Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock Holmes or the tv-series this story is based upon.

Chapter 3: The party hat

Sherlock's head felt as if it was filled with lead and somewhere at the back of his skull he heard a faint ringing noise. Slowly - oh, so very slowly - he felt his senses return, though it felt like he was kicking water to slowly go anywhere.

"Come on now, be a good boy for daddy, Sherlock. It's time to wakey-wakey," a distant voice hummed in a sing-song voice that immediately had the detective's cloudy attention.

He attempted to open his eyes, but they, too, felt like heavy weights. Finally he managed to crack one eye open and saw something he had now both dreaded and expected for over two years. He closed his eye once more to try and clear his head, before attempting to open both eyes again. He did and took in his surroundings.

Sherlock found himself tied to a chair in the middle of an empty, old basement that seemed quite large, at least twenty-five meters across. His sensitive nose picked up a distant smell: they were definitely close to water. He strained his ears to pick up any noise from the outside world and recognized several cars and a loud buzz of people. Only a heavy business district would still be so full of life and stress at such a late hour.

A door on the wall about ten meters to Sherlock's left was open and outside he see a backyard of some sort in the darkness of the winter night. An apartment complex perhaps. He quickly worked through the possibilities in his mind and finally decided he was close to Millwall's inner docks. Having deduced his whereabouts in just over a minute, Sherlock raised his head to gaze up at the figures ahead.

A few meters before him stood two large men, buffalo-sized almost, clad in suits and with matching faces of impassiveness. They seemed to be your average guard, or if you strained it: perhaps they could be henchmen of some sort. Sherlock recognized them easily as the two men who had thrown him into the car earlier.

The man frowned as he fought against the bonds of his sluggish thoughts. Had he not seen…? Surely he had.

He barely had time to register his own thought when a man, also dressed in a classic suit, jumped out from behind one of the massive guards. The complete look of mad joy shone in the man's eyes and Sherlock barely registered the bright, colored party hat atop of Moriarty's head.

"Surprise!" Moriarty shouted but the detective only managed a slow frown in response. When Sherlock didn't react any further, the criminal mastermind seemed visibly offended.

"Let's try it again," the man said and snuck behind the guard once more. A second later he jumped out just like the first time and enthusiastically repeated, "Surprise!"

"…Jim?" the groggy Sherlock managed.

Moriarty sighed and shrugged as he glanced between the two guards. "Not what I was looking for, but I'll take it. Yes, Sherlock. It's me... Miss me?"

"Not very much," the dark-haired man muttered and shook his head to clear it. He hated not being able to think clearly. It meant his greatest weapon was useless. If the cloudiness of his mind was because of whatever drug he had been given, or from a later received blow, Sherlock couldn't quite deduce.

"I missed you a lot, Sherlock," Moriarty pointed out and strolled up to the man's chair before crouching down before him. "These past few years I've only met more ordinary people,"- he said the last part in his own unique voice of mockery, -"…Boring! Being around idiots for a long time makes me long for my own company. And there's only two of me, as you know. ...Of course, Ms. Adler is quite extraordinary herself, though I'm not quite sure how to define her. Is she ordinary, Sherlock?"

The detective shook his head and focused his eyes on his nemesis' soulless ones. "That's not the word I'd use to describe her, no."

"No, I didn't think so either. She's more like you and I," Moriarty smiled distantly and his gaze intensely searched Sherlock's face in a way the detective didn't fully understand. Suddenly, the mad man jumped up from his crouched position with a wide grin on his face. "Oh! I almost forgot! This is for you!"

From his head, Moriarty removed the sparkling party-hat in the shape of a traffic cone and placed it atop of Sherlock's head. He snapped the thin, rubber band beneath the man's chin - Sherlock drew a sharp breath - and then stepped back to inspect his art. "Simply adorable. This needs to be documented. It's not every year you get to celebrate new year with the world's baddest villain, is it?"

Before the detective could comment, the mad man had whipped a small camera from his pocket and snapped two pictures; one of Sherlock alone with the party-hat, and one where Moriarty leaned in and photographed them both together.

"I'll email them to you," the criminal promised as he pocketed the camera.

"Thanks. What do you want this time, Moriarty?" Holmes asked as he attempted to free himself from the ropes.

"Oh, that won't be any good," the other said upon noticing the effort. "Ms Adler tied the knots, and she's the master of those after her dominating experience. I dare say, she never did tie a knot I managed to undo…"

"What do you want?" Sherlock repeated gruffly.

