Sending out the invitation to play was so basic that Mycroft was astounded that he hadn't considered it himself. The plan was exceedingly simple and achieved with a minimum of fuss though he was certain that Sherlock had taken express delight in demanding a few hundred pounds. Scooping up the chess pieces, Sherlock bounded off down the stairs and out the door. A quick glance out the window revealed the simplicity of it all. Sherlock hailed a black cab, spoke to the cabby, passed over an amount of cash and then attached one of the chess pieces (with the expedience of two sided tape) on the top of the cab. Satisfied that the piece would remain where it had been placed, Sherlock knocked on the cab's roof and the vehicle departed. Sherlock paused for a moment, casually looking around before hailing another cab and repeating the process. When all the pieces were in play, he returned to the flat.

As he walked into the flat and paused near the door, his gaze on the bison above the table. "Ten minutes, I should think?"

Sherrinford nodded, standing smoothly, "That should be sufficient," she agreed. "Off to the WC before we go."

Mycroft watched her as she walked away before saying conversationally to his younger brother, "That shall never cease to astound me." At Sherlock's puzzled look, he clarified, "She walks with the faintest of limps in flats, yet there's no trace of it in heels."

Sherlock inclined his head, a slight hint of a smile curving his lips, "Vanity being an unknown quality in a Holmes."

A trace of an honest smile ghosted over Mycroft's features, "Yes, well, we all have our foibles."

"Yes, we do."

The plan as they explained it to Mycroft was simple, Mycroft and some of the agents would be nearby listening in to the conversation via a wire on Sherlock. Sherlock and Sherrinford would go and rent a deckchair in Hyde Park and find an open space in the Kensington Gardens.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before they heard the sound of footfalls behind them. Sherlock's first view of Moriarty was obscured by the length of a deck chair, the body of the chair concealing his body for a moment before he set it in place and slumped into it.

If 'Jim Moriarty' was sharp Westwood suits, James Moriarty was relaxed, clad dark brown trousers, white shirt and an olive grey wool jumper. He was slightly taller than his brother, more muscular through the shoulders though his face gave no hint of the age difference. If there was any give away at all, it was the hint of grey at his left temple – a hint of silver in amongst the dark brown. Moriarty leaned forward in the deck chair, his forearms resting on his thighs as he studied Sherrinford's face, a lazy smile lighting his face. When Sherrinford said nothing, his smile grew ever so slightly, "A little late to play shy, luv."

Her reply was not what Sherlock expected from her, "Sod off, James."

Moriarty laughed, his eyes flickering over to Sherlock and back, "Did you really need to bring Junior, luv, he's a bit of a mood killer? Where's your darling Mycroft?"

"Not here," she bit out, "What do you want, James, truly?"

'What is she doing?' Sherlock thought to himself, Moriarty was truly focused on her and his posture practically screamed his wants. He doesn't just want her, he's in love with her.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face for a moment, then it bled away much like a balloon that has been allowed to release its air slowly. All traces of smile gone, Moriarty glanced at her and then brown eyes flickered over to Sherlock and then past him to where Sherlock knew Mycroft and his men waited. "Not a matter of want, Sherri luv. Need, it's a matter of what I need. I told you what that was years ago now and all that delicious time wasted."

At that pronouncement, she smiled as she primly set her hands on her lap, "And whose fault was that, darling?"

He laughed, "Yours. I told you what I'd do, told you the price…"

"Did you honestly think that I'd just sit there and let you kill Mycroft with impunity?" She shook her head slightly, "You're making the same mistakes now that you made then."

He straightened in his chair, lifting one hand as if to gesture and the sound of a gunshot echoed through the park and he smiled as her eyes widened, "Did you really think that because I hadn't killed him by now that I never would?" He laughed at the look on Sherlock's face, "Oh junior, don't worry, you're safe for the moment."

She stood abruptly, stumbling slightly on the uneven grass and as Sherlock reached out to steady her, slapped away his hands. "Leave them be, James."

