A/N: This is short, very incredibly short. It's just a small crossover I thought up, nothing special. I've literally only seen two episodes of Lie to Me so far, so I'll probably revisit this some time in the future.


At least it wasn't Emily, is the first thing that Cal Lightman thinks when he wakes up, tied firmly to a chair. The ropes made seemingly endless loops, digging into his shoulder blades and his thighs so intensely and roughly that he thought they would leave burn marks. The room was dim and terribly silent, so silent. His phone should have been in his right pocket, though the strange absence of familiar folds had proven otherwise. No way of outside contact; another problem to add to the list of thousands that he had found rolling his eyes over the room, scraping his fingernails theoretically over his chin briefly, almost as if he could feel it. Then, of course, what if it was Emily, as well? Whoever had captured one Lightman could undoubtedly capture another. Their fatal flaw, or so they'd love to think to themselves.

And it's so unnecessarily quiet suddenly, as if the culprit was taunting him. He wasn't a patient man; never was. Muscles tensed, he lunged once more in tired pain, ignoring the must-be-there burns that were obviously running over his chest. Strong rope. He had to give the culprit credit; had to have been a man. Women instinctively tie knots tightly, though loosely around the hold. Men are just the opposite, with loose knots but a terrifyingly strong hold.

Then again, if there had been a loose knot, he'd have escaped already. Clearly he needed to be kept firmly in place.

Footsteps.

A permanent smile seemed fixed on this man's features. Cal had seen him before on the news, having broken into a bank. They'd been so busy with other cases, they couldn't focus on this in particular. Still, his eyes were wrinkled, his hands firmly in his pockets. Indicates either isolation from people around you or a horrible amount of hubris and confidence. The shit-eating grin made Cal believe the latter. Mental notebook filled.

There's a twitch of his fingers as he pulls his hand out of his pocket. A twitch to the right. Cal looks to the right.

To the right, directly on the floor, a figure lay motionless. "...Sedative," The man specified in a high-pitched, monotone voice. Not dead. His eyes adjusted to the darkness to make out the figure. Hair, fairly long hair, a girl very obviously. The smile seemed to widen, as if his face was about to break open.

Emily.

Cal ceased to struggle against the ropes tied tightly around his chest, his arms, and his legs, spiraling inwards. In a span of just a night and a morning, he and his daughter had been overpowered. Taken over. Won. How…could there be such a man to overpower him, mentally, physically? Corruption. Child-like eyes, yet filled with darkness and amusement, this was all a game to him. To them. That man, as well, facial expressions as emotional as his deduction talent.

Moriarty held his face close to the man's, Lightman, and cocked it to the side in final acceptance, or perhaps realization.

"You're not ordinary," He claimed factually before letting out a small chuckled of disbelief, his eyebrows contorting upward.