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One of Moriarty's men opened the door and told Sherlock to make himself comfortable. He was then left alone in the dimly-lit apartment. The walls were covered in bookshelves and cupboards. The floor was covered in carpets and sofas. Sherlock thought it looked too friendly to be the psychopaths home.

Before he had chance to sit down, a familiar man walked into the room.

"Long time no see, Sherly." The mans soft Irish voice filled the room, "Any weapons?"

Sherlock felt like he was being possessed with fear and knew that Jim could sense this. Moriarty was controlling him. Jim smirked as the sociopath shook his head.

"You're like a little pet. So very reliable." He looked Sherlock up and down, "So very cute."

"You died." Sherlock said although his voice didn't sound like it belonged to him. It was croaky and quiet.

"I did. It's funny what 2 years can do."

"3 years." Sherlock corrected.

"Look, you've been counting. You have missed me." Moriarty said getting closer to Sherlock with every word.

Suddenly it occurred to him that Jim was inches away from him. He didn't try to stop him. The fear had pinned him against the wall.

"Why did you make the plane turn around?" Sherlock said. He may have had no control over what he was saying, but he was determined to ask the right questions.

"Because I'm not finished with you yet, Sherly." Jim said. He had him right where he wanted him. He knew how to play the game.

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