Still Rated M (Lets face it, the M rating is not going to change)

Warning-Swearing, references to violent behavior.

For dialog and timelines, I referred to and quoted from Ariane DeVere's fantastic transcript of The Great Game. Her meticulous transcripts on Live Journal can be found by googling Ariane DeVere/transcripts (Sorry, fanfic does not allow actual Web-addresses).

I am solely responsible for any deviations from the script of TGG [both intentional (because of my story is not canon) and accidental (because sometimes I'm an idiot)].

NOTE: Please remember to read fanfic responsibly, and do not drink your beverage of choice while reading fanfic.

Additional note:k8ec recommended that I add this extra safety notice for readers with asthma..Please keep your inhaler handy when reading fanfic because excessive laughter may trigger wheezing. And they say laughter is the best medicine.

*smirks*

(Yes, k8ec. I am recycling that poor excuse of a joke. I often do repeat myself, because like so many of us, I am an idiot.[according to Sherlock anyway] On the plus side, recycling is good for the environment. Ummm…Moving right along….)

Chapter 45

James Moriarty sported a wide, malicious grin. He did so enjoy taunting that genius Sherlock Holmes. Humming happily and dancing in place, Jim removed his headset, the tech assistant briefly looked up at him.

Oh dear, wrong move. James slowly twisted his head, and his dark, gelid eyes pierced the woman. She quickly ducked her head to stare at her computer screen monitored the Internet for Mr. Moriarty. He carelessly struck the woman in the back of her head with book, just because he could. She flinched, but wisely kept her eyes on the monitor. He grinned again…just because.

Then he danced out of the room, singing to himself in falsetto, "I know that you must past this test…so just pull the trigger, Sherly. Trigger, trigger…Sherly"*

Oh yes, Jim was in a fantastic mood. He dearly loved to watching Sherlock dance. It was so much fun leading Sherly on. It certainly broke up the monotony of an otherwise dreary life.

Sometimes...sometimes James was almost tempted to seduce that brilliant consulting detective. Then the two geniuses could waltz together through London, leaving delicious destruction and chaos in their wake.

It was tempting…but even Sherly would eventually become dull too, and Jim just couldn't let that happen. Nooo, it just wouldn't work out; besides, Jim really couldn't see bedding that arrogant dark über-genius. No.

Jim frowned and stopped dancing. No. No, no, no. He just couldn't get into a cold fish like Sherly. Jim liked 'em blond, buff, and hot! And he liked em' just ever so slightly…stupid. But then everyone was this side of stupid, weren't they.

No, Sherly was diverting for now, but he was not, repeat not, bedroom material. No, no...Jim would stick to his blonds. Because blonds had more fun, right?

No. Sherlock Holmes was his dancing partner, but nothing more. No, Jim couldn't stomach the idea of a cold fish in his bed.

No, he couldn't. He just couldn't. No. No. No. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…

"You all right boss?" grated Sebastian, snapping James out of his mental loop. The tall sniper, held his side protectively as he shuffled into the new office suite.

James suddenly grinned again, a dapper Cheshire cat. "I'm fine. Fit as a fiddle. I'm so happy I could die," quipped the criminal mastermind, turning his cold smile on the pale, limping ex-soldier.

"That good, huh? Why don't you give me some of whatever you're taking then? I could use some relief," growled Moran abrasively.

"Ah, ah, ah, Sebby," chided James, waving a finger in warning. "You wound me; you know I almost never indulge…not in chemicals anyway. Besides, I need you to stay alert until our little game is over. So just say 'no' to drugs, Sebby. Just. Say. No." Jim's voice dropped low at the end, and he gave Sebastian that cold, heavy-lidded viper look.

Normally that look really turned Sebastian on, but now, with his gut on fire…not so much. The former army colonel could thank that fucking Watson for all the pain he was in now.

At least the little, fucking bastard had bled to fucking death. Sebastian could only hope that it took a good, long time for the little fucker to die, and he hoped that it was excruciatingly painful and that Watson was awake and suffering until the bitter end, and Sebastian wished he could bring that fucking son of bitch back just so he could kill him again, but first…

"Oh sit down, before you fall down," drawled James sounding bored. Sebastian was soooo dull these days, always brooding and moping about. James sighed and wandered over to the wet bar. He poured just a finger whiskey in a cut crystal glass...just enough for a teensy taste.

"Now, report!" snapped the changeable Irishman. "And do try not to make so mind-numbingly tedious this time."

"Yessir, Boss. Anna Addams is posted across the street from the old lady. There's no problem keeping the old biddy lit up, 'cause the poor old dear is tied to her bed."

"Dull, Sebby," chided Jim. "Very dull."

Moran chuckled softly. Moran had to do everything softly. His every movement was careful and guarded. He even had to breathe softly. The tall blond sank slowly into a chair, favoring his tender abdomen.

The colonel couldn't understand why it hurt this much. His wound should be getting better. It had been getting better, but now it hurt, and it kept getting worse. His stupid doctor had wanted more tests, more hospitals. Sebastian had killed that useless excuse for a doctor. At least the next one was a little smarter…or more perhaps more frightened…at least he gave Sebastian lots of medicine, without asking for more stupid tests.

