"Does it make you happy? To be unloved?"

"That's a silly thing to ask. Why should it matter. Or are you inquiring because it is you who indeed loves me?" Moriarty snorts, quick and sweet.

"I am simply curious."

"I see." John tosses him a sly smile. "Is that why you're stalking me?"

"Not stalking dear, keeping tabs on you."

"Mycroft does that, you, watch my every breath."

"And why shouldn't I, are you not Sherlock's beloved pet? A neighbour should look after animals while his owner is away."

"Ah, but. Sherlock is coming back. You don't believe that, do you Moriarty?"

"Not at all. I wish for his return as much as you, but facts lead to facts and he is dead. Wouldn't Sherlock wish for you to move on instead of brooding?"

"Hardly. Going to work each day just as I had before is not brooding. And what, find a woman? You know I don't swing that way. Everyone seems to know that before me somehow."

"Oh hush your teen-aged moaning of sexuality. A simple label should not hold you from love."

"So this is about you loving me then?" John smirked lightly, tilting his head to the side dishelving his dusty gold bangs.

"Don't be preposterous."

"What is there to move on from. What is there to do now that Sherlock isn't around?"

"Play with me." A small grin pulls at his lips tugging at the corners dangerously. "Solve some puzzles."

"Now who's being preposterous? You know you'll bore of me on an intellectual field."

"Well I certainly can't have you on a physical one. Much too messy." Moriarty drawls methodically.

"Just leave me alone. Go out and make a disaster somewhere else like you usually do. Because if Sherlock really is dead, even if he wasn't. We don't know if he would look my way."

"Of course he would." Because he loves you, like he never loved me.

"Not if you're sniffing around."

"I would be anyway."

"True... Do you think he is in a gutter somewhere with the homeless network?"

"I've checked."

"I am sure you have."

There was silence. John didn't know if it was painful or not.

"Do you wish you were dead with him? You know, so you wouldn't be so bored?"

"I don't die honey, but thanks for the sentiment."

"Why are you here?" He changed the subject, even though he knew the answer. He just wanted the conversation to go somewhere, anywhere that meant this wasn't a waste of time.

"Just to visit my little Johnny boy."

"Why haven't you killed me yet? All this beating around the bush, like you feel like playing. Haven't you gotten bored of locking me up in 221B Baker street yet?" Are you tired of torturing me with his memory yet?

"I am sure if you were very creative you could find a new place to live."

"Is that some kind of joke?" Moriarty had made sure no flat within a thousand mile radius would let John rent them. So he was stuck living in an old musty memory of tattered papers and carpets that smelled of chemicals.

"Why do you want to leave so bad if you have nothing to move on from?" John rubs the back of his neck in exasperation. He was tired of dancing in circles, as this was getting no where.

"What is there left to do Moriarty? You have everything now."

"Not entirely." I don't have you. Moriarty sniffs delicately looking around the worn flat, and back down to the cold tea beside him. He remembered coming before and having a similar tea party with Sherlock, bless his cold dead heart. Surprisingly John cooperated just as Sherlock had, sitting silently down with slight amused resignation sipping at his tea. Now look at them, half way through a conversation and Moriarty still didn't know what to say. Only what he wanted. He wanted the last of what Sherlock had. He wanted John and his tired smiles like he knew nothing was left but still hoped for a better tomorrow. He wanted the dim sadness in his eyes that sparked with calm hate-less banter. Had John already given up? Is that why he did not hate Moriarty so?

"Is it possible that, you are the one in love with me?" Moriarty inquires with a smug smile. "after all, you are the only one going on about it."

"That seems a little presumptuous."

"Just as believing Sherlock is alive."

"I didn't say no, though." John smiles. "You are the only one left." He says softly like he hadn't noticed before.

Suddenly Moriarty's throat goes dry. "I though there was nothing left to you."

"True, Mrs. Huston is gone since you took over my apartment building. Lestrade is busy doing work in Cardiff now for some reason-" He stares pointedly in Moriarty's direction "-and molly has disappeared off the face of the planet. Out of everything I've ever known since coming back from the war is that you are the only one left."

"And Mycroft?"

"Just a shadow now that his brother is gone."

"And how did this turn into love, prey tell?" Moriarty shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"I don't know. Maybe when you started to visit. Popping in Tesco and helping with my bags, pestering me to no ends... I thought you were trying to mock me. You've changed, you know. I don't see madness in your eyes any more. Only boredom, like you've lost something important but wouldn't dare to remember it. I think you were distracted."


"Now... Now your... Human, I guess. You just seem like a person to me. So if you would like to prove me wrong by shooting me in the head or... doing something less than admirable, now is the time." John tenses expectantly, eyes trained on Moriarty's. John wants to think Moriarty would say something like "Oh no Johnny, that would be no fun." and mess with him for another two years but he has become expectant of other things. What if Moriarty really did kill him? So be it, he guessed. Everyone has their day.

"Close your eyes." Moriarty commands. Ah... So.. This was it huh? John closes his eyes slowly, taking the flat for the last time. He feels something cool and hard against his forehead as his eyes are completely shut. The muzzle of a gun.

"Don't you ever say I am a human being again, do you understand?" Why not? He was going to die at this point anyway.

"Yes." Lips, warm and rough press against Johns, needy and demanding, begging for entrance. Out of shock John gives it to him, still feeling the muzzle on his head. What kind of sick joke was this? Was Moriarty still playing with him now? But he can't think, not as the kiss grows heated until it burns, teeth grabbing at lips and tongues battling for dominance. A crude moan escapes his lips, leaving a red rush beneath his cheeks. Moriarty pulls away, admiring his work, never removing the gun. He smiles playfully.

"Goodbye John." He cocks the gun. Fear and acceptance rise above Johns complicated confusion.

"Goodbye, love." A tear streaks down his cheek, even though he never knew why he loved Moriarty in the first place. Coincidence is all... right? Memories flash, short and sweet like Moriarty's disbelieving snorts. Walking through the rain with groceries, being tailed at the theatre to find him sitting in his favourite seat offering him a bag of popcorn, conversations full of teasing and sticking out tongues, and all of that other rubbish romantic bullocks nobody should remember before they die. He was never an organised type anyway, remembering Moriarty instead of Sherlock like he should in the end. But then why wasn't he? John shuts his eyes. Need no more. He knew this was coming. Then why couldn't he believe it? All too fast the gun went off. Instead of hitting John though, Sherlock's picture fell from the mantle.

"Lets start again. Hello, my name is James. It's nice to meet you." With a shocked expression, John still managed to pull it up into a smile.


AN: First attempt at drabble? I don't know where this came from to be honest but hey~ favorite paring so who can go wrong ;D