Turning tables (NeighbourhoodBomber/Sherlock Holmes)

Monsier Lucas Neville (aka James Moriarty) sat in the departure lounge of Stansted Airport waiting for his flight to Amsterdam; his destination was not Amsterdam however. He was to meet the prestigious Sigerson (aka Sherlock Holmes).

It had been a year since the "serial suicides" of James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes however they both survived and now it was a clear stand-off.

He fiddled with his phone and sent a very appropriate text to Sherlock;

Hello Sexy, come and play JM

That was Neville's cue - departing in about 20 minutes. Let's get this party started.

Sherlock Holmes was in hiding. For almost three years now he had been undercover in Europe, travelling from place to place, unable to lay routes anywhere for fear of being discovered. Moriarty’s criminal web spread far and wide. It infiltrated every section of society, every walk of life, every country. It seemed that wherever he went Sherlock uncovered a new crime, injustice or mystery that had Moriarty’s cunning and genius behind it. It was a whole network of criminals, gangsters and good for nothings, all at the beck and call of a man most of them had never met. Just a name no one spoke about. And Sherlock Holmes had swore to destroy it. He swore to himself that he would not rest until he had brought down every last eshilon of James Moriarty.

He’d already got to the man at the top. Moriarty himself was dead. Sherlock had seen it with his own eyes. A bullet through the head on top of St Bart’s. And now he was closing in on the rest of them too. Starting from the top down. Using the pseudonym Sigerson, he had helped uncover several crimes and bring 8 of Moriarty’s best henchmen to justice.

Sherlock had dropped his phone on the rooftop of St Barts before he jumped, but as previously arranged, Molly Hooper his confidant, had snuck up to the roof to retrieve it for him, and Mycroft had it sent onto him in France, his first location after escaping Britain. It was this phone he now heard beeping in his pocket as he sat in the back of a taxi in Switzerland, on his way to a crime scene. Sherlock opened the message and read it quickly, his blood slowly turning cold in his veins. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. Jim Moriarty was dead. He’d blown his brains out. Sherlock had seen it. No one could survive that. And yet…most people thought /he/ was dead, that there was no way he could survive a fall like that. But of course he had. He’d faked it. Could it be possible that Moriarty could somehow do the same? Improbable, yes. But surely not impossible. Especially not when faced with this text message. Sherlock sighed and did the only thing he could do – reply.

Where are you? I thought you were dead. SH

James had a stressful week; his last confidante had messed up and left quite a mess in Switzerland. He had to do the clean up now; Sebastian would need to be reprimanded.

I concur, I thought you were dead too. But here we are again. I am en-route to your location. JM

James also had plans for Sherlock - it was very well planned to get his attention in Switzerland. It was all piecing together; he took a sip of scotch and soon after the plane landed then James Moriarty was on his way to finish what he had planned.

Sherlock arrived at the crime scene where a young woman had had her throat slashed. On the surface it appeared to be a straight forward murder case. She'd been having an affair. Her boyfriend had been arrested already. But Sherlock had his suspicions, mainly because the man she was having the affair with was well known to him as a member of Moriarty's criminal network. He felt there was something else going on here, he just needed to piece things together.

Sherlock took out his phone and read the new message off Moriarty. The fact that his nemesis apparently knew his current location was not particularly a surprise. If he knew Sherlock was alive then it figured he'd been watching him for sometime.

Sherlock inspected the girl's body with his magnifier. He noticed a darker coloured hair on her jacket that clearly didn't belong to her. He took out a small bag and collected it as evidence, then took a few snaps of the body on his phone.
"I'll be in touch," he told the Inspector before heading off to get a taxi. On his way back he took out his phone and sent another text to Moriarty.

I'll be at home. I presume you know where that is. SH

Moriarty knew Sherlock's game was up and he was now playing with the devil - Sherlock had walked into the crime scene just as he hoped, now he had Sherlock's interest he needed him to come to him soon.

You are not in London, and have not been for a while. I am en-route to Switzerland. I have a little place there, will get someone to pick you up from your hotel - JM

Moriarty headed towards his chateaux and called Moran to ensure everything was ready there, he was getting very excited about this.

Sherlock wasn't surprised by the message he received back. If Moriarty knew he wasn't dead it made sense he also knew he was in Switzerland. Instead he simply smiled and scanned through the photographs he had taken at the crime scene. He'd have more time to investigate this tomorrow, after his little meeting with Moriarty.

He opened a small bottle of coke from the mini bar then lay back on the hotel bed, waiting to be collected by one of Moriarty's men. He was quite looking forward to this, he reflected. This should be interesting...fun...They had unfinished business.

Sherlock knew it would probably be sensible to tell one of the local Inspectors where he was going, or at least tell /someone/, but he also knew that wasn't part of the game...this had to be between him and Jim Moriarty only. The phone rang. It was the receptionist, letting him know there was someone in the foyer asking for him. Sherlock told her he'd be down right away. He grabbed his coat and took the stairs.