Bloody hell, it really hurt.

And it was all Watson's fault. Dammit to hell with that bastard, son of bitch, fucking Watson.

"And?" demanded Moriarty. "Come, come Sebby. You know how I hate to be kept waiting." Jim diverted himself, by looking in a mirror as he held up several silk ties, comparing them with his complexion and his eyes and…

"Yes, Boss," the colonel's voice scraped across the room. "As you predicted, Holmes appeared at the morgue first thing this morning. This time he had that detective inspector and some new lady friend in tow. I'm not sure who she is…yet. She's not police. She may be another one of those bodyguards. I doubt she's a date, Holmes doesn't seem much interested in women. Oh yeah, Charles called about that deal with the Columbians, and that Ali Mustafa wants to talk to you; I think you might want to at least send him an e-mail…"

"Mmm. Borrrriiing!" Jim hummed quietly. "I don't think this tie is working for me. Makes me look washed out," said Moriarty, dropping a wine colored tie to the floor. "You know, that detective inspector fellow was Mycroft's live-in pet. I guess he kept Mycroft's supposedly secret security forces for himself, you know, after Mycroft croaked so suddenly. And now the detective inspector is using those forces to help his dear pseudo-brother-in-law, Sher-cock. I think that's illegal. And anyway, it's cheating. Sherly is getting entirely too much help solving our little puzzles. We might have to do something about this cheating..."

James absently stroked a silky royal-blue tie, as he stared in the mirror. "Geesh! All these people keep getting in the way. Sebby, I might just need you to get rid of some of these awful little people." Jim sighed again, holding a brilliant carmine tie up to his face. "I don't know…It all depends on how entertaining Sher-cock is… Everything depends on how entertaining Sher-cock is…I sup-pose," said Moriarty, his voice tapering off.

James held up first the blood-red tie and then the blue one, "Carmine really is my best color; I think it brings out the color of my eyes and it compliments my complexion. Don't you agree Sebby? I suppose this one will have to do," said Jim, draping the red tie around his neck. "The other ones are hideous. Send 'em back, and make sure you get receipts. And, tell 'em not to send any more blue ties; they remind me of my poor, lost Johnny Boy's blue eyes." Jim put on his sad face. "Johnny was just so lovely when he was terrified. His eyes got so big and wide and blue. Blue like sapphires, or huge dark bruises …God, Johnny would have been just glorious in bed, all tied down... with ties. Ties just like these!"

The criminal mastermind pretended to be surprised at the idea. "Yes, then I would have wanted lots of blue ties to match his eyes and reds ones to match his blood…And I would've wanted a red one for his mouth…for when he started screaming…" There was a long pause as Moriarty stared vacantly. James had a vivid imagination.

"Oh well!" sang Jim, "There's more soldier boys where he came from, right Sebby?"

"Yeah, right Boss. We're a ten a penny," said the former colonel, closing his eyes in his sunken face and hating the late John Watson even more.

James happily adjusted his new red silk tie. "I'm thinking sushi for lunch, Seb," said James Moriarty brightly.

Moran turned his head, looking a bit green.

"Let me guess…You don't feel like eating. Boring. You really are soooo boring these days, Sebby," huffed the Irishman. The two men glared at one another.

"Fine," muttered James, capitulating because this conversation was just too dull. "Fine. I suppose you're still upset about your stupid stomach ache."

"It's not a stomach ache, Ji…Boss," said Sebastian trying to look brave and tough. "It's this fucking wound. It shouldn't be hurting this much and it shouldn't be draining."

"Ewww! Sebastian," whined the Irishman. "No talking about bodily fluids, no. no, no, no, no, no.… unless it's my jizz, of course. And once in a while, maybe, yours." James straightened his beautiful tie and brushed his hands across his perfectly tailored suit. "But I suppose we'll have to wait for that until you're done with that disgusting wound nonsense." James shuddered delicately. "Now buck up, my big, strong military buck. Be a man. And get better, before I lose interest entirely."

Jim gave the wounded soldier an ice-cold glance straight from the depths of hell. Normally a look like that would have made Sebastian's blood run cold and then sooo fucking hot…but not now, not when his gut was already hot. It was burning, always burning.

Still, Sebastian tried to sit up and look manly, although it felt like napalm was burrowing its through his innards.

Moriarty's look grew colder, and he slowly tilted his reptilian head. Sebastian knew he didn't have long before Jim began looking for a replacement. The soldier sat up straight and tall, hiding the agony it caused.

James smiled blandly at the attempt.

"Call my car, Sebastian. Maybe after my sushi and one, just one bottle of sake…hmmm….Yes, after my little nosh, I'll think about picking up a new doctor or two to treat your boring, old wound. The latest doctor has been sooo disappointing; don't you think? Pity you killed Johnny. He was an army doctor; he could've fixed you up. But it wasn't enough for you to kill him, was it? You had to go and let Johnny-boy shoot you before he died. That was sloppy, Seb. Just. Very. Sloppy."

"Right," grunted Sebastian, staring pointedly at Jim's healing ear.

