221b Baker Street

He shrugged. "I don't know. It just came to me. I've never done it before." He grinned. "I guess my death must've done something."

@James "Jim" Moriarty Sherlock nearly fell over in shock. Had he been a more emotional man, like John Watson, he would have jump up and hugged the consulting criminal. But, since he was not as emotional as his former partner, he simply puzzled. "Why the sudden change of heart, Jim?"

Jim felt something stir. Was it...an interest in HELPING Sherlock Holmes? He loved putting the coals in Sherlock's shoes just to watch him dance. The pills. The bombs. The hostages. He was supposed to want to burn him, not quench the flames.
That was odd...Jim, being impulsive, reckless Jim, made one of his signature crazy decisions.
"Sherlock," he said carefully. "I've come to the decision to help you with this case. But just this one."

@James "Jim" Moriarty "No" said Sherlock. "But I have a few theories. The symptoms are very similar to that of a rare disease I once encountered on a trip to Africa."

Jim nodded. "Sugar, if you have it." Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen. Jim turned back to Molly. "How's your cat, Moll?" She didn't answer.
"And your government, Mycroft?" No answer.
"Very well. To the point. I know what you're thinking. I have nothing to do with the strangely pockmarked body that Sherlock found.
Oh, how did I know? I have sources, of course. How's that going, by the way? Have you found out what the marks were?"

@Mycroft Holmes "Dear brother," said Sherlock, " I've told you many time how dangerous it is to enter the flat unannounced. Only this time it wouldn't have been me pulling the trigger. You see, Mycroft, Molly and I have a guest." He gestured to Moriarty. "So I suggest you leave before you get yourself killed along with the entire political system. Unless, of course, you would like to join us for tea." He turned to Moriarty. "You like tea, don't you Jim?"

There it was. A flash of anger and pain in the statue's face. Grinning at his triumph, Jim turned around and saw Sherlock's older brother. "It's rude not to knock, you know." All he had learned about Mycroft Holmes was that he was practically the British government himself and that he was a bit arrogant. He had only encountered Mycroft once when he had given information to him about Sherlock. He had, in turn, beaten Sherlock into committing suicide (which had obviously taken a different turn). Jim turned back to Sherlock. "Call your dog off."

*walks in without knocking at the door. He swings his umbrella around and walks into the kitchen.* dear brother are you here? * he calls out and listens for a reply. He goes back to the living room and notices the desk fill with papers and documents. He lifts one of the papers up with the tip of his umbrella so that he can peek at the paper.* hmm...* he lets go his interest in sherlocks case request and perched on the couch waiting for his brother to come and greet him or maybe get kicked out.*

"Harassment?" As to where your landlady is, I have no idea." Jim grinned. "And as to how I survived...well, I could ask you the same question." He stepped closer to Sherlock, looking up at his much taller playmate. "How did you survive a sixty-foot fall?" Sherlock didn't answer. "I'll tell if you tell," he teased, putting on the voice he used at the pool. "Tell me how everyone coped. How did John feel?"

@James "Jim" Moriarty "Where is Mrs. Hudson?" stated Sherlock, calmly. Racking his brain to find an explanation for how Moriarty could still be alive, he decided to give up and ask, seeing that he had come back from the dead as well and proving any theories incorrect. "And more importantly, how is it that you are standing here in my flat, harassing my girlf... Molly?" Sherlock beat himself up for that last slip up. Moriarty had no doubt already noticed Molly's feelings for Sherlock, but Sherlock did not want to admit his feelings for her. He knew the consulting criminal would find some way to use it against, like he had used John all those years ago. "I seem to remember you using a more permanent approach to death than I did."

Jim's face lit up. "Molly!" He got up and practically skipped over to his ex-girlfriend and hugged her, despite her indignant squeak. "How delightful to see you! Here, give me your coat, you're SOAKED!" He hung her coat on the rack, picked up the grocery bags and went into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he found a couple of severed feet and a human head. "Sherlock! Do you put your vegetables on the shelf above or below the body parts?" He just heard frantic whispering in the other room. "I'll say below!" He put the groceries away and came back into the room. "Oh, Moll, would you like some tea? I'll try and find one that's not the formaldehyde brew."