There was a man stood in the reception area of the hotel. Sherlock didn't recognise him but it was clear he recognised Sherlock as he raised his head slightly in a form of greeting. Sherlock nodded in return and approached him. They walked silently side by side out of the hotel where there was a car waiting just outside. The man opened the door and Sherlock got in.

On my way. -SH

Moriarty arrived at the chateaux overlooking the Falls and sat down with a scotch, looking out of the window. He used this location for his international affairs under his pseudonym and other identities.

He received a call from Sherlock's escort whom would immediately be killed if he let the local police know the details of Moriarty's location. Sherlock was on his way, and Moriarty was devilishly excited.

Moriarty approached the door when the car appeared, he then grinned. He sent a quick text to Moran to let him know the guest of honour has arrived.

When this escapade had finished, there would be only one winner. Jim was optimistic.

Sherlock had been blindfolded for the whole journey, presumably so he was unable to give details as to the location of Moriarty's current lair. He had however, managed to memorise the amount of left and right turns, and the distances between each of them. Could come in handy at some point.

As the car pulled to a halt the blindfold was swiftly removed and Sherlock got out, blinking his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. He glanced all around him quickly, realising with a smirk they were at the Reichenbach Falls. Jim Moriarty was stood in the doorway looking smug as ever. Sherlock approached him slowly with a small nod.

"Nice location," he joked. "You're looking well Jim. For a dead guy."

Jim was smug alright and approached Sherlock and offered him inside the chateaux.

"Hello dear, yes I acquired this place from an old acquaintance. I believe the same to you, I have known for a while of your mortality."

Jim lead Sherlock through the corridor, it's splendour reflected Moriarty's personality. There stood Colonel Sebastian Moran with a smug grin at the end of the corridor. Jim lead Sherlock through and offered him a seat.

"How is the detective business going? Especially as your career in the home country is so vunerable. Please sit." Offering a seat near the window. "A drink maybe?" Jim smirked.

Sherlock followed Jim inside the chateaux, looking all around him at the impressive and lavish surroundings. It was all very Jim. He spotted a tall man leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor and recognised him from photographs to be Sebastian Moran, although this would be the first time they'd had the pleasure of meeting face to face.

Sherlock took the seat by the window that was offered to him, gazing out briefly at the dramatic scenery before turning his attention back to Jim.

"The business is going fine thank you Jim," he replied with a small smile. "As I'm sure you're aware I've managed to put a stop to some of your work even from beyond the grave..."

Jim offered him a drink and he noticed a large cabinet behind him full of various wines and spirits. "I don't drink much alcohol to be honest," replied Sherlock, "I prefer stimulants not depressants."

Jim went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a brandy, and poured one to Seb. He moved elegantly across to Sherlock and sat next to him and smiled.

"I am glad that business is good. But you must get lonely without the poor, gentle doctor beside you." Jim smirked and sipped his drink. "Are you sure about a drink?"

Seb came in with hot drinks on a tray and laid it out.

"This is my right hand man - Colonel Sebastian Moran. He was very excited that we had a visitor."

Sherlock kept his eyes on Jim, watching him pour out the drinks and come to sit down, seating himself rather a little too close. Sherlock could practically feel the other man's leg against his. He moved his own leg away slightly.

"I do miss John," he admitted, then added with a glare, "But /someone/ made it impossible for me to see him...I will see him again though. Soon. Just as soon as I'm done with you Jim..."

They were interupted by the arrival of a tray of tea and coffee brought over by Moran. Sherlock glanced him up and down.

"Coffee will be fine thank you Jim," he replied and leant forward to pour himself one from the pot, then looking up again at Sebastian with a small nod. "A pleasure to meet you Colonel," he smiled. "I've heard...quite a lot about you...But tell me Jim," and he turned back to face his nemesis, "to what do I owe the pleasure of today's little meeting?"

Jim was beaming a grin, he was enjoying this too much. He had plans for Sherlock, and it would not be a walk in the park. When hearing about John, he nodded.

"What makes you think you can win this? I wont touch John or your other loved ones. I want you." Jim leant forward into Sherlock's personal space and licked his own lips.

Jim cocked his head in the usual reptilian fashion and smirked. "Do you play Chess?"

He sipped from the brandy and looked up at Sherlock.

Sherlock sipped his coffee and listened carefully.

"Fine," he nodded. "Then we have an understanding."

He leant back slightly as Jim invaded his personal space, and shifted along in his seat, putting his coffee back down on the table. Jim was an odd man sometimes, he thought to himself.

"Is that why you brought me here?" Sherlock asked with a smile. "To play chess? You must be really bored. But yes, I can play."

Jim analysed every movement of Sherlock's and tried to push further into his personal space. He then grinned.

"I want to play a little game, Seb here will be helping. Are you game?"

