Consulting Doctors (Sherlock Holmess/John Hamish Watson)

"Dangerous?" John repeated Sherlock's choice of words, suddenly feeling a rush to his heart. His mouth was dry and he licked his lips, his head buzzing. He was actually enjoying this, he realised. And he could tell Sherlock was enjoying it too.

"Good job I've got my gun then," he replied, and couldn't help but give the taller man a brief smile. He leapt into the taxi beside Sherlock and took a few deep breaths.

Twenty minutes later and the taxi was pulling up outside the abandoned cinema. John dug in his pockets to try and find some money.

"Yes. Dangerous." Sherlock replied dryly as if to him nothing was dangerous and he could care less. He just returned John's smile with an equal one, asking himself why he was liking this man so much. He usually got annoyed with people interrupting his business, but this seemed different and he couldn't exactly tell why.

As the taxi stopped, Sherlock hopped out, not caring about paying the man. He walked towards the building, popping the collar of his coat up to cheekbones height.

Sherlock walked closer, putting his hand against on of the windows in an attempt to see through. It was dark and there was no sign of life whatsoever. Without a word Sherlock started to walk around the building, checking the time on his watch. Within 2 minutes 30 minutes had passed, so he sped up his pace, looking over his shoulder to see whether John was following or not.

"You ready?" He asked soft as his hand reached to the knob of the fire exit door.

John turned to Sherlock to ask him for a contribution to the taxi fare, only to find the detective had already leapt out and was snooping around the building. He frowned and shook his head, paying for the cab himself and thanking the driver, before getting out and jogging to catch up with Sherlock. He felt the gun dig reassuringly into his side and his left hand fell around it firmly as he approached the fire exit.

"I'm ready," he nodded, and they pushed open the door. It creaked loudly to reveal a large dark room inside. John walked in slowly, peering into the darkness. It took a little while for his eyes to adjust before he realised they were now inside the actual cinema theatre itself, right at the bottom, the large cinema screen on their right and the seats immedieately to their left. The place was empty.

"He should be here any minute," John said, looking at his watch.

Sherlock slowly walked in, observing the whole place in just one blink of an eye. It seemed empty, however he just knew this person was much more then he had thought to be. No sane, ordinary, boring person would meet up in a place like this.

"He had to make sure we got here first." Sherlock replied, his voice dipping low to avoid an echo.

Only a few seconds later a high toned voice rose up, however still nobody could be seen. "Well, well, Look who has come out to play. If it isn't that precious detective Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes scanned through the whole room, trying to find where the voice was coming from. He wondered who this could be, he didn't recognize him from just hearing his voice. They hadn't meet, Sherlock was certain about that, but this man clearly knew who he was.

"Who are you?" Sherlock spoke loud, making his deep voice echo through the, what seemed to be, empty cinema theatre.

John took a step back when the shrill sing-song voice rang out through the auditorium, and he too scanned the aisles and seats, every dark corner, looking for its owner but seeing nothing. There were so many shadows in this place, he could be hiding anywhere, and it was echoey, every word reverberated around the whole building.

His hand instantly went to his gun and he gripped it silently although still leaving it in the waistband of his pants. He took a few steps closer to Sherlock, feeling safer stood by his side. Suddenly there was a creak of a step and from the back of the theatre appeared a small man in a suit, dark hair, an odd smile on his face. He began to slowly walk down the steps towards them.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi." he remarked by way of introduction, before adding, "I've been watching you detective. I've been watching you very carefully...and I just knew you wouldn't be able to resist this little puzzle of mine."

John frowned, confused. He didn't recognise this man, and didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about...but his name Jim Moriarty clearly matched up with the initials on the text messages, so he presumed it was indeed the same person.

Sherlock felt John getting closer to him and for a second he wondered whether he would be scared or not. The thought got pushed aside pretty quickly as he heard a loud creak coming from the other side of the theatre. His eyes shot over to the small, fashionable man that came out of the shadow.

He was certain he hadn't seen him before, but this was the missing piece to his puzzle. Suddenly everything made sense. "Oh." Sherlock exclaimed. "Of course." It sounded as if he was more talking to himself then anyone else.

"It was you all along. Not just this." Sherlock began. "The missing person's case a few weeks ago. James M. was the last person he had spoken to. And the little girl that died, a painting she made addressed to JM. inside of her innocent hands." Sherlock explained, to himself but also to Moriarty. He needed to let the man know he had figured it all out. "And now this. The perfect way to lead me towards you." Sherlock couldn't help but smile. "Clever." He complimented the other.