"A bit testy today, are we? Is this the thanks I get for setting up such a special surprise for you?" Moriarty sulked. "First, Sherlock, I must say I'm a little disappointed in you. You're getting as careless as dear Dr Watson. I think he's simplicity is a bad influence on your mind. I thought you knew better than to be deceived by a beautiful woman."

"You sound jealous," Sherlock pointed out and relaxed his hands. Moriarty was right, his attempts to loosen the ropes weren't working. He would have to think of another way to escape.

"Maybe just a little," the criminal shrugged with a feline-like grin. The man took a step back and tilted his head to the side as he inspected his catch of the day. "I'm glad you weren't surprised to see me return, Sherlock. Means I didn't underestimate you."

"That would have been a shame," the detective agreed. "Are you going to kill me now?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. Eventually... I haven't made up my mind yet," Moriarty admitted and Sherlock knew the mad man meant it. The detective didn't trust his enemy in any way, having faced the criminal's unstable mind and changeable nature before.

"Well, could you please stop hesitating and just make up your mind?" he pushed on, hoping to throw Moriarty off-course.

"Patience never was your strong side, Sherlock," the suit-clad man mused. Sherlock saw a shadow cross Moriarty's face and knew what part of the villain would come next. With a simple wave of the hand, the man dismissed his guards. Their steps echoed in the empty basement as they walked through the door that led out to the backyard and closed it behind them. Silence lingered for a second in their wake. Moriarty casually put both hands in his pockets and rocked from heel to toe once as he gazed down at the detective.

"I just wanted to say happy new year, Sherlock. And give you a new year's resolution; Me! I'm back, baby. Not that I ever was gone. ...Did you like the touch with the fake blood as I shot my brain to pieces? When did you realize I had tricked you?"

"When did you realize I had tricked you?" the Holmes boy countered.

"It took awhile, I admit," Moriarty said with a sad nod. "I reckon there were no winners on the roof that time, Sherlock. We both thought we had won and lived while the other died, of course, but alas! ...I brought you here to make my resolution very clear. Next time I strike, I won't leave anything to chance. You have my word on that."

"I highly doubt that," Sherlock said, his own voice low and lethal. "The past suggests otherwise."

"Oh!" the criminal smiled and bounced on the spot in joy. "A challenge? I do love a good challenge. I missed this, Sherlock! You and I. Our little friendly competition. But to be clear… I do fully intend to live up to my word. Remember our past conversations, Sherlock?"

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock – just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big, bad world."

"Take this as a friendly warning, my dear… Back off."

"People have died."

"That's what people DO!"

"If you don't stop trying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you…"

"I've been badly informed I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not true."

"You're friends will die if you don't."

"You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels."

"I may be on the side of the angels. But don't think for one second that I am one of them."

"No, you're not. I see… You're not ordinary. No. You're me. You're me! Thank you!... Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. Bless you… As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You got away. Well, good luck with that…"

Sherlock grimaced as the last memory filled his mind and remembered how stunned he had been when the criminal had pulled out the gun and shot himself, all in order to win. Well, pretended to, at least. "Vividly."

"Good. Be assured that this time, things will be different. I'll show you a display of epic proportions you couldn't even dream of back in the old days. I'll give you fires no water can quench... I'll give you the ultimate test, and you shall brutally lose."

"I've beaten you at all your games so far, I'd say my chances are good."

The door to the basement squeaked and both men turned as it opened.

"I thought my orders were clear; 'Do not distu-" Moriarty begun but stopped as Irene Adler stepped into the light, still dressed in her dress and coat. Sherlock frowned mercilessly in her direction. She, in turn, merely stopped in the open doorway and awaited the criminal. "Oh, it's you... Come on in, Ms Adler."

The hollow clicks of The woman's heels echoed against the concrete floor as she strolled over to the two men caught up in their little game. Moriarty tilted his head to the side once more as she came to a halt right beside him and gazed from her down to the detective.

"A pretty sight, isn't it? The party hat suits him perfectly. Thank you, my dear, for helping me pull off this little surprise."

"My pleasure," Irene cooed with a cold smile and her gaze didn't fear to meet Moriarty's head on.

The criminal chortled. "She's pure fire, isn't she, Sherlock? Only ice could kill this one."

Irene and Sherlock shared a glance. The woman quickly turned back to the criminal beside her. "I just came back to see this sight one last time: Sherlock Holmes, tied to a chair. I believe I've seen this picture in my dreams quite a few times."

