A/N: Yes, this is still short and a bit late, but I'd rather do a short update twice a month than a long one… in much longer than that. So here is more!

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Summary: Mycroft and Moriarty make shocking revelations to Sherlock.

S&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&MS&M

Sherlock slipped into the car. Mycroft held a yellow file folder in one hand and a Blackberry in the other. He looked up after Sherlock closed the door.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade will be contacting you within an hour about a murder victim."

Sherlock frowned. "Why an hour?"

"I have not yet notified him of said victim," Mycroft said.

"A murder and you're not telling the police immediately? Why?"

Mycroft fixed Sherlock with an unusually intense gaze. "Because John Watson is about to make a major revelation to you that I deem more important at the moment."

"More important than a murder? Than the work?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "What could he need to tell me that's more important than that?"

Mycroft only blinked. "You will find out soon enough. Meanwhile, here is the information on the victim." He handed the folder to Sherlock.

Sherlock took the folder. "You realize this is illegal," he said. Mycroft only stared at him placidly.

"Right. When has that ever bothered you before?" Sherlock muttered. He started reading and frowned. "This man is an ex-boyfriend of Molly's. He was in a band. We saw them perform six months ago."

"Yes. Quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Mycroft asked.

The look on his face was plain.

At that moment Sherlock got a text.

Get out of the car one block from 221B. Look for a man begging for change. Give him a fiver. He will give you something in return. Walk twenty steps away from him and await further instructions.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. "Yes. Quite."

"Problem?" Mycroft asked.

"No," Sherlock said smoothly.

"Let me borrow your mobile for a moment," Mycroft said.

"Why?"

"Because mine is occupied," Mycroft said, sounding the slightest bit irritated.

Sherlock handed over his phone. Mycroft stared at it for a moment, then frowned. "Why do you have no signal in the middle of London?"

"Am I suddenly the mobile expert?" Sherlock asked dourly.

"Needs to be rebooted," Mycroft said, and with that he opened the phone and removed the battery before Sherlock could react.

Sherlock stared in horror. "You do realize what you've done, don't you?"

"I've done nothing," Mycroft said calmly. "He'll know perfectly well you'd lost signal. Now be quiet a moment." He removed a tiny sliver of a chip from the phone, then replaced the battery and rebooted the phone so fast his hands were nearly a blur. It was times like these when Sherlock was reminded that, although Mycroft disdained physical activity, he was perfectly capable of moving fast and taking care of himself when needed.

The phone began to reboot. Sherlock waited for the sound of an explosion, but there wasn't one.

When it finished, Mycroft glanced at the screen. "There you are, back to normal," he said. He handed the phone out to Sherlock, who took it warily. "Don't you need to make a call?"

"No time now, we're only three blocks from Baker Street," Mycroft said. He managed to sound vaguely irritated, as though this was somehow Sherlock's fault. Which, in a way, it was.

Sherlock counted to two and said loudly: "Stop the car!"

"Do as he says," Mycroft sighed, and the car rolled to a stop.

Sherlock jumped out. "Thank you for the lift, brother dear. I'll be in touch."

He shut the door. As the car rolled away, Sherlock walked quickly up the sidewalk until he was one block away from 221B. A dark haired, unkempt beggar sat pressed against a building, a tin cup out in front of him. "Spare some change, sir?" The man asked.

Sherlock withdrew a fiver from his wallet and dropped it into the cup. "Oh! Bless you, sir!" The man exclaimed happily. "And here's something for you!"

He held a small brown paper bag out. The top was folded down. Sherlock took it and began walking. He frowned as he counted the 20 steps. The bag clearly contained a mobile phone. Why?

On the 20th step he stopped and waited as instructed. A ringing sound emanated from the bag. He opened it. It was a sleek black Samsung Galaxy phone, one of the newer models. He pressed the button. "Did you decide I needed an upgrade?" He asked wryly.

"Never say I've never given you anything nice, Sherlock," Moriarty smirked. His tone was mellow, friendly. "Put your other phone in the bag and give it to the man you got this one from."

"Why musical phones?" Sherlock demanded sharply.

"This one doesn't have any listening or tracking devices," Moriarty said.

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "Not that I enjoyed your attention, but why?"

"I don't need that anymore," Moriarty said. "The game is almost over, Sherlock. Well: almost is relative. But it's time for the next step. Time for me not to know what you're doing. Don't you just love the random elements in our little games?"

"What makes you think I won't go to Lestrade or Mycroft and tell them everything?" Sherlock asked.

Moriarty chuckled. "Oh, honey. What's kept you from doing that already? Me listening in? As if you don't have a hundred other ways to communicate something to someone?" He laughed. "You haven't done it because you knew if you played by the rules, so would I. But our time is nearly up. And I want your other phone for, well: let's call it sentimental reasons."

Sherlock was about to say Moriarty didn't do sentiment, but he remembered that was not truly the case. Instead, he asked: "so what now? You don't care if I tell the world what you're doing?"

"You won't," Moriarty said simply. "I'd know if you got too out of hand. And so would you. By all means tell your little friends, though. This is our last dance, Sherlock. I want it to be proper."

"Proper," Sherlock echoed.

"Yes. I always give you all the clues you need, don't I?"

"Yes, right before you're going to kill me," Sherlock said.

"Well there's your answer," Moriarty said. "I've GOT to run now. Nice chatting with you. Enjoy the new phone!"

Sherlock pressed the button and dropped his other phone into the bag. He walked back to the man and handed it to him. "I think you could use this more than me," he told the beggar, and the man only smiled.

He walked with lightning speed to 221, opening the door and bounding up the stairs. He wasn't really sure if he could trust Moriarty, but he was going to put it to the test.