This is an original story with original cases and 'Sherlockian' deductions, featuring the BBC show's characters.
Sherlock and John are trying to rent out 221 C... getting nowhere.
An international PhD candidate is looking for a place to stay: she ha...
In one fluid motion, John takes Giulia's gun from the waistband of his jeans and shoots twice at Moriarty's forehead. To his surprise, instead of spurts of blood and a fractured skull, his actions only result in a cacophony of broken glass and static-electric pop. He realises he has just opened fire at a projected image on a TV screen.
A few seconds later, at the far end of the darkened room, another monitor switches on with a snap; Jim's face dominates over a red background that highlights his features. He smiles serenely down at them.
"I expected that such an incident might happen and took some precautions, Doctor Watson."
Sherlock draws one quick conclusion: they aren't watching a pre-recorded video. He is transmitting live from... somewhere.
"Where are you?" His baritonal voice booms in the void.
"Close, but out of target, dearest. After our exciting meeting at the pool, I've learnt to stay away from your line of fire. At the time you hesitated, but I figured that both of you would be ready to shoot on sight, this time." Jim casts an eloquent glance at Watson without losing his seraphic smile.
John shrugs. He has no regrets. The last time they met, Moriarty abducted and wrapped him in explosives just to play hide-and-seek with his flatmate. Shooting at him today was fair retribution.
"What do you want, Jim?" Sherlock asks.
Moriarty appears disgusted at that question.
"I don't have desires—that is a low instinct of the basic human race. I don't want things; I don't have those impulses in me. I am far too refined for that. I only have ambitions. But passions? No, that's not a thing of my superior being."
Holmes nods sympathetically. "I can understand."
"But can you, Sherlock?"
Moriarty's lips bend in a cruel smile. "We will see about that. If that's not the case—if you are just an average person with human passions and affection—I am afraid this game will be quite impossible for you. Spoiler alert: this was always my intention. I'm dragging you in your personal hell, and you'll get out of it with a broken heart."
"Is it supposed to be a threat?" He replies conceitedly.
"You can consider it a warm welcome to a night you'll never forget." Jim scans every word with the tone of a TV presenter. "Just one more warning. Pay careful attention to everything I say. You know I love engaging in our little mind games, so I'll be leaving some clues for you in my words. Are you ready?"
At his rhetorical question, one lightbulb at the entrance of the room switches on. Next to the door, there is a small table with a marble figurine identical to the other two that Sherlock received in the previous days. The new statue represents a woman holding in one hand a mask with a grotesque smile and a shepherd's crook on the other hand; an ivy wreath is girdling her head.
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