Moriarty smirked at her words and the detective let his gaze travel between the two. There was something off, Sherlock noticed it instantly. He couldn't quite deduce what at first, but then he recognized the look in the woman's eyes as one he had seen before. The moment when the agents had barged in on them at her house in Belgravia and Sherlock and Irene had wordlessly cooperated in order to bring the agents down. Her pale eyes now spoke the very same silent language to him, and the detective narrowed his eyes in an attempt to understand.

"Oh! Before I forget. …There was one more thing, Jim," the brunette's gaze shifted from the detective to her former partner once more.

"Yes, Ms Adler?"

"This," she waved a hand in the general direction of Sherlock's tied-up form, "makes us even." Moriarty nodded in agreement. Irene then moved so hastily that neither man fully had time to comprehend what occurred.

The detective saw her draw the syringe from her coat pocket and stick it into the criminal's upper arm with the speed of a cheetah. The needle was still half-full with the drug she had injected into Sherlock's arm earlier. Now, the woman injected the last into Moriarty's blood stream. The look of complete surprise on the mad man's face was nothing compared to the confusion in the detective's frown as he sat, unable to do anything, upon the chair.

"This, however," she whispered as Moriarty stumbled and clung to her thin frame. The criminal gasped slightly for air as he sunk onto his knees, keeping a firm hold of Irene's coat as he did. The woman slowly leaned closed and continued, "This, I do as a free woman, at last."

With a snarling sound, Jim fell to the ground unconscious. The ex-dominatrix stood above him for a moment as a lioness would hover over its prey. She hastily turned to Sherlock who watched her with wide, unblinking eyes. As if remembering herself, Irene quickly jumped into action and hurried around his chair to untie the knots that still held the detective in place.

"Are you going to explain this?" Sherlock asked and glanced down at Moriarty's still body.

"We only have two minutes," she breathed and the detective heard the unmistakable sound of a pocket knife being swiped open. "It's quicker this way," she explained.

"What happens in two minutes?" the dark-haired man asked as he felt the ropes start to loosen behind his back.

"I'm not sure what comes first. Your darling brother with an entire entourage of brainless policemen or Moriarty's henchmen realize he's down for the count and come to claim blood. Either way, I can't stay around. There! You're free."

Sherlock shrugged out of the ropes and rose in one fluid motion. He staggered once as a short wave of dizziness washed over him, reminding him of the drugs still in his system. He turned around and gazed down at the woman, who stared him down relentlessly. There was a slight shiver of fear in her eyes for half a second, before she managed to cover it up behind her bold facade, but Sherlock had noticed it. The detective contemplated his options for a second and then nodded, "What's the plan?"

"Back door. I've already taken care of Moriarty's puppies," Irene explained and took a step forward. The man grabbed hold of her pale sleeve and stopped her mid-step.

"Wait. What about his hidden snipers. How do you propose we get past them?"

"Please, Mr Holmes," the woman looked up at him as if he had just declared her stupid and tugged her sleeve out of his grasp. Sherlock wondered what had been so offensive about it and watched her hesitantly. "That's the simple part. Moriarty ordered them not to shoot you until he gave the order. And he won't be giving any such order now, will he?"

Sherlock raised his chin in slight admiration at the woman before him. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, "You don't have to impress me, Ms Adler."

He noticed how her pupils dilated as a devious smirk spread across her lips. "I know. Let's go. I have a car waiting round back."

John awoke with a start as he heard the front door slam shut downstairs. Silently, he cursed to himself. 05:01. If that was Sherlock returning home after doing whatever it was Sherlock did when he didn't want anyone to know… So help him, John would be furious. The detective had earlier the same week told John, Mary and Mrs. Hudson he didn't want any party on new year, so obviously they had planned a surprise behind his back.

Needless to say, everyone who'd been invited, though few they had been, had been disappointed when the man hadn't appeared at all. The most likely explanation was that their friend had learned of their plans and stayed out to purposely spoil it. John had sworn to to his wife that he'd find some way to get back at his friend for having to apologize to the guests as they left the party shortly after midnight, the party feeling quite gone from them all.

The doctor had decided to spend the night in his old room, as he sometimes did these days when working a difficult case, in order to give the good detective a verbal beating the next day. Now, he stumbled out of his bed, still drunk from sleep, in the middle of the night and staggered down the steps to the living room. He switched on the lights and sure enough: in the middle of the homily room stood Sherlock Holmes, dressed in his telltale cloak and favorite scarf.

