No going back. (Sheriarty)

Chapter two

"Of course you're my dear." Jim stated and leaned back in his chair, strong arms folded over his chest. A waitress came over to their table, not even looking at Jim.

Sherlock found it a little strange. How could she not look at him? 

How could anyone not look at him?

He was James Moriarty, infamous criminal that had just put his face up on TV for the whole population of England to see, but still, nobody was looking.

"I am not." Sherlock finally protested before glancing up at the waitress who looked at him with wobbling eyes, glossy and bright, bright blue. The fear was smeared over her face, and when Sherlock looked at Moriarty, he saw the evil in his eyes.

Ah.

Of course. He had set this up; threatened everyone in here with their life, having snipers placed around everywhere probably. Assassins sitting around at random tables.

"I'll take a cup of tea. Doesn't matter what kind." Sherlock muttered, and the waitress scribbled down on her block hastily, hand shaking. 

She hesitated, but finally turned to Jim, who ordered a Irish coffee. What a surprise.

Jim kept eyeing the detective with a smirk Sherlock could not find a meaning behind. What did it mean? They stared at each other for a long time, and it wasn't awkward or weird, it was more like a challenge. Everything's a challenge between Jim and Sherlock.

The waitress came over with the two men's drinks, placing the cups in front of them quickly before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Jim finally moved, without taking his eyes off Sherlock, and he was now leaning on his elbows against the table. He picked up his cup and took a sip, and the detective's eyes flickered down to watch Jim's lips.

"You lost." Jim muttered lazily, putting the cup down just as Sherlock was snapped back to reality. "What?" 

"You lost. We had a staring contest."

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took a sip of his hot tea, unsure what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just waited for Jim to speak.

After a minute, Jim sighed. "Ask me then. I know you want to. When I look at your face, I can see a sign that says "Oh, Jim, please tell me how you did it!" so do go ahead. I have the explanation." His impression of Sherlock was mocking and high-pitched, but for some reason Sherlock found it entertaining.

"How did you survive?" Sherlock asked plainly. He didn't ask what Jim did, he didn't ask why Jim did it, but he asked how he survived, because Sherlock knew it was a real shot.

"I didn't." Jim answered just as plainly, and a flicker of darkness and fear shot through Sherlock, from his head to his toes, and his whole stiffened.

What? What did he mean... by... not surviving? Didn't he survive? Is Jim dead? Sherlock's mind was going on overdrive again, and he simply couldn't process the thought.

--

It had been an hour, and Jim was finished with his coffee and Sherlock with his tea, but they hadn't talked. Jim had waited patiently for Sherlock to finish thinking, and when the taller brunette finally moved, Jim stood up. 

"Come with me." He said to Sherlock, who looked up at him in confusion, but did as he was told. He followed the criminal outside, into a car, and he realized they hadn't paid for their drinks, but it didn't matter.

What mattered was that Sherlock was in a car with Moriarty, on his way to God knows where.

This is against Sherlock's nature, but here he is, and he is not regretting it.

"What did you mean back at the cafe?" Sherlock asked.

"I meant what I said."

Sherlock still looked confused. 

"Ever heard the quote "You can't kill something that's already dead."?" Moriarty continued, voice soft and soothing.

Sherlock nodded.

"Well, that explains a lot," Jim was grinning sickly, "I can't die because I'm dead!"

Jim's eyes locked onto Sherlock's and a bolt of fear ran through the detective when Jim leaned in closer, just as the car came to a halt. 

Jim was so close to Sherlock they could taste each other's breaths, and now Jim's lips were brushing Sherlock's cheeks. He leaned in closer, closer, closer, and then he whispered in Sherlock's ear.

"Isn't it exciting?"