My Doctor, Watson

Chapter II

A/N: Thank you SO much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and i'm very honored if you're continuing to read it. I'm not sure how much i'll update. This chapter is sort of a filler chapter, but it's still of importance. I just wanted to try and capture characterization here. Let me know of any feedback you have. Comment, favorite, share, whatever you please. Thanks! It means a lot.

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The man, presumably Moriarty, turned around and gave a sly grin.

"Oh, Sherlock. I sure did miss you" he said.

Sherlock's face turned stone cold and grew pale. "And I can't say i've missed you back." He responded.

"What a pity." Moriarty said. John looked back and fourth between the men. Moriarty looked exactly like the kind of person that would kill people for fun. His eyes were wild, dictating his absurd and crazy thoughts. Something told him that he hadn't come just for tea and some chat about the weather.

"Can I offer you some tea?" John suggested to break the ice. All he got in return was two cold stares. He just whistled and decided to go stand in the corner.

"Pleasure yourself, take a seat." Sherlock said, without a hint of expression on his face. He spoke through gritted teeth. Sherlock sat in his chair, while Moriarty followed and sat in John's. He stretched his legs out and placed them on the coffee table. Sherlock surprisingly kept eye contact.

"I would tell you why i'm here, but i'm sure you already know. That's something I love about you, Sherlock. You have a very complex mind. You and I, we're the same." Moriarty drawled, but then he caught his breath. "Oh, but you're not as robot as I thought, no. You like people, Sherlock, you have feelings. You have weaknesses."

"Please, like I need people. Feelings are a chemical defect. Something that arises only out of desperation or pity. I don't involve myself with them. I'm not playing this game with you, Moriarty. We've played it for too long."

"Right here, in case you were wondering." John said waving his hands awkwardly. Both of them disregarded his comment as if he were invisible.

"Oh, my dear Sherlock. My sweet, sweet Sherlock. We aren't playing this game. The game is over. You've already LOST! YOU HAVE LOST! You are weak. I guess, I need to find someone else to play with now." Moriarty yelled.

Sherlock looked confused. His eyes darted back and fourth. He was thinking. "I don't see how i've simply lost. I merely-"

"You really don't know, do you? You are always so ignorant. I thought you were special. I thought we could have some fun. But you're the same as everyone else, you've found someone. Someone that's consuming your every thought. " He said in a singsong voice. Sherlock subtly glanced at John so John couldn't see it and took a deep breath.

Moriarty stood up and walked over to the kitchen. "Oh, knives! So many knives! I can see my reflection in them." He strode over with a butter knife and started carving in the floor. Slowly and gingerly. John peered over, but couldn't read from that far. He tried to stand on his toes but somehow managed to knock a cup of pens off the desk. Sherlock shot him a glare.

After a while of watching Moriarty, Sherlock stood up and walked over to the door. With his hand extended and his head bowed, he said "I think this meeting is adjourned. Until the next time, Moriarty." John couldn't help but admire Sherlock's slender form and dark, lush hair. That's what straight men focus on, right?

Moriarty finished carving and walked over to Sherlock by the door. "You don't have to be like this, darling. Your wings are black. John, look at them. It seems as if you won't fly, you'll just fall...." Moriarty said, while his eyes were trailing off. His hands traveled downwards and he made an incantation of an explosion. He stood there, staring off into the distance for awhile. And then he did something that shocked the latter of us, he reached over and kissed Sherlock on the lips. It lasted about two seconds before Moriarty started chuckling maniacally and pulled away. Sherlock just sat there, looking bored. He wasn't in the least bit disturbed or confused about what had just happened. John opened his mouth in a gape and then decided to take sudden interest in the ceiling.

"You're nothing special Sherlock, just another game piece, waiting for their turn. Their turn that would never come. I hope you think about me." With that, he walked away, looking phased.

Sherlock stood in the door frame for a minute and then turned to slam the door. When John walked over to his chair, he could clearly see the carvings imprinted on the creaky floor. There was a smiley face, with the words "Your'e Reichenbach falling. -JM."

"Sherlock. What the bloody hell was that about?! And what does this mean." John demanded, gesturing towards the message on the ground.

"I don't know." Sherlock mumbled.

"What?!"

"I DON'T KNOW, JOHN!" Sherlock yelled. He seemed genuinely troubled by this encounter.

Considering John could tell Sherlock was distressed, he let that one slip. "He said something about someone captivating your thoughts.. What does that mean? At least tell me that."

"It's nothing. Moriarty is a man of complete and utter acrimony. He doesn't know what he says the most of the time, he's bluffing. That man, he's very inefficient in trying to make me troubled. He says things to get under my skin. I know he's hiding something. He's got a bigger plan than he let on. This is it. I don't know what's going to happen, not this time. " Sherlock said.

John just sat there, more confused than he was before, and decided to go off to bed. He was stunned that the world's only consulting detective was lost. More so because Sherlock never admitted it if he was defeated. He stormed off, making a dramatic exit towards the bedroom.

"Oh, and John?"

"Yes?" John answered impatiently.

"Have a good night." Sherlock responded. He cracked a small, very unnoticeable smile, but John noticed. Having lived with the man for nearly a year now, he could see the smallest hints of emotion that rarely displayed his features. John watched Sherlock stand there, staring at the carvings. He then went in to his bedroom and closed the door.

The last thing John remembered before falling asleep was the sound of the violin playing, the melody more slower and sadder than ever.