Drunken Watson, Hidden Feelings

Chapter 5

Sherlock sat across from Mycroft, neither man speaking. Sherlock hadn’t slept in over 24 hours now. There had been no updates or any contact from Moriarty since Sherlock had spoken with him yesterday on the Thames. He was beside himself with concern; so much so, he’d contacted his brother, something he’d have preferred not to do under most circumstances.

“Are you sure you don’t know this James Moriarty, or had any previous dealings with him?” Mycroft asked needlessly.

Sherlock stared at his older brother as if he was two seconds away from throttling him. “Just tell me what you have on him Mycroft.”

“Why would he target you brother mine, or take John? Most people would assume you care for no one but yourself.”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock yelled, slamming his palms flat on the table.

“We don’t know much. Only that he seems to be a criminal genius.”

“Yes thank you, I could’ve gotten that bit of info from the inside of a fortune cookie.” Sherlock mumbled.

“We can’t actually link any crimes to him. He seems to be the brain behind numerous outlandish schemes as well as your ordinary run of the mill crimes. People go to him and ask for help committing said crimes.”

“A consulting criminal? Interesting. Only one of his kind I imagine.” Sherlock muttered to himself already going through possible scenarios where he could have come across the fiend.

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?”

“Course not, I'm thinking.”

“Please don’t hurt yourself.” Mycroft shot back with his usual dry wit. “Sherlock.”

“What! Why are you still here?”

“As I was saying, do you truly not see the similarities between yourself and this Moriarty character? Well, more like opposites. Maybe that is what has drawn him to you? He seems to be taken with you, or at the very least trying to make it appear as if he is. Could he be a jilted suitor?”

“What? Heavens no, I haven’t had a relationship in ages, no time.”

“Yes. I know. It breaks mummy’s heart.”

Sherlock turned and looked at Mycroft, “Don’t you have some small country to invade? Goodbye Mycroft.” Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.

Mycroft stood, twirling his umbrella, looking around the flat one last time before letting himself out of the flat.

So, Moriarty was a consulting criminal. People came to him looking for assistance carrying out crimes. And Mycroft claimed to not have any info on him, criminal genius would be right. There were a few cases in his past that were absolutely brilliant that he had trouble believing the person who was “behind” the crime could have really pulled it off. Maybe he had crossed paths with Moriarty before.

Enticing him out of the house with a case was not enough to go on, he had a website after all that demonstrated his hunger for knowledge. Along with John’s blog that showcased him at his very best. John always made him seem brilliant and capable.

John. He hoped Moriarty was a civilized individual, that he was feeding and looking out for John’s basic human needs.

John woke up to a funny taste in his mouth and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Sitting in front of him on the chair was Mary. She looked unhappy to say the least; she had an empty glass in her hand. When she saw he was awake she stood and retrieved some water from the faucet and came back offering it to John. “Am I supposed to trust that it isn’t poisoned?”