He laid out the chess board, and took the first move. "Your turn my dear"

Sherlock tried to avoid thinking about the fact that Jim's body was practically pushed all the way up against his. He turned his head and tried to shuffle further along the sofa.

He looked down at the opening move Jim had made on the chess board and took his turn, moving one of the pawns, nothing fancy.

He studied Jim's unreadable facial expression. Sherlock knew there was something more to all this than just chess. Somehow this was part of a wider plot.

"So it's two players against one?" Sherlock asked. "A little unfair don't you think? Although I'm sure yours and Seb's intelligence together just about equals mine." He smirked to himself, enjoying the put down.

Jim smirtked as Sherlock was trying to push the advances away, and laughed to himself.

Jim raised his voice and grabbed Sherlock by his collar; "I thought you thought of me as your equal. We could be brilliant together."
He then breathed on Sherlock's neck before leasing him.

Jim took his turn and smiled then turned to Seb and nodded. Seb bought out some restraints and tied Sherlock up.

Sherlock was still wrapped up in his own enjoyment of the game when Jim suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his coat and hauled their faces close together. His heart beat a little faster but Jim soon let him go and went back to the game.

Sherlock shook his head and tidied up his shirt and coat after them being ruffled up. He watched Jim make his next move on the chess board and was about to take his own turn. He'd noticed Seb moving around suspiciously, walking around the back of the sofa. He was about to turn round to see what was going on when suddenly there was a rope whipped around his chest from behind and Seb's strong arms were restraining him. He struggled against the ropes and kicked out towards Jim with his feet.

"What is this? Get the hell off me!"

Jim smirked and stroked Sherlock's jawline. He cricked his neck and then tapped Moran's shoulders as a well done.

"Oh, shush. In time you will understand this all. I have a few things planned. Then you may head home to John. I believe he needs you, he has been admitted to Mayflower Institute. Bless him."

Jim then got out a syringe - and jabbed it into Sherlock's bicep. "Just a little present to help you though the next day or so."

Sherlock struggled against the restraints, his arms tied tightly behind his back. He rolled over onto his side and lashed out with his legs, trying to kick Jim but promptly fell off the sofa and onto the floor.

He was shocked to hear of John's apparent mental decline but had little time to think about it or respond to Jim's comments before his coat was pulled back and he was stabbed rather rudely with a needle.

"What...?" he turned to see the concoction disappearing into his veins. "What is it? What have you given me?" Sherlock could feel his heart rate increasing rapidly, but had no idea whether that was from adrenalin or whatever drugs Jim had just injected into him.

Jim knelt down next to Sherlock and smirked; then he stroked the jaw line of the detective and nodded.

"Oh it's a mix of amphetamines and sildenafil. Just to get you in the mood."

Jim then moved Sherlock to a dark room where Seb laid him on a medical table and strapped him down, Jim then began to cut off Sherlock's shirt.

The effects of the drug were quickly taking hold of Sherlock rendering him confused and disorientated. When he heard what it was he'd been given his mind began to process Jim's plan. His fast heart rate could be explained by the amphetamines, as well as the sudden feelings of euphoria creeping up inside his chest.

But Sherlock couldn't understand why Jim would want to give him sildenafil. He was aware of its existence and what it was commonly used for, but why would Jim want to....why would he want to....

Suddenly Sebastian's strong arms grabbed hold of his legs, and he was dragged through to another room and hauled up onto a table. He tried to struggle but the drugs were taking hold and he didn't particularly even feel like struggling anymore. He just...allowed himself to be tied up to the table. Jim approached him brandishing a pair of scissors and began to cut his shirt off.

"That's my best shirt..." he mumbled, noticing his words were a little slurry.

Sebastian left Jim and Sherlock and nodded. Jim leant forward and began teasing Sherlock's jawline and tender spots on his chest making him squirm.

"Are you enjoying the cocktail?" he whispered in Sherlock's ear before walking away and retrieving a series of tools for torture; a pear choke, bulldog clips and a syringe full of a concoction to cause pain.

Jim circled Sherlock like a hawk taking off the detective's shoes and socks.

Sherlock's heart was pounding from the amphetamines, a pleasant feeling he'd experienced many times in the past, but this time he was unable to relax. It was obvious Jim had something planned and Sherlock wasn't in the best position to deal with it right now. He fought against the ropes, feeling them digging into his wrists.

He felt a twinging between his legs which he could only put down to Jim's unique concoction, made worse by the way the criminals hands softly danced over his chest.

Sherlock saw Jim returning with some rather vicious looking impliments of torture and groaned.

"I see where this is leading," he smirked. "And I thought we could just have a nice game of chess and all go home."

Jim smirked and thought of the possibilities of the following events. Seeing Sherlock struggle was arousing Jim's evil streak.

"Ahh, I am glad your deduction skills are still there Sherlock, now..what shall I use first?"

He then led his fingers over Sherlock's body, stroking and caressing certain parts of his body.