At the Crossroads

Fog began to settle as the dimly lit area of a remote spot in England felt the chill of the night. His eyes wide open, Jim Moriarty made sure to pay attention to every single flicker or movement around him. When dealing with the devil, you had to make sure you paid attention.

"Where are you?" he mumbles under his breath. The smell of sulfur fills his nostrils as he turns to face the crossroads where he buried a small box filled with a picture of himself, bones from a black cat and some dirt. It took him forever to find out how to do the dealings of a crossroad demon, but Moriarty was very smart and very cunning.

"I pictured you to be taller," Moriarty said as he placed his hands in his pockets.

"I expected you to be blonder," the demon said in a Scottish accent as he came closer to Moriarty.

Moriarty laughed. "So tell me, how does this work?" he asked fiddling with a pocket knife.

"The rules are simple. You tell me what you want, I supply it. When you die, I get your soul. Easy enough, eh?" The Demon, as Moriarty could tell, wasn't one to play games. Moriarty liked him already.

"Not so fast. How long do I have to make good on this?"

The Demon stepped closer and said, "Well to be honest, it depends on what you want."

"I need to come back to life," he said.

The Demon pursed his lips and walked around in a circle for a moment, hands never leaving his pocket.

"I'm curious," he said. "Exactly what are you planning?"

Moriarty felt the need to explain his plan to someone, anyone who would listen. He knew it was brilliant and being the type of guy Jim Moriarty was, any audience would do.

"You see, I'm sorry I didn't catch your name," he said, waiting for the Demon to speak.

"The name's Crowley, King of Hell."

Moriarty chuckled to himself, picturing in his mind his last meeting with Sherlock Holmes.

Except there is one thing Moriarty needed to do, and he couldn't… not without some help.

"So we have two kings making a deal here then," he said to Crowley.

"If you say so chap," Crowley said, staring dead into Moriarty.

So Moriarty began his story.

"Crowley," he said, slowly, emphasizing the 'ow' as if to patronize him. "I have a problem. It's a small problem, one I can assure you that will be taken care of once I become semi-immortal. I make my money by orchestrating chaos for people. I'm what you would call a consulting criminal. I plan and scheme for others and they pay me big money to do so."

He smiled big, pretty pleased with himself. He waited for Crowley's expression to change and be amazed at the work he did, but he didn't. It didn't matter.

"I have a problem and his name is Sherlock Holmes. He's in my way. I told him on several occasions to stay out of my way and not once has he listened. He must be dealt with accordingly. However, in order for my plan to work, I have to die… well shoot myself in front of him."

Crowley nodded in a way to show approval and Moriarty smiled. If he could impress a Demon with his absolute chaotic mindset, his job on earth was done. Except Crowley wasn't that impressed.

"So you expect Sherlock to just walk away from all this and you get to be the one to die?" Crowley asked.

Moriarty laughed out loud. "How on earth did you become the King of hell? Do you honestly think I'd let Sherlock walk away unscathed? Do you think I'd allow that? Not in a million years. I know he's planning an escape route of some sort even if I give him the option of him dying to protect all his precious friends. I'm not as dumb as Sherlock thinks I am."

"Well it's your soul," Crowley said. "Stupid idea, but whatever, I'm not the one making the deal. I'll give you your slice of immortality but instead of waiting out your days in pure bliss, I'm giving you ten years. After that, I'm coming for you and your soul."

Moriarty smiled and said, "Ten is all I'll need to do what needs to be done."

"Well then, all that needs to be done is you seal the deal with a kiss."

Moriarty smiled and said, "My pleasure."

Giving the Devil his Due

"There are easier ways to talk to me than just appearing out of thin air," Mycroft Holmes said as he sat in his easy chair reading.

"But then it's no fun, my friend," Crowley said, taking the seat adjacent to Mycroft.

"If you're here, then something interesting is about to happen. Should I be scared of excited," he said, staring at Crowley.

"Well, honestly a little bit of both. Guess who paid me a visit at the crossroads tonight?" he asked, fiddling with the arm covers on the chair.

"I'm sure you'll tell me either way so whom?" Mycroft said smugly.

"Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal."

Mycroft's demeanor didn't change although he was internally freaking out over why Jim Moriarty would visit Crowley.

"And what did England's most wanted want with a crossroad's deal?" he asked, patiently.

"Apparently he wants to shoot himself in front of your brother. Oh and he mentioned something about knowing your plans to keep Sherlock and his friends alive. I particularly don't like the bloke. He's too smug."

"So you came here to warn me because you don't like his personality?" Mycroft asked, crossing his legs.

"You could say that. Plus I never said I wouldn't so there's that."

"Have you spoken with anyone else about this?" Mycroft asked.

"Not a word but I think he's planning something big. He only gave me part of the details. I guess the rest is up to you to figure out."

With that, Crowley disappeared and Mycroft resumed his reading, pondering what bigger plans Jim Moriarty had with his brother, Sherlock Holmes.