He smiled and Sherlock knew that smile so well, he'd seen it on the brother's face several times. James Moriarty was certain he'd won and once again Sherlock steeled himself as he planned his next move. "No, Junior." Moriarty murmured, "Not this time."

In a voice colder than he'd intended, "Do not presume to call me Junior."

James Moriarty turned at looked Sherlock full in the face, no fleeting glance, "Oh but you are, Sherlock, far more than Mycroft ever was." He smiled as he said 'was' and Sherlock pushed down the desire to punch the man full in the face, "This chess match of ours, Sherri, you were so fixated on the White Queen that you forgot one thing."

"And that is?"

His grin was sardonic as he sat back, "It's all about the King, luv." When she stared at him, he laughed, "It's not Mycroft's face in that locket of yours," Moriarty reached into the pocket of his trousers and extracted an old silver locket. She closed her eyes, sitting back down abruptly much like a puppet with cut strings and at Sherlock's perplexed look, Moriarty tossed the locket to him. Sherlock looked down at the locket, thumbed the catch and stared down at a picture of him when he was five. As Sherlock stared at the photograph, he heard Moriarty say, "So long, Junior."

As Moriarty started to raise his hand, he heard his sister laugh, "You and your damnable chess fixation. Just one question for you, darling, how protected is your King?" and a shot rang out.

Mycroft waited with his men, wishing that the sound quality from Sherlock's wire wasn't quite so sensitive, the birdsong was quite distracting. He watched as Moriarty sat down, spoke with his sister and to all appearances things were going well until he heard "Did you really think that because I hadn't killed him by now that I never would?"

He closed his eyes knowing in that instance that somewhere in this park, someone was targeting him and that he had seconds remaining. He'd seen the aftermath of Sherlock's shooting, seen the profound pain warp his brother's features and as he tried to mentally prepare himself for it, he was caught unawares as his body slammed to the ground. The hot scalpel of pain passed over him as he fell to the ground. He could hear the agents with him scrambling to cover him, he felt the hot viscous passage of blood on his face.

"Fuck!" he heard Lestrade hiss as suddenly the weight on his chest lifted. Hands scrambled to lift him and he heard Lestrade spit, "Leave him down, you idiots – cover him!" The weight off him, Mycroft turned to see Lestrade rocking as he held his right arm at an awkward angle. Blood seeped from his shoulder and to Mycroft's shock and horror, he saw Molly Hooper rush out of the cover of some trees to fling herself down beside Lestrade as she rummaged through a pack she'd tossed on the ground beside her. Bandages emerged from the pack as she applied them to Lestrade's shoulder and began to order two of Mycroft's milling protection officers around.

Sherlock turned to stare at Sherrin as the second shot rang out and Moriarty's eyes narrowed. "Not going your way, darling?" At his snarl, she smiled the first honest smile she'd given him. "Here's the deal, take it or leave it. You pack up and leave England."

Dead brown eyes met vibrant blue, "And what do I get out of this?"

"You get to play another day, James," she replied, smoothing her skirt carefully

"No, you don't get off that easily, luv, so we'll do this the hard way," he snarled.

Eyes fixed steadily on his, she slid her hands down her right knee, lifting her skirt slightly as she detached the leg at the knee and set the leg across her lap. That he was startled was evident in his face and he looked everywhere but at the prosthetic. "And what," she asked, "would you know about hard, James? What would you know about sacrifice?" She paused, moving to reattach the prosthetic, hard cold blue eyes blazing, "Do you know why countless members of this family go into government service?" At the blank look on his face, she sat back and said, "We've always been brilliant – what many of us lack is focus, purpose. We watch, we guard, we protect because left alone we become you and that alternative is too terrifying to contemplate. " She watched dispassionately as a red dot appeared on his forehead and she gave a single emphatic nod.

Notes:

One more and then we're done this tale. Thank you for reading.