Falling...

Chapter Five - A Jacket That Wasn't His

Sherlock, having finished his tea and been ushered by John, picked up his phone and called Mycroft.

"I was expecting you to call. Have you got an excuse?" Mycroft immediately asked upon picking up the phone.
Sherlock made his way down the hall. He needed to talk to Mycroft without John hearing...

"I suppose there's no point in trying 'Moriarty staged it all' with you..." Sherlock muttered, closing his bedroom door behind him.

"Oh God, I hope that's not what you told the others," Mycroft stated in disgust.

"You see, he was trying to get everyone to believe I have poor judgement and act irrationally - and therefore resent me," Sherlock explained.

"They didn't believe that..." Mycroft sounded as if he was more praying for it than stating it.

"It's the truth." Sherlock tried.

"Oh shut up," Mycroft muttered. "So what really happened? I'm curious to what changed."

"I-..." Sherlock started. Upon seeing a jacket he didn't recognise as his own or John's, he stopped. Turning, his saw a guest on his bed.

Moriarty was lying with his eyes closed and earphones in.
"Did you miss me?" He asked, not moving from his position.

Sherlock hung up on Mycroft.

"You weren't gone long enough," He replied to Moriarty's question. Noticing the bags that had been placed next to the bed, Sherlock went to see what else Moriarty had settled in with.

"I missed you." He stated. Sherlock glanced round: concerned that he sounded serious. However, he was quite relieved by a teasing grin.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked. He knew it sounded blunt, but he honestly didn't care. If Moriarty thought he could just pop over whenever he felt like, purely because they'd fucked - he was very mistaken.

"Kitty kicked me out," He answered with a wobbling pout and a whiny tone, sitting up and propping himself on his elbows.
Sherlock instantly picked up on what Moriarty was implying.

"You can't stay here." He walked over to the side of he bed, looking down at Moriarty. He looked back at him an extremely smug smirk.

"Will you tell Dr Watson?" He asked. Sherlock glowered, understanding that he had a strong point. "Or Big Brother Holmes? Tell him I'm being bad..." His eyes were innocently wide, but he was wearing a devilish smirk. He drawled out the word 'bad', and licked his lips after.

Sherlock exhaled deeply before talking.
"You can stay, so long as no one knows. Not John, not Mycroft, not even Mrs Hudson: no one." He watched Moriarty casually shrug in response.

"Land lady knows I'm here. She's crazy, it's fantastic," Moriarty replied, he was back on his phone. Sherlock didn't even know what he did on the damn thing. Probably working at his criminal web: making connections, scheming, pulling strings from across the world. Still, he had a straight face, and was showing no indication of being a criminal mastermind.

"Did she pull a gun on you?" Sherlock asked.

"Does she do it often?" Moriarty questioned in response, looking a cross between impressed and confused. Sherlock thought about his answer for a moment.

"Not overly, but neither is it rare." There'd been a few occasions that Mrs Hudson had pulled guns on people. Most of the time, it was Sherlock. The rest, for Sherlock.