AN: Will be the first in a series of one-shots between these characters, I'll aim to write at least 1 between each series of Hannibal. This one is set during the beginning of series 3 of Sherlock and just after series 1 of Hannibal

Dr Lecter had known that somebody was there for perhaps around twenty minutes, and probably a minimum of fifteen of those minutes knowing exactly who it was. It was most unlike other visitors to simply invite themselves in without consent, but not him, no he was different.

Crossing the hallway to the dining room he could smell his guest, catching the distinct smell of peanuts on his nostrils, so it was likely that he had been on a plane within the last 12 hours, but then again that was hardly unusual. Odds were that he probably hopped on the plane from London to Washington, from Washington to Baltimore and straight to Dr Lecter's house from there. No subtlety at all, not this time at least.

"You know Jim, it's rude to break into people's homes uninvited." He told the visitor, rounding the corner to be greeted, quite correctly, by the man he had been expecting: medium height and weight, dressed head to toe in black Westwood, which contrasted perfectly with his pale face. Jim's fingers dashed across the smooth wooden surface of the dining room table, watching it as if with intent curiosity, not yet answering or even turning to acknowledge that he had been spoken to.

"And we both know what happens to people who are rude, don't we?"

"Indeed." Dr Lecter replied, making his way into the room to stand at the opposite end of the table to his rather unexpected visitor "Been in the neighbourhood long?"

"Just popping by for a quick visit." Moriarty replied, the strong Irish twang rolling of his tongue , finally looking up as the corner of his mouth twitched in a small twisted smile "It's been too long Hannibal."

It had, of course, been just over 2 years ago when the two men had last crossed paths, and in the three hours they had spent in one another's company Hannibal had mostly listened to Jim's stories his –what he called – playmate, how interesting he was, and how funny it was to watch him try and figure everything out, as if he had finally met his match – in the case of Hannibal himself not being his match. Hannibal had done his own research on Jim's playmate, a Sherlock Holmes – would-be consulting detective of New Scotland Yard – plus live-in PA, a certain ex-army Doctor he believed was named Watson, not that he had cared much for finer details. He seemed interesting enough, apparently committing suicide, though somehow he had managed to substantially cheat both death and the media, though newspapers were often wrong and Hannibal had never been inclined to believe anything printed in the media, particularly when reporters like Freddie Lounds were let lose upon evidence like the wild putrid dogs they were.

Dr Lecter and Moriarty did not exactly plan to meet, not commonly at least, they usually ran into one another and exchanged the occasional e-mail or letter, letting each other get on with one another's business and not interfering, it was almost an unwritten agreement that existed between the two of them – along with the silent agreement not to kill one another. That had in fact been Dr Lecter's original intention upon first meeting the psychotic albeit charismatic Irishman, some ten years ago by this point; the truth was that he had found him too interesting and he had been curious as to what he might do, and granted at times their conversations bordered on riveting. He had been too much of a potential ally to waste, not a friend really, but probably one of the closest that he had come to having a friend. "You were dead last time I read about you in the newspaper." Dr Lecter informed him, pacing along the table himself, mirroring Moriarty's own actions.

"Was I?" he mused playfully, as if reflecting upon a vaguely amusing memory "Well, if you read about it in the newspaper then it must be true." Flashing his white teeth up at Dr Lecter, Moriarty tapped the tips of his fingers along the wood as if composing a piano concerto "I love newspapers." He mused thoughtfully "All they ever do is just give us the Peter Pan version of events, wouldn't you agree Dr Lecter?"

He took a moment or two to reply, smiling slightly, chewing the question over. He knew that the other was just trying his hardest to subtly provoke some kind of reaction – evidentially he had been keeping up to date on Abel Gideon and the developments, or rather lack of, in the Chesapeake Ripper Case. It was all meant for simple fun of course, fun and games, that was just what turned him on. 'Play the Game', that was his philosophy.

"Have you met Freddie Lounds?" he asked, not entirely changing the subject.

His face split in a smile, clicking the tip of his tongue against his teeth "Ah little Freddie, no I haven't quite had the pleasure as of yet, though she strikes me as a fiery one. In fact Hannibal," he continued, finally pulling a chair out, making minimal noise upon the floor and sitting down within a split second, and in that small fraction of time, Dr Lecter could tell that he had considered propping his feet up on the table but had thought better of it, knowing how it would infuriate his host "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting any of your little friends down at the FBI." His tone drastically changing from one of slight amusement to once of mock disgust, wearing a bemused expression on his face "You haven't got yourself a live-in one have you?"

"No." Dr Lecter replied softly, slowly lowering himself down into the chair opposite where Moriarty sat, his maroon gaze never flinching from his visitor's face, and vice-versa. That was one of the things about the self proclaimed consulting-criminal that Dr Lecter found most interesting: he wasn't afraid of eye contact, even when he was lying which he rarely did while with Dr Lecter, normal people tended to get uncomfortable after a short while and break eye contact with his probing maroon eyes, but not Jim, not Jim.

"Hmm." Moriarty tutted, again clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth "No you're not the type."