"But what is it all for?" His eyes narrowed. Could it be boredom? The need for distraction? Or had this Jim Moriarty bigger plans stalled for him?

Jim clapped his hands and laughed manically, arriving at the bottom of the stairs in front of them both. He strolled up to Sherlock and stared up at him arrogantly. "Well done detective...you figured it out," he grinned. "Why do people do things Sherlock? Because I'm bored. Just like you...." He reached out a hand and touched Sherlock's chest provocatively.

John frowned, not fully understanding what was going on. "But...are you saying you killed Dr Harrison? Why? Why would you do that?" he asked. Jim turned his empty black eyes towards him and John shuddered involuntarily.

"Why?" Jim repeated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Because I knew our little detective here wouldn't be able to avoid a good mystery. Besides, I didn't kill him stupid. I don't like to get my hands dirty. That's why I had that idiot Matthew do it. So easy to manipulate."

Of course, this had all been part of a game Sherlock had started to play a long time ago. Sherlock didn't move away when the fairly small hand came to linger on his chest. His eyes didn't move from Jim's for a second.

The missing piece came when Moriarty explained to John how he made Matthew do this for him. "Consulting criminal." He muttered to himself. "Clever." Sherlock couldn't help but compliment this person. He understood now, Moriarty and he were much more alike then he's like to admit.

"But now I'm here." Sherlock said, trying to distract Jim's attention from John before he said something stupid to upset him. "Why?" He asked, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Did your own game began to bore you?"

Jim turned away from John flashing him a small glare before wandering back over to Sherlock, circling him slowly.

"I wanted to meet you face to face, finally," he explained with a glint in his eye. "This has been fun. This little game of ours. But it has to stop now Sherlock...you're in my way."

And Jim stopped circling standing right in front of Sherlock staring into his eyes, before turning away and walking back towards the stairs. He clicked his fingers and a small red dot appeared in the middle of Sherlock's head. "You can't be allowed to continue..."

John quickly pulled out his gun and pointed it straight at Jim taking a couple of steps towards him. "Call off your sniper Mr Moriarty," he demanded, "Or I'll blow your head off. And don't think I won't."

Sherlock's lips stretched in a weak smile. "You shouldn't spoil me with compliments like that." He said when Jim mentioned being in his way, raising his eyebrow provokingly. Of course, Sherlock had played Jim's game just until he had got to the point where Jim didn't need him any more.

Out of the corner of his eye a bright red dot began to dance over the surface of his skin. Stupid to assume he had came alone. Sherlock's heart started to beat fast, knowing his life was on the line and so was John's. The man's brave attempt to pull his gun and protect Sherlock was highly appreciated. Before Sherlock could say anything, Moriarty was already scoffing at John's words.

"Oooh, I see, you brought your little pet." He said playfully, walking closer with his hands buried deep into his pockets, making him come across as arrogant.

"Well... go on. Blow my head off." His voice suddenly sounded serious and he rolled his neck to both sides. "But then he." His head gestured to Sherlock, who seemed to be frozen. "Will still die anyway. Not to mention your own life will end quickly as well." He shrugged a little, as if he just explained the most common thing in the world.

John hesitated, still aiming his gun, taking another step towards Jim. He glanced over at Sherlock, realising the position was an impossible one and he slowly lowered his gun.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, and Jim began to laugh.
"Good," he smirked. "Clever boy."

Jim grabbed the gun out of John's hand and spun it round, pressing the barrel into the middle of John's head. John backed away slightly, scared.

"Now who's in charge?" Jim smirked."What do you think Sherlock?" he sneered. "What do you think the inside of his skull looks like? Care to see?" He cocked the gun, ready to fire. John screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away, terrified and frozen to the spot.

(( cliffhanger right here, please wait almost 2 years to see my next reply. LOL ))

Sherlock's head slowly turned over to see John. He swallowed loud when he saw Jim taking over the gun and pressing it against his companions face. His gaze switched between Jim and John was he tried to figure out his options.

"No. No stop, wait!" he said, trying to keep a bit of panic out of his voice. Sherlock felt vulnerable as he did, but it was the only way he was able to be right now.