"What the- It's after five, Sherlock! Did you just get in? Where the bloody hell were you? You know about the party, didn't... " John's anger trailed off as he noticed another shape walk up the stairs from the front door. The slim form of a very familiar person of their past. A person, a woman, the blond man thought had died several years earlier. "What is she doing here?"

"It's nice to see you again, Dr Watson," the beauty smirked at the army doctor, something which only increased John's annoyance.

"I wish I could say the feeling's mutual. What the hell is going on here?"

"John," Sherlock said in a slow, low voice and glanced back at the woman. He then turned to his dearest friend. "Stop asking questions."

"Like hell I will!" the other man practically shouted and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, as if that simple move would make the ex-dominatrix disappear from the living room. It didn't. "I demand answers! Jesus, Sherlock... What happened? And why are you wearing a party hat?"

"Moriarty's back," the tall man explained shortly and with a tone that suggested John had better not ask anything more about that now. The great detective turned around as he pulled off the party hat in one swift movement and threw it atop his arm chair. He then proceeded to walk up to the window and look outside, turning his back on the conversation in the living room both mentally as well as physically.

John cursed, "Dammit. I hoped it was all fake... Now, what about her?"

At this, Sherlock glanced back at the woman who had thrown her coat on top of one arm chair and sunk into the other one. Her eyes were still bold and daring as she met his gaze full on. The other man watched the simple exchange and stood in utter confusion.

"Ms. Adler is staying awhile," the dark voice of the detective said at length.

"She's what? Just yesterday, I thought she was dead, Sherlock! That is to say…" John haltered as his tired mind finally remembered Mycroft's lie. "… dead as in… stuck in a witness program-"

"I know my brother's elaborate lie, John."

"You've known all along, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"That still doesn't explain how she's alive, and in our living room."

"It's simple, Dr Watson," Irene offered. "I had a terrible executioner."

"You mean-" the blond man began and pointed his finger in his friend's direction. The brunette merely smiled in reply. "Another faked death, huh? Sherlock... You should have told me."

"I know, John," the man smiled stiffly at his tired friend. "Could we save all the questions for tomorrow though? I could need to sleep off this drug."

"You drugged him again, didn't you?" the doctor asked the ex-dominatrix in a condescending tone of voice. "Of course. Brilliant. Sod this. I'll see you… both tomorrow. I… Fine. Good night. Now I'm going back to sleep. Or I'll at least try to."

With those words, John turned around and walked back up towards his bedroom, muttering all the way until both Irene and Sherlock heard his door slam shut. The silence stretched on in the living room like a comforting blanket, the first moment of peace both of them had experienced in awhile now.

The detective remained with his back to the woman in the room, as he looked out at the street in front of Baker Street. His sight, however, was directed inwards and stuck in memories, attempting to clear some of the recent events up. This had undoubtedly been one of the most memorable new years. Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric as Irene stood from the arm chair.

Suddenly he felt something hard and round press down gently atop his head and glanced down at the shorter woman.

"...Happy new year, Mr Holmes," she whispered and pecked his cheek. The man remained stoic as she let go of him and disappeared out of his line of sight.

Maybe this one was the most memorable, after all, Sherlock contemplated and sighed as he pulled the party hat from his head and gazed down at the paper object. Funny how such a small thing, such an insignificant trifle meant to lift the spirit of all (drunk) celebrating people, only served to further darken his gloom.

He turned around only to be met with an empty room. For a short second, the tall man did nothing. At last, he walked up to the mantle piece, thoughtfully placed the party hat atop of his skull and sighed in resignation.

He turned off the lamps and strolled the short way to his bedroom and opened the door. He faltered just inside, hand still on the door handle, as he gazed down at his bed. On the right side of the bed, furthest away from the entrance, rested the woman already. Irene's back was towards him and her breaths seemed slow and even, though Sherlock knew she wasn't actually asleep.

Regardless, there was something about the peaceful sight that diminished whatever words of protest the detective could have used to throw her out. Instead, Sherlock silently shut the door and shrugged out of his coat. His legs felt old and tired as he sunk onto the edge of the bed, as his head still swirled in a cloudy haze. Without much difficulty, the man crawled beneath the covers and let the intoxicating spell of sleep slowly pull him into the world of dreams.

"Good night, Ms Adler."

"Good night."

To be continued