Jim pivoted to glare into the mirror at his red, stitched-up, still swollen ear. How could Johnny have shot his own boyfriend? It must have been a tragic accident. Johnny loved him; of course he did. If Johnny hadn't loved Jim, Jim would have killed the little blond soldier himself. It just stood to reason.

Still, the ear was hideous even after that quack in Belgium promised such beautiful results. But then the quack had wanted to do skin transplants and No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,…

"Boss?" said Seb tiredly. Jim was looping a lot these days. It was all that Holmes's fault, thought the colonel, and that fucking Watson too.
Well, Watson was eliminated by Sebastian's own hand. And soon Holmes would be eliminated too, by Sebastian's own hand. The colonel couldn't wait to see the look on that stupid detective's face when James ordered the kill shot.

And then it would be just Jim and Sebastian again. The way it was before. The army colonel didn't like sharing James Moriarty. Sebastian would always find a way to kill anyone who stood between him and James, like that fucking Watson.

Oh the little one-night stand boy-toys were fine. Sebastian didn't mind them. The colonel didn't care if Jim spent a few hours abusing some stupid little cunt. Hell, sometimes he even let Sebastian have a go at 'em before they died…and they always died, eventually.

'Course that was before fucking Watson hit Sebastian with that lucky shot. Fucking, son of a bitch, thought the colonel, little cunt whore and his fucking son of bitch detective. Fuck 'em both.

James Moriarty blinked almost stupidly after Sebastian woke him from his…ruminations. Yes, well that's the price of being a genius, thought Jim. He stared fixedly at the hideous ear again.

Well, he would just have to imagine that the ear was whole and perfect like before. Fortunately, James Moriarty was quite good at pretending. He thought really hard, and when he looked up, James Moriarty was handsome again. No scars on his face and beautiful, symmetric ears. He smiled at his handsome reflection.

Too bad Sebastian wasn't a genius. Then he could pretend his scars away too, and then Seb could imagine that the stupid, boring gunshot wound was gone too. Jim sighed deeply. Sebby was useful, but he just wasn't a genius. But then again, who was? Probably even Sherlock wouldn't be able to imagine his wounds away. No, no. no, no, no.

Well, Sebby dear better hurry up and get rid of that wound, one way or the other. Even Sebastian wasn't irreplaceable. There was that sniper-lady from Latvia that could take Seb's place. Jim didn't really even mind that she was a woman. It wasn't as though she looked much like a woman anyway. No. No, no, no…James stopped himself with a tiny shake of his handsome head.

James grinned, preening one last time, "Oh my, my, my! I'll have to hurry if I want time to enjoy my lunch, because I must be back before the exciting dénouement of our little adventure. Only a few more hours, before dear Sherly runs out of time on this one."

"God, he's really dragging his feet," continued the dapper psychopath. "But I'm not giving him any more hints. He solves my little puzzle fair and square, or boom! Right, Sebby? BOOM!"

The two men shared happy, hate-filled smiles.

"Yeah, Boss. Boom," agreed Seb.

A/N

8Paraphrased from the song, Russian Roulette by Rihanna.

I regret that this update was delayed due to RL obligations. Thank you all for your patience. I am also sorry that there is no John or Sherlock in this chapter. One or both of them will of course return in the next chapter. I blame Jim. He budged his way into Chapter 45, dragging poor Sebastian behind him. Well, actually, he sent Seb in first with guns drawn. It was very threatening. Then of course, the two of them took over the entire chapter. I mean what could I do against a criminal mastermind and a former army sniper.

Neither John nor Sherlock were any help either. They were off vacation while I was busy with RL. They were doing something (they refuse to tell me what that something is because, as John says, it's personal) (No... really?) Nevertheless, they are very put out with me for making a Mor/Mor chapter. John has cruelly hidden all of the jam, and Sherlock has begun experimenting on my shoes. So consider me punished. And shoeless.

I have to say, even Mycroft was upset. He took my last piece of cake. Of course, he would have taken it anyway, the obese cake monger. (Sherlock typed that last bit, not me.)

Right, let's get down to business, so this Chapter can be up loaded, yeah?

Thank you very much for following and favoriting my story.

Special thank yous go out to those who were kind enough to review. It is your comments, questions, compliments and con-crit that keep me at it (the writing I mean :D ) Thank you for the recent reviews from: k8ec (thank you for being so safety and health conscious), Quiet Time (thank you for noticing the soft focus), deideiblueeyez (thank you for your many recent reviews), 107602 (the only thing better than a good goodbye kiss, is a fantastic hello kiss...HELLO!) , EJ 12212012 (thank you so much for sticking with me and this long, convoluted fic) , and Anastasia (Thank you for the truly lovely note. And yes, as you noted, the Imperial Death march does indeed keep time with wind shield wipers, pretty cool, huh?).

Disclaimer I do not own the rights to SHERLOCK in any way, shape or form. It's a shame really. I'd love to own the rights to SHERLOCK. Oh well, maybe I can use my imagination to pretend that I own…OUCH! Jim just smacked me upside my head. I really hope he leaves soon. :$