chair, not making a sound and headed hurriedly towards to the Men's toilets. I opened the door with a little force, seeing Moriarty infront of the mirror, of which he saw me come in. I had clearly timed it well as Moriarty looked at me again with surprise but this time he looked happy, very happy. I quickly scanned the room, seeing that all of the cubicles were indeed empty. I then seized Moriarty quickly and playfully pushed him into one of the cubicles, careful not too push too hard so that he would fall. His guard was down.

As Moriarty stumbled backwards, I darted to the entrance and blocked it by moving a large mental bin that was placed underneath a hand dryer with tissues on a neighbouring wall. I did this so quickly and with such agility that again, I felt quite proud of myself. I was back to him in seconds and I looked at him hungrily. I bit my lower lip, which of course, he noticed. He moaned, leaning towards me. I laughed and grabbed his collar, pulling him further forward. His lips slammed against my own in a kiss, his lips were soft and plump. They tasted of peppermint- he had administered a piece of gum. Soon his hands were all over my body and I played along, occasionally groping his arse. (I know it wasn't completely necessary, but it added to the act and he did have a pretty admirable arse.) I pulled out of the tonguey, wet kiss and teased my fingers all over him. He had whispered my name a couple of times in hoarse, ragged breaths. Just snogging had appeared to already get him going, which lead to thoughts about things of a genuine sexual nature which I had to force away as I realised that my concentration was wavering. He took my thoughtful few moments as an advantage and pushed me out of the cubicle so that I fell backwards against the sinks. He grabbed me before I hurt myself and steadied me so that he was standing over me, while I was leant back. He looked down on me with those big brown eyes.

"So succulent." he moaned, kissing me again. While I had to admit, he was good at it, I still longed for Sherlock's lips instead. Sherlock had a perfect technique, he could be sweet and gentle, as well as seductive and tempting at the same time. I decided to reply as I found myself being too busy thinking. "So mouthwatering." I breathed. I was thinking about Sherlock, so I didn't have enough time to cringe at what I had just said to James Moriarty. Infact, if I hadn't been so pre-occupied I would probably have laughed at the whole situation.

"I think we should take this to a new high, don't you? Jawnnn." he said playfully, releasing me. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two perfectly rolled smokes. He brought it upwards so that I could smell it. Automatically, I realised that it was Meth. My whole mind was drawn to the small roll in his hand. My eyes zoomed in on it and swirling red temptation seemed to consume me. I reached out to take it and inhaled it's scent. It was like another person was controlling me. My rational mind was floating up above, watching over the scene in schock, shouting at me to resist it and think of anything other than it, even thoughts of Sherlock were being pushed out as the craving and urge for it took over me.

I took it and he lit it up for me, I took a deep toke of it and it made me cough. It was a good hit. Moriarty didn't light his and I looked at him confused. He put away the other roll, back into his breast pocket and looked at me with concern his eyes and (though my now drug-riddled mind may have been wrong) disappointment.

"You didn't ask about the reservation name."

I looked at him quizically, my arm robotically lifting it back up to my lips so I could take another deep inhale of it. I couldn't fight it. He watched me, his mouth in a straight-line.

"Intoxique." He said simply, waiting for a reaction. I rose an eyebrow and he looked at me seriously. "It's French for addicted."

Suddenly someone burst through the door, knocking the bin over. They stepped towards us and then spoke, his deep hoarse voice booming.

"I told you, Doctor Watson." I looked at him confused, my vision a little distorted. "Addiction is a hard thing to beat alone."

I then realised why I knew him. Memories flooded back into my mind and swept over me. He was the man who attacked me. He spoke to me at the club. He was this "SM". But he was supposed to be dead?

AN: Sorry I haven't been posting very often, I've had a bit of writer's block! As always, criticism and feedback is much appreciated! Thank-you :)