" what's the point in shooting him already, Jim?" sherlock tried. " he won't suffer. He won't be able to crawl over the floor, begging you to spare him. Besides, he's just an ordinary man, he doesn't understand. Come on, Jim. That's not really your style now, is it?" Sherlock had to move Jim 's attention away from John, hoping e understood he did this in an attempt to safe the man's life.

((Haha, you troll...XD))


John's eyes darted over to Sherlock, desperate for help.

Jim began to laugh at the detective's words and John was really hoping what he'd said was true. That this wasn't Jim's style...that he wasn't about to blow his head off just to see what his brains looked like. He closed his eyes and prayed to live, then suddenly he heard the gun blast.

BANG BANG BANG. A deafening noise in his ear and he crashed down to the floor imagining himself to be dead. Or at least severly injured, bleeding, dying.

But then he heard Jim's taunting laughter again, and his voice, "Deary me...he is a little jittery isn't he? Your pet..." John opened his eyes, his head still reeling and his ears ringing. He slowly sat up and turned his head, realising Jim had fired right past his ear and into the cinema screen behind them. He panted hard, breathless with relief and adrenalin, momentarily unable to stand.

Sherlock's heart dropped when he heard 3 loud bangs, gunshots, echoing through the abandoned room. John's body dropped to the floor. The only person who he hadn't find boring or ordinary from the beginning, the only person he had allowed to come with him on a case, was now dead. And only he was to blame. He didn't had to take Moriarty's games, but he had. A stream of never felt emotions and feelings ran through his body and crushed his chest.

It had all been felt in a few fractions of a second, until Moriarty's obnoxious laugh filled up what had only been a second of silence. Sherlock's head turned, from the barrel of Jim's guns to the screen behind John and then to the floor. A weight felt off his chest, John was alive!

"You're insane." Sherlock snapped, completely forgetting about the little red dot still dancing between his eyes.

"You're just getting that now?" Jim laughed, brushing down his suit. He threw the gun over his shoulder away from the reach of the other two.

"Well, this has been fun," he smiled, cracking his neck slowly. "But I'd better be off. You'll be hearing from me Sherlock." Jim brushed his hand casually across the detective's chest before descending the stairs and disappearing into the shadows. They heard a click of his fingers and the red dot disappeared from Sherlock's face.

John struggled to his knees, still breathing hard, his pounding heart beginning to regain some level of normality. He shakily got to his feet and staggered over to Sherlock, placing a hand on his arm.

"Are you....are you OK?" he stammered.

"Laters." Sherlock growled annoyingly. He didn't get any more information. This all was a big set up, just for Jim to kill some of his precious time. However, Sherlock had loved the thrill of it for a moment.

The pressure fell off his chest once the door fell close and the little red dot didn't jumped up and down between his eyes anymore. A sigh of relief fell of his lips as he turned around to check on John. The man was crawling onto his feet, slightly shaking from what he'd just experienced.

"Who? Me? Yes, yes I'm fine." He smiled shortly, his eyes quickly scanning over John's hand on him. "Are you?" He asked, letting a bit of concern ring through his voice.

John staggered around and finally collapsed backwards onto one of the old creaky cinema chairs, his legs feeling weak but his heart still pounding with adrenalin. He'd certainly never expected this when he turned up for work that day.

He glanced up at Sherlock and managed a half smile, even a small chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation. "Yeah...yeah I'm OK," he gasped, breathless.

He pushed himself to his feet again and staggered over to where Jim had thrown his gun, well out of their reach, and bent down to pick it up before wandering back to Sherlock frowning. "But...what was all that about? I don't understand."

Sherlock's eyes followed John for a moment, watching him collapse onto one of those chairs. Something told him to go and help the poor man, but his pride was stronger, at least for now. John's chuckle made a smile curl onto his own dry lips as well. "Good, you're ok.. that's.. good." Sherlock said a bit awkward.

By now Sherlock was pacing up and down nervously, trying to think, trying to make something out of the ridiculous words Jim had spoken. "It's all about distraction." He said, looking at John for a fraction of a second and knowing the man didn't understand. "He's bored, want me to play his games just to keep his own mind sane." Sherlock explained further. "I don't know how far he'll go, but this was just the beginning."

Sherlock stopped, his eyes looking around the dark cinema room. "We should get out of here." He pointed out, not knowing who was still out there in those shadows.

