Author's note: Time for a confrontation.
Hope you like it, please review.
"What is he doing here?" Greg asked, taking out the gun Mycroft had handed to him shortly before they had left the office. "Even if he's living underground, he certainly could afford better places".
"The evidence suggests that he is meeting Moran" he answered, his eyes never leaving the building. "Moriarty does love to be dramatic – he probably considers this the proper environment".
Greg decided against pointing out the irony of that statement and instead scrutinized the building one more time. It wasn't big, so it shouldn't take long to find them; still, he would have preferred to know where they were so they could have the element of surprise.
That they now had to fight against Moran as well, who he remembered to be an excellent shot, wasn't exactly helping.
Mycroft reached into a pocket of his coat and brought out a gun too. Greg noticed that his hand was slightly trembling. Of course he would be nervous; Mycroft had never liked legwork, preferring to stay behind in the shadows, but this time, he couldn't trust anyone, and he couldn't risk telling anyone what had happened. He had to do it on his own.
Suddenly, Greg was thankful that he had been with him when Trevelyan had changed reality. At least he could protect one Holmes.
"Will there be guards?" he inquired. Mycroft shook his head.
"Moriarty wouldn't risk anyone hearing what he has to say to Moran, and he has been gone for three years without anyone managing to find him; he won't expect us to show up."
"Unless Trevelyan has been in contact and told him that today was the day everything changed."
The frown on Mycroft's face told him that he had considered the possibility, but that they had to risk it.
And they had to. If they wanted to help Sherlock and John, they had to.
"Ready when you are" Greg said, and the British Government sent him a look that could only be interpreted as thankful. He nodded and, without speaking again, they advanced towards the building. No one was on the street, so at least they could leave their weapons drawn; if there were snipers in the vicinity, it was good to be armed, even if they perhaps wouldn't be able to do much against them.
Greg opened the door, waiting for Mycroft's sign of approval before touching the knob; it opened silently.
He swallowed, his heart hammering, as he stepped through it before Mycroft could. He was aware that Holmes rather preferred to be the first, and that the British Government would probably regard it as his duty to go in as such, but he was the police officer with over twenty years of experience, and it was his job to shield people from dangerous criminals.
There was no one on the first floor. They moved as quietly as possible, disturbing dust that must have been lying there for years, and Greg was ready to give up, thinking that Mycroft must have been mistaken for once, when the elder Holmes tapped his shoulder and pointed to a trail of footprints that led to the first floor.
He nodded and went the stairs. As he had feared, they were made of wood and would certainly creak; they could only hope that the conversation between Moriarty and Moran would be loud enough to drown out their steps.
He put his foot on the first step and winced at the loud noise that seemed to echo through the building, but when he stood still and waited for a sign that their presence had been noted, nothing could be heard. If he hadn't seen the footprints, he would have believed the warehouse to be as abandoned as it had been for years.
Mycroft behind him moved so silently that he could have thought himself alone. The ability must run in the family, he thought as once more the stairs creaked underneath his foot.
Still there was nothing.
They slowly made their way upstairs, pausing to listen every three or four steps. Finally they reached the top and stood in another big room, similar to the one they had just left, but this time, no one could have overlooked the footprints in the dust.
And was that –
Greg raised his hand to make Mycroft understand that he would stay still – an unnecessary precaution, but better safe than sorry – and listened. Yes, there was a distinct murmur somewhere at the back. He stayed rooted to the spot for another minute, to make sure he wasn't imagining where the sounds came from, then started moving forward.
The murmurs slowly grew louder, but they were still to indistinct to make out what they were saying. He thought only one person was talking – probably Moriarty. Greg had never seen the consulting criminal, but what he had been able to piece together through John's blog entries, the news reports about Richard Brook and the few hints that Sherlock had let drop, he was certainly a man who would give orders and expect them to be followed. And since Moran had been so desperate to avenge him, he was obviously not the one to argue with him.
He knew Mycroft listening just as attentively, and he wished he could ask him, but they couldn't risk being heard. So slowly, agonizingly slowly, they crept forward. Thankfully there were enough crates and garbage lying around to shield them.
Greg thought he could indentify Moriarty's voice, once they were close enough; he had sought out the programmes of the "story teller" that Richard Brook had been after Sherlock's suicide and had watched them again and again, angry at himself and the world for not realizing that a dangerous criminal had built himself a double identity.
He turned around for confirmation, and Mycroft nodded once.
It was indeed Moriarty.
Eventually, they were close enough to understand snippets of the conversation.
"Sebby, there is no reason why we shouldn't. There are no difficulties – and if they are, they are there to be conquered, aren't they? It wouldn't be any fun otherwise."
A shiver ran down his spine, and without yet having stood in front of him, he could understand why Sherlock had considered him a challenge.
They moved even closer, and Greg was confident that they would soon catch a sight of the consulting criminal, when he cheerfully cried, "Come out! Hiding isn't polite, is it?"
Helplessly, he caught Mycroft's eyes, and the British Government pointed in the direction the voice came from, his face grim. Apparently he didn't think pretending was of any use, and Greg had to agree with him. If the man was half as dangerous as his games with Sherlock suggested, it was better to play with open cards.
When they stepped into the men's line of sight, Greg stared at the most dangerous criminal the city had ever known. He was shorter than he had thought, and there was an almost maniacal gleam in his eyes.
Moriarty smiled.
"The Inspector and the Government himself! To what do I owed the pleasure?"
Greg felt a shiver run down his spine; his left hand clenched into a fist. The consulting criminal sounded utterly unconcerned, and the DI had to fight the temptation to shoot him on the spot.
"Now, now, Sebby, put down your weapon. They are our guests."
He patted the sniper's arm; Moran had drawn his gun as soon as Greg and Mycroft stepped out of the shadows, and the DI had trained his weapon on him. He kept it that way, even after the sniper had let his arm drop.
"Greg".
Mycroft's voice brooked no argument, and Greg let his hand sink. Moriarty's grin was almost enough to make him ignore the request, but only almost.
"What can be the reason for this visit? You are not still angry about my and Sherlock's disagreement, are you? No one forced him to sacrifice himself – or at least to pretend to."
Before Greg could answer Mycroft did.
"That is not why we are here."
Moriarty tilted his head to his side.
"You – Oh!" He took a few steps towards them, almost bouncing with energy.
"You managed to remember, didn't you? I am impressed. I bet it does get difficult, though?"
Greg forced himself not to act on these taunts like the consulting criminal expected – by searching his memories and realizing that it was indeed getting difficult to remember – but instead kept his eyes on Moran. Mycroft was more than capable of dealing with Moriarty, he was assured; but the sniper was obviously nervous, and if he chose to raise his gun again, Greg would be ready.
"This just got much more exciting!" He exclaimed. "What are you planning to do?"
This time, it was Greg who replied, slowly and carefully.
"We want to bring back Sherlock and John."
He had heard and read about the games Moriarty had played, and he didn't want to be a part of it. They had a goal, and they would do everything to reach it.
The consulting criminal's face fell.
"You are no fun" he whined. "And I can't, anyway."
Greg could have sworn his heart stopped.