Sherlock Sleepover

the Second hour

"Damn you, Moriarty!" John shouted. "Just give us the bloody cat!"

"Such manners," the criminal mastermind said with a tsk. "Honestly, John, do you kiss Mary with that mouth?"

John gritted his teeth. "Leave her out of this!"

Moriarty grinned like a cat with its paw in a fish tank and held up a phone. "She's at the hospital, isn't she?" he said. "One call and I could end her. Unleeeeeess!! You stay here and cooperate."

"Sherlock!" John said, turning to his friend for help.

"Don't worry," Sherlock said, studying Moriarty's sly grin. "We'll figure out his game. No harm will come to Mary." He looked John in the eye. "I promise."

"Good boys!" Moriarty cheered from the balcony. "Now, why don't you come on up for some snackies for the tummies."

"This is bad," John mumbled to Sherlock as they climbed the rickety old steps. "He's got us wrapped around his finger!"

"Not completely wrapped," Sherlock replied. "He's made several errors already."

"Like what?" John asked. "I didn't notice anything."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course you didn't," he said. "But I have."

John sighed. "Of course you have. Care to explain?"

"The text is his first one," Sherlock said. "Total fumble. Sent from an open network; the police could track it in a second. I forwarded it to Lestrade anyway. We weren't allowed to show up with officers but they will be coming if they don't hear from me in five hours."

"Well that's reassuring," John said sarcastically.

Sherlock didn't pick up on it.

"His second mistake," he went on. "Was the cabbie."

"The cabbie?" John repeated.

"Yes, the cabbie," Sherlock said. "Keep up. I slipped him nine hundred pounds. He's sitting right around the block. One text from me and he'll show up with the duffel bag of weapons I left with him."

John gaped at him. "Weapons?" he said. "And where the hell did you get mine hundred pounds?!"

"Your bank account," Sherlock said. "It's a joint account, remember? We both have access to it. It's lucky you're not a big spender; you had plenty in there."

"Sherlock!!" John hissed. "I can't believe this!!"

"Neither can I," Sherlock said. "Where do you get money anyway?"

"Military checks," John grumbled. "Not that you care."

"Are you two making out or what?" Moriarty called. "What is taking you so long?!"

Sherlock bounded up the last of the steps, two at a time, almost leaving John behind. He strode confidently into the only room with the light on and assessed the situation in a heartbeat.

Moriarty. Smiling. No, beaming. Happy. Confident. Smug. Empty pockets. Not armed. No guns. Not knives. Cocky. Weight on his left foot. Ready for action. Still wary.

Sherlock gave the left side of the room a quick once-over.

No windows. No doors. No escape. Picture. Landscape. A safe? Sugartump's pedigree papers? Picture frame. Painted metal. Color worn down on one side. Sebum. An oil secreted by human skin. Fades paint.

Someone was touching the picture frame but only one side. Hinged on the other most likely. Definitely a safe.

And Moriarty had the key.

Sherlock went back to studying the criminal, this time searching for a key.

Pockets flat. Could be hidden under a wrinkle. Hair combed back. Face washed. He was prepared. Planning this. Watching. Waiting.

"You planned this," Sherlock finally said, keeping his tone careful.

Moriarty rolled his eyes. "Is that the only deduction you can make?" he said. "Come on, Sherlock, I want something more. Impress me!"

"There's no need to impress you," he said. "You didn't bring us here to impress you. So, why did you do it?"

"I told you already!" Moriarty said. "I was bored! And what's more fun than having a sleepover with your best friends?"

"We aren't your friends!" John said, and Moriarty gasped dramatically.

"So rude, John," he said. "And with your wife's life on the line?"

John stiffened defensively, and Sherlock stepped forward.

"Enough with the games, Moriarty," he said. "Give us the cat and his papers and I won't try to arrest you."

"Oh, but the games haven't begun," Moriarty said. "The games won't start until later. First, we must have snacks."

He snapped his fingers and then turned, yanking a cloth that covered something particularly lumpy on the table behind him.
He waved it like a Spanish bull dancer, with the flair and finessé of a woman of the court. The table was covered in dishes: many, many dishes.

Apple pies and apple fritters. Apple sauce and carmel dipped apples. Apple slices in dishes and apple cider in jugs. There was even a tumbler, a cauldron of ice, and glass bottles of apple schnapps and vodka for appletinis.

"Isn't it a feast?!" Moriarty said excitedly. "I hope you're hungry."

"How could we eat at a time like this?!" John said. "You sick, twisted —"

"Of course we could eat," Sherlock said, interrupting him. He walked forward, selected a single apple slice, and held it up to the light. "Assuming you aren't trying to poison me."

Moriarty gave him an insufferable look. "Do you think I would poison a guest, Sherlock?" he said, selecting an apple slice from same dish a took a bite. "Honestly, how stupid do you think I am?"

Sherlock watched him carefully as.he chewed a swallowed. He waited a moment more before eating his own apple slice. Then he took another.

"Come on, John," he said, waiting for Moriarty to take another before eating. "Don't be rude."

"Unbelievable," John muttered. But he dutifully stepped up an took an apple slice.

"Oh, goodie!" Moriarty said. "The party has started." He grabbed the bottles of vodka and schnapps. "Do we want alcohol now or later?"

"Hm, later," Sherlock said. He grabbed a jug of cider and poured three cups with the skill of a veteran barista. "For now, cider." He offered one to Moriarty and then one to John, raising his own in a toast.

"To a night of fun," Moriarty said, before Sherlock could declare his own toast.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't protest, only took a swallow of the drink as did John.

John coughed, staring at his cup in confusion. "That's strong for cider," he said and cleared his throat.

Moriarty took a sip of his own and licked his lips. "Turned cider," he said. "Come on, boys, don't get mad at me. This would hardly be fun unless we're all a little tipsy."

"This won't be fun at all!" John said. "You are keeping us here against our will, like it's some kind of game!"

Moriarty tsked and sipped his drink more, selecting a cookie with a apple chunk baked into the top. "I told you, John," he said and took a bite. "Games come after the food."

He grinned.

"And we will have sooooo much fun!"