The Disgrace

The Critical Decision

A few hours after Greg left the flat, Sherlock sat, fuming silently, in his chair facing the kitchen, suddenly missing John's chair. He'd have to put that back later.

He stared halfheartedly at his violin sitting near the music stand by the window. Sherlock knew he should play it, but he hadn't the energy or passion needed to enjoy it properly at the moment. He exhaled heavily, but ceased the action almost immediately; he'd heard a slow creak on the stairs. Though he strained to hear anything else, he could only hear the silence and his own slow breathing. Anyone else would have been in the flat already, and wouldn't care if he'd heard them. He knew precisely who would enter.

Sherlock sat with his fingertips together, pondering, when Moriarty walked in. "Forgive me, but I don't have tea brewed at the moment," Sherlock greeted him. He stood and moved toward the kitchen.

Moriarty stood in the doorway, looking around at the flat. "No place to sit, and no tea? That's borderline rude, Sherlock." He stepped inside and took Sherlock's seat.

"Yes, well, forcing one to commit alleged suicide isn't considered polite, either. I've been rather curious as to how you faked yours?"

"Oh, Sherlock, that doesn't matter anymore. What matters now is our new game."

"Stay away from Verity."

"So defensive," scoffed Moriarty, his eyes wide. "This isn't just about her. It's about you."

"No," Sherlock said firmly.

"Genius needs an audience, as you well remember. What better way to show it off than to save your sister from certain death?"

"What would my challenge be?"

"A riddle. An impossible riddle."

"A riddle? No, that sounds too simple for you. Are you sure you don't want me to jump off a building again?"

Moriarty gave an unpleasant chuckle. "You're funny, Sherlock," he said throatily.

Just then, John and Mary burst through the door, looking shaken. "Sherlock, w-we were attacked," panted Mary. "They took your sister!"

Sherlock threw a poisonous look at Moriarty, who smiled knowingly. John had spotted the previous Rich Brook, and backed away against the hall, taking Mary protectively by the arm.

"Your move," said Moriarty as he pushed past John and Mary.

"What was that about?" asked John the moment they heard the door click shut behind Moriarty. Sherlock remained silent.

"What was that?" John repeated.

"Verity's life will undoubtedly be compromised, if not already," Sherlock said in a detached whisper. "Moriarty gave me the option to take an impossible riddle or risk my sister's life. I say option and or, but it was really a demand for both."

"Well you're not actually going to do it, are you?" John continued. Sherlock furrowed his brow and pressed his lips together, his mouth a thin downward slash. "You've got a plan?" John said louder. "Sherlock!"

"Well I haven't got a choice, do I, John?!" Sherlock fired back. "When have I ever had a choice?"

"You've always had choices! You could've chosen to tell me you were alive two years ago! Do you how many times I picked up my gun and wondered how hard would it really be to just pull the trigger? How many times I looked out of a window and thought how easily I could lean out just far enough to fall? H-" his breath caught in his throat. "You moronic, m-"

"John," said Mary softly.

John took a deep breath and continued in a harsher, quieter voice. "Don't," he said simply. He took Mary by the arm once more, leading her out through the door. Sherlock stood unmoving for several minutes when a voice crackled through the speakers on his phone.

"He who makes it wants it not. He who takes it knows it not. He who knows it wants it not," said Moriarty.

Sherlock considered his choices, and made his decision. He sat down and steepled his fingers, trying to unravel the riddle.