John listened to Sherlock's explanation, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. He didn't paricularly understand what he was talking about.

"Distractions?" He repeated. "So killing people and pointing guns is a distraction is it? Bloody insanity if you ask me."

He staggered towards the exit and turned back to face Sherlock. "You're right, let's get the hell out of here before he changes his mind."

Sherlock threw John a confused look. "Yes. Distractions. This one's a bit insane though." Sherlock explained further. "I just restrict myself to shooting walls and nicotine patches." His shoulder's shrugged up a bit, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

By now they had made it to the outside of the theatre and this time Sherlock did make sure John kept close to him, another thing he usually wouldn't do. "Main road's only 10 minutes away, we should be able to get the taxi there." He said.

After a few minutes, Sherlock lowered his pace and basically started walking next to John. "So, not so boring day at the office today." Trying to break the ice, Sherlock looked a bit awkward. At least he was trying...

John decided maybe now wasn't the time to ask about the nicotine patches and wall shooting, so he just followed his new companion out of the building, glad to get out of there.

As they walked off down the road and away from the old crumbling cinema, John's heart was still pounding hard in his chest, looking around them nervously and almost jumping at every small movement coming from the shadows. It was like being back in bloody Afghanistan. Who the hell was this guy, he wondered, glancing sideways at Sherlock. Did he always live like this? Surrounded by craziness and danger and mayhem.

He fell into step easily beside him, occasionally throwing a small look in his direction. He had quite a mesmerising look about him, John thought. Bet he got all the girls. He grinned at Sherlock's question. "Certainly not just a boring day at the office, no. Quite...quite the opposite in fact. Does this happen to you a lot?"

They arrived at the main road already busy with London traffic. John put his arm out to signal a free cab which completely ignored them and drove past. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

Sherlock smirked a little at John's question. "I must say most of the time they aren't this insane." He admitted, laughing at the insanity of the situation. He had been in front of many serial killers, many criminals, but this one seemed something else, something he hadn't faced yet. No doubt he'll be hearing from this person soon again, and to be honest, he couldn't wait for that to happen.

His eyes rolled a little at the taxies driving by John. "Taxi!" he screamed out, raising his hand high into the air. The first taxi stopped immediately and Sherlock had difficulties suppressing a smile. "221B Baker Street." He said as he hopped in.

For a moment Sherlock hadn't realised what he had just done. He was going home, of course, but John was coming with him and Sherlock hadn't even asked whether the man wanted this or not. He never let strangers in his house, unless they were clients. Well, John sort of was a client, wasn't he?

"My place." He said before John had the chance to ask him where exactly they were going. If he didn't want to he could always stay in the taxi, going somewhere else.

John gaped open mouthed at the ease with which Sherlock managed to grab them both a taxi. How the hell did he do that? Shaking his head slightly, he climbed in beside him, hardly realising at first that Sherlock had just given his own address and not bothered to ask where John was going.

"Right," he answered in reply, wondering whether Sherlock had done it on purpose. Was he inviting him back to his flat? Why would he do that? As the taxi set off John stole some quick glances over at the detective, wondering about him. He was a very intriguing man.

"So um...what's next? I mean...if that man arranged the killing of Dr Harrison don't we have to arrest him?" John asked, a little concerned.

Obviously John didn't seem to bother much, or he didn't dare to say it. Sherlock's wasn't certain yet which it was but at the moment he could care less.

His eyebrow cocked up at John's question. "He doesn't work like that." Sherlock explained. "I doubt they will be even able to find it. And even if they did, he would be back on the streets in no time." His eyes narrowed a bit. "It's not just him. It's a complete network of criminals working for him. All he has to do is snap his fingers and they dance like puppets in front of him."

However, Sherlock needed to inform Lestrade. He would just send him an email later, that would do.

John frowned and looked out of the window, feeling it was unfair that a man like that psychopath could just disappear into nowhere and never get brought to justice for his crimes.

"So...the case is closed then?" he asked. "At least...as closed as it's going to get for now." He sighed and noticed the taxi was pulling to a stop outside a big black door with the letters 221B emblazoned on the front. John undid his seatbelt, and took out his wallet, prepared to get out, but took a quick glance at Sherlock for guidance. He still wasn't really sure whether Sherlock wanted him to go in or not. He didn't mind either way, but certainly didn't want to impose either if he had misinterpreted the invitation.