"Neither are you James." – smiling at the expression of now genuine disgust that flashed momentarily across his face at his host's use of his full first name – "And yet you never fail to surprise me."

"I'd get bored. Sebastian's even boring me now, always complaining and threatening to run off back to wherever the hell he was before."

"You don't think he will?" Dr Lecter asked in a tone of one engaging in any perfectly normal conversation.

Moriarty did seem to detect what exactly he was doing, the corner of his mouth flicking in an amused smile "I wouldn't care if he did."

"And what do you think causes you to think that way?"

For several minutes, he did not reply, merely watching him with what resembled mild fascination on his face, licking his dry lips, deliberating on whether he should give Dr Lecter the satisfaction of answering, finally opening his mouth to simply say "Don't play the psychiatrist with me Hannibal, you're little mind games don't work on me." Shrugging as if in an apology before continuing "You know, I was in London this time last night, and I haven't eaten anything in ooh... ten hours." He was grinning now, sitting back in his chair, a mischievous child-like twinkle glinting in his eyes "And I know how hospitable you are, I mean, it would almost be rude to miss dinner."

"Quite." Dr Lecter agreed, tapping his own fingers on the arm of the chair. He did still have food from his visit to Dr Du Maurier yesterday "Well, if you would care to accompany me?" he offered, pushing his chair out from the table and getting to his feet "Tea?"

Grinning, Moriarty inclined his head in a brief nod, following that Doctor's lead and getting to his feet as well, wandering through the kitchen accompanied by his host.

Dr Lecter had never been a fan of re-heating his food, he found that it caused a substantial loss of flavour that he was far from fond of, but then again it really would be an awful shame to waste good food, especially since he had a guest. Retrieving the food in a Tupperware box from the rather large fridge in the corner of the kitchen, he found he didn't even need to look up to know that Moriarty's eyes were following him intently, observing him as he prepared the food.

"How's Will Graham?" he said slowly, so silkily it was as if he were caressing the words with his tongue, his soft Irish accent gently exaggerating each individual syllable "awful pity, isn't it? What happened to poor Mr Graham." He was smiling now, evidentially enjoying having found a topic that he could use to toy with Dr Lecter, which of course was what he did best "how is he doing locked up in the loony bin?"

Dr Lecter ignored him, deciding not even to give him the satisfaction of brief eye contact, purely focussing all his attention of the food he was preparing.

Giggling like an excited toddler, Moriarty stood on tiptoes in order to see what exactly he was preparing "Did it feel good?" he asked, finally catching the gaze of the ever frostier Dr Lecter, determined not to break eye contact this time "beating him?"

Dr Lecter considered this question for several moments, as he would if it had been any other question posed to him by any other person, though the milliseconds dragged on for an eternity, exhaling rather heavily, the his breath filtering out into the air "I imagine that it felt rather similar to when you yourself beat Mr Sherlock Holmes."

Immense satisfaction filled him at the sharp intake of breath that greeted these words, evidentially he had stuck a raw nerve there "You're an intuitive man aren't you Hannibal?" Moriarty answered, spitting venom in his voice "you know as well as the rest of the world that he didn't die that day." Then thinking again "You probably knew even before they did."

Ignoring his last remark, Dr Lecter simply shook his head slowly form side to side "And does he know that his... playmate still walks this earth very much alive as well? Or has he not caught on yet?"

Leaning against the kitchen counter, his hands finding their way into the pockets of his suit trousers, settling there "You're the psychiatrist, you tell me."

Dr Lecter knew rather little about Sherlock Holmes, and that vast majority of what he did know he knew from the very man who stood before him, and of course form –what Moriarty had so bluntly stated – the 'Peter Pan' version of events that the newspapers so avidly preached. He possessed a rather mild interest in the man, though not enough to ever feel the need to intervene, more observe with vague interest from a distance, he had not been the most challenging subject to psychoanalyse, and so long as they avoided each other's paths then they posed little threat to one another. He was a smart boy, Dr Lecter admired that, it would be an awful shame to have to rid the world of him "Sherlock Holmes posses considerably similar consistent traits to that of suffers of Asperger's Syndrome," –listing several – "Anti-social behaviour, an obsessive nature, intelligence. Accompanying what he appears to exhibit to several personality disorders. Can be narcissistic, though displays selflessness, and has a rather deeply rooted affection towards, his live-in one. He doesn't strike me as either a psychopath or a sociopath. What say you?"

Smirking now, the Irishman tilted his head a fraction to the side, removing his right hand form his pocket, wagging his index finger swiftly from left to right "I say Hannibal, that you don't tell me what you think, just what you see."

"I would be inclined to agree with you there Jim." Dr Lecter replied, actually offering him a rather genuine smile, the corner of his lips twitching "And what I mean by my statement, which I hasten to add I do not retract, is that Sherlock Holmes obvious an intelligent and intellectual individual, with a rare gift, and in the case of his being unaware, means that he will shortly become aware."

Moriarty's smile momentarily faltered, though it was barely noticeably, and he quickly regained composure "And Will Graham? What does he think is real?"