He expected to find her crying or freaking out like an ordinary person. But she just seemed upset. Oh, well. He wasn't surprised that she was upset. He had really been sweet to her, but Sherlock must have told her about him being a criminal. That, and Sherlock HAD at one point made Molly question whether he was gay or not.

Oh, well. Life goes on. Molly was quite lovely, but there was no need to be sad about a relationship that didn't work out. Ordinary people find new people, and an ordinary person found another ordinary person.

"No to the tea, then? Goodness, have you both become so much less pleasant since I died? You both are getting rather boring."

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Molly was burried. Burred under bags of groceries and take-out from that little Chinese place out ten minutes from work. She'd known when she'd started moving in with Sherlock that she would have to do most of the grocery shopping, since the man was well known for seeing the refrigerator as a place for......oh, she didn't know, cadaver heads or something. But what the man didn't have in his own kitchen was honestly a little shocking. If she wanted to eat, it looked like she was going to have to figure out some sort of system. 'Cadaver heads, here. Milk, here.' What had her life come to?

"Mrs. Hudson!" She knocked, more like banged, on to door with her hip. Buried under several grocery bags was obviously not very conducive to opening anything, much less doors. Unfortunately, it did not seem like luck was on her side today. After Mrs. Hudson didn't come out for a minute when she knocked again, she had to assume that the older landlady wasn't home.

And if that wasn't enough, it started raining. Hard. Luckily she was using canvas bags for the groceries that would probably protect them well enough but she wasn't so lucky. 'Oh hell, as if this day wasn't bad enough.' The case was really starting to get to her. 'Molly, get a freaking grip.' As if she could get one. "Oh for goodness sake!" She yelled, not quite wanting to yell a naughty word out to the entire street but she was running out of _____s to give about words one used in proper society.

But after a bit of reaching and maneuvering, she managed to grip the handle of the door and open it, walking into the building with a bit of relief. She was starting to go a little bit mad, she swore. However, she saw the stairs and groaned. She knew there were stairs of course, but was it stupid to wish that her and Sherlock lived on the first floor?

By the time she got up the stairs, Molly was still soaked, still buried in groceries and take-out, and annoyed at the universe for deciding she currently needed such a crappy day. "Sherlock, I honestly don't give a rat's arse about unpacking tonight, I am going to have some take-out and some hot chocolate and try to ignore the fact that I'm soaked, and..." And that's when, of course, who else did she see but Jim Moriarty in the room?

She dropped her bags in surprise. "Jim." She breathed. He'd been a great guy when they were dating. And then of course he turned out to be a serial killer. A serial killer that she had once had feelings for. A serial killer that had tried to hurt Sherlock. Both thoughts made her feel ill. Of course today was the day that she was going to find a psychopath in the flat.

Oh why hadn't she gotten the license to carry? She'd started to application after Sherlock's fake demise but she kept putting it off for one reason or another. She wasn't really a fan of keeping a weapon on her that could hurt people but damn did she wish for one now.

@Sherlock Holmes Jim Moriarty grinned and folded his sunglasses into a case and hung his coat up on the rack, as if he were paying a friend a visit.

"Yes, and you don't quite believe in ghosts, do you, Sherlock?" Not even bothering to ask, he sat down on the arm of John's old armchair. "Did you miss me?" When Sherlock didn't answer, he continued. "I heard you're dating my ex." He gave Sherlock a mock-patronizing stare and tsk-ed at him, but he was still smiling. "Not proper etiquette, Sherlock." Sherlock still didn't answer. Jim sighed.

"You're not as fun as you were when I was alive..."

Sherlock sat in his easy chair, deep in thought. The flat was maddeningly quiet. He was having trouble getting used to it. He had started to miss John's constant whining since he had moved out to live with Marry. Molly was in the process of moving in, hence the multitude of unpacked boxes surrounding him, but she was at the lab for the day. He was contemplating a case that she had introduced to him the night before. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, that he almost didn't notice the door to the flat creak open. Startled by the unexpected sound, he looked up and was surprised by what he saw.

"What?! How?! I thought you were dead!"