From the top-secret files of James Moriarty on the confidential matter of Berk.

I wanted so desperately for Sherlock to know that I cared. It was for Sherlock that I had set up this game; it was for Sherlock I wrapped helpless old women and innocent children in bombs and set them ablaze. And it was for Sherlock that I kidnapped John Watson, to wrap in bombs and set ablaze as well.

I wanted Sherlock to not be bored. I wanted this puzzle to be one of the best ones he'd ever had the pleasure of solving. And then, once he was about to grasp the full intent and reach of my plans, I was going to win. That's why John had to be there. I wanted Sherlock to feel just a touch of the desperation and panic that he would inevitably feel, once I won. Once I beat him.

John was surprisingly, disappointingly underwhelming. He was normal, it almost hurt to look at him. Perhaps he'd be more entertaining when conscious, but somehow I doubted it. That was unfortunate.

Either way, green was a good color for him. I exited the room, preparing for one of the best nights of my life.

It wasn't like I hadn't engineered the interaction so Sherlock had picked the pool as his choice for a meeting place, but it struck me again as such a lovely and dramatic place for this meeting to take place. The sounds would skitter across the surface of the water, echoing far above our heads. If someone happened to shoot a gun, that would echo too.

The interaction went as planned. Perfectly as planned. It was, frankly, disappointingly perfect. I even left the room for God's sake, trying to get the two idiots to do something entertaining—but to no avail.

That is, in fact, until Sherlock pointed his gun at the bomb.

That was better.

In the corner of my eye, I saw my dear Sebastian preparing to save me. Getting ready to hurl himself into me, into the pool, where we might be safer from the explosion.

I was sure John was getting ready to do the same for Sherlock. It would really just be a matter of whose dog was better at jumping.

Sherlock's finger tightened on the trigger, and the world turned upside down. It all happened fairly quickly, actually. I suppose a life of high-risk situations makes dying a little less melodramatic. I was glad for that.

Except I wasn't, because I was still alive enough that hitting the pool hurt as badly as it would have had I been splattered on a concrete floor.

I came back to consciousness fairly quickly. Apparently Sebastian had managed to drag us out of the pool, and had collapsed afterward, unconscious as well. He was still lying there, clothes soaking wet. I noted dispassionately that he was still breathing.

I tried to get on my feet, to see the destruction, the rubble, Sherlock's dead or dying body—but the feet I got up on were definitely not mine. There were four of them: short, stubby and green, and they only elevated me a foot off the ground. I also had what looked like a parrot beak jutting off my face into my field of vision. And a tail.

What was this? I turned around and around, trying to figure out what had happened. The answer was there, right in front of me, I just had to make the connection.

It started to come together, but then Sebastian woke up loudly and distracted me. He panicked, looking for my human form. I jumped up and down and made a squawking noise that murdered whatever was left of my dignity. But it caught his attention.

He looked at me with a mix of disbelief and disgust. It wasn't a very attractive look on him. In the sand I drew an arrow pointing to myself, with the letters J and M next to it. The mix of emotions on his face turned slowly into suspicion. I guess I would have been suspicious, too, if I was in his position, but it was annoying nonetheless. I managed an eye roll, and then, with the help of a few other choice phrases written in the sand, finally got him to nod in acceptance.

I pointed with my tail at the cliff faces that surrounded the valley, and he nodded gamely, seeing the caves hidden in the rocks. I wondered vaguely if I'd be able to fly up to them, but decided against it, for now. I wanted to get up to the caves with the least amount of problems we could afford. I wanted to get out from underneath the expanse of alien sky and away from the judging sun.

Soon, I'd have to figure out how to get back to my universe. Back to the dark rain of London. But if there was anything I'd learned during my years as a consulting criminal, it's that sometimes you just need to accept the way things are. There were times when it was absolutely necessary to determine the course of fate and to change the outcome of things, but this wasn't one of those times. I'd been shoved into this little universe, chances were that I'd find myself shoved right back into my own when the time was right.

For now, I was a dragon!

And I was still a dragon a day later, when, from my perch in the cave above the valley, I saw Sherlock Holmes and John Watson fall from the sky. And I was still a dragon, albeit a hungry and irritated one because Sebastian was late with his stolen food, when I saw Sherlock's brother and that incompetent Lestrade character fall from the sky.

Well, this was going to be interesting.


Long story short: I'm rewriting Uncharted. I was trying to be sneaky and just replace chapters, but since I'm approaching the story with far less stupidity than I did three years ago, the divide between the old and new chapters started to show a lot more. So I deleted all the old chapters.

Unfortunately, this means everyone who subscribed will be getting updates for chapters they've already read, which I'm sorry about. Although I've changed a few things, so maybe it isn't all bad.

Anyway, thank you, everyone, for all your support. We'll see how far I can get with the story this summer.