"Will Graham has a very complex mind." Dr Lecter said simply, not giving Moriarty the satisfaction of going into as much detail as he had with Sherlock Holmes, retrieving a plate from his cabinet and setting them down on the counter, the sound of the china against the cold surface creating a small 'clink' which cascaded off the walls.

"Yes I heard about that." The other man mused, his interest rather obviously waning "Quite the topic of conversation within the psychiatric circle I heard."

"That would be correct." Dr Lecter agreed, spooning the food out onto the plate, in a manner that could only be described as delicately "It's fascinating really, he can assume your point of view, or mine, or any person he chooses."

"Oh you have nice little conversations with him with your psychiatrist buddies do you?" Moriarty sniggered like a child playing a practical joke "Well evidentially he didn't do a very good job of assuming your point of view, Hannibal." He scoffed.

Dr Lecter did not answer, discussing Will Graham was not something he tended to enjoy, sliding the plate across the counter to his guest, retaining his frost silence.

"Well, sometimes the fun ones are just harder to find, they blend in too well."

Dr Lecter still did not reply, watching his guest as he set a knife and fork in the middle of the table, as if he were challenging him, pressing the palms of his hands to the counter, waiting for Moriarty to take the silverware in his hand, silently daring him.

Without utterly a single word more, Moriarty's eyes flicked from the counter, up to Dr Lecter and back again in quick succession, a large grotesque smile breaking out over his face, extending his hand and taking the cutlery "What am I about to eat?" he asked, attempting – albeit half-heartedly – to make himself sound as innocent as possible.

"Veal." Dr Lecter answered simply, dragging out the single syllable and ending the word with a playful click of his tongue against that back of his teeth.

"Of course." Moriarty replied slowly, prodding the food gently with the tip of his fork, his eyes darting – almost frantically - between his host and the food prepared for him.

"Don't play with your food Jim."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He smirked, finally stabbing his fork into the meat and lifting it to his mouth, smelling briefly before consuming, chewing slowly.

The corner of Dr Lecter's mouth quirked in a tiny smile, and he continued with the conversation "Will you be returning to London tonight?"

"I'm bored of London." His guest stated simply, as if such a fact were blatantly obvious "And I'm bored of Dublin too, there's nothing fun happening down there."

"And I imagine that you can't exactly freely show your face on the streets of London, what with that incident involving the Crown Jewels." Dr Lecter interjected.

Giggling to himself, in the manor of a child recalling a fond memory, Moriarty continued to eat as he did "Ah yes, that was fun."

"And what with being apparently being dead, some may not be accustom to dead men turning up."

"Sherlock Holmes did it." He added.

"True." Tapping the tips of his fingers against the table top, drumming them to the rhythm of Chopin's Raindrop Prelude "Well Jim, I can assure you that there is nothing remotely new of exciting in Maryland either. Wine?"

"Please. I'm sure I'll manage to find something to keep me entertained until something really fun comes up somewhere a little closer to home." Flashing another quick grin in Dr Lecter's direction "I'll just wander until I something, catch up with some old friends in the meantime."

Still listening – though his interest was waning – to Moriarty's continued rants, Dr Lecter got to his feet to retrieve a half empty bottle of red Bordeaux wine from '71, unscrewing the cap and pouring the dark red liquid out into two glasses, watching it slosh around the inside of the glass before offering it to Moriarty, who took it, the tips of his fingers softly brushing Dr Lecter's.

"Do you ever get bored here, Hannibal?" he asked finally, raising the glass to his lips, with his gaze never flinching from his host's face "Apart from the Chesapeake Ripper-" flicking his tongue against his teeth to exaggerate the last syllable "Nothing exciting ever happens here. I mean, do you not just wish that everybody would just stop being stupid and figure it all out. Do you not just wish someone might just be clever enough?"

Something in the way that Dr Lecter reacted - or rather, didn't react – set Moriarty off, his eyes widening in an expression of pure adultered glee "Somebody did, didn't they?"" he demanded, again adopting the mannerisms of an excited child "it was Will Graham, wasn't it?" he giggled excitedly "I knew he was clever. It's just a pity that you found him before I did, he'd be fun. Him and Sherl would get on well."

Not having moved, or even flinched a single muscle, since retracting his hand from giving his guest the glass, he continued to drum Chopin's Raindrop Prelude across the counter, exhaling rather heavily, Dr Lecter replied "Well it's just a pity that he is being contained in a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane."

"For people that you killed." Moriarty scoffed, dismissing Dr Lecter's statement with a flick of his wrist, as if to show what little importance that particular hindrance was to him. Spotting the rather un-amused, unimpressed expression that Dr Lecter wore at these words, he gave a small smile, offering his hand as a sign of apology "that was rude, wasn't it?"

"Yes it was." Dr Lecter replied, his momentary spark of anger down as quickly as it had sparked up, reaching up to accept the hand as a mutual sign that the apology had been accepted.

"Ah you know just as much about what I have done as I do you." Moriarty interjected, again waving his hand away to show either how little it mattered, or how little it bothered him. Perhaps both.

A moments silence followed these words, calm pleasant silence mind, the only distinguishable noise being the scrap of cutlery upon china. Dr Lecter offered a smile "Well," tilting his glass upwards lazily "I'll drink to that."