"What do you want Moriarty?"
"If you keep talking, I swear I'll shoot."
"You won't, but I'm interested in what is so important that you would go as far as to pull a gun on me. So speak."
Moriarty takes a step closer to me, so that the gun is almost pressed to my head.
"Well, you guessed right. I've come to enlist your services."
"And I was right as to why?"
"Oops. None of the above."
"So what do you want? What could you possibly know about me to make you this obsessed with 'enlisting my help'?"
"Well, I am the Napoleon of Crime. I have connections, and they told me a few little secrets about you," Moriarty smirks. I pale.
"What could you possibly need from me? As you put it, you are the 'Napoleon of Crime,'" I mock.
"Well, I did some searching. You know, that job you had with the Australian Secret Service was very interesting."
"Oh? And what did you think about our servers?"
"They were very neatly laid out. Also, unfortunately easy to get into. You might want to look into that."
"So what, you need help with programming something? That's an easy skill to pick up."
"Oops. Wrong again. Really, are you even trying? I need your mind. You quit a job as the director of that place. Now tell me, what kind of person gets bored by a job that almost everyone dreams of?"
"It was a boring job," I shrug.
"Oh I'm sure, for a mind of your calibre. So, will you help me?"
"And what do I get out of it?"
"The pleasure of working with me," Moriarty smirks.
"Original," I remark.
"Oh and also, I have a sniper on call in the flat opposite your pal Sherlock's. And if you don't agree, he'll shoot."
I go silent.
"I thought so. Now, we'll start with ground rules. You will answer all of my calls immediately, and if I need you, you will be there as soon as possible. You will not talk to a single other person about this or 'boom,'" he mocks an explosion, grinning madly. "And you will work as hard as you can. Remember, I am a man of high standard. I don't like to be disappointed."
"Careful, you're starting to sound like a possessive boyfriend. Remember, I am a woman of high standard," I mock, scoffing in his direction before turning to go.
"You'll be hearing from me soon."
"I look forward to it," I sass over my shoulder.
When I return to the flat, it's still empty. I peek behind the curtains, and indeed see a dark shape in the apartment across the road, and something that looked like the barrel of a sniper gun aimed straight at me. Great, so Moriarty wasn't bluffing.
"Darcy?"
I let go of the curtain and turn around quickly.
"Hello Sherlock!" I say, almost too cheerfully. He rolls his eyes and goes back to one of his experiments on the table as John enters the room as well. They seem to have had a disagreement.
"Hello John. How are you?" I ask.
"Good. Sherlock and I just went out to get...milk," he says. I frown. He hasn't realised that his walking stick is still resting against his armchair. They must have been out on a case.
"So where is it?"
John looks confused. "Where is what?"
"The milk," I say, waiting for him to bluff his way out of this one. There is an awkward silence.
"Oh um, well you see we got caught up with some old friends and went for a walk around the park and...forgot about the milk." I felt bad for putting John under the spotlight, so I turned to Sherlock.
"So I suppose you'll be going out to get more then?" I say, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course not. I only went out because John dragged me outside to talk about my 'feelings' so I will not be held responsible for our lack of milk."
"Hm, he tried to have the 'feelings' talk with you did he?" I tease. I know many people who have tried to have that talk with Sherlock, and I know how it normally ends.
"It clearly didn't end well." I remark, feeling the tension between the two.
"Well, am I going to have to go get the milk?" I say impatiently. Sherlock freezes, then scrambles to get his coat.
"Come on John. We have to get some milk!"
"What did you do?" asks John as he is pulled out of the door by Sherlock.
"It's all in the tone," I say, smirking as they rush out of the door.