Rainy, rainy London. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and highly functioning sociopath, was walking alone through London. Mrs. Hudson was waiting for his arrival so they could drink their afternoon tea together, but he took his time. He never cared about anyone and he was not going to change that. Well, perhaps if John came back… No. John Watson had Mary Morstan, pardon Mary Watson. They were probably waiting at the airport for their flight to…what was it again? Oh yes, Hawaii, an island with a volcano. There are better ways to die, seriously John. 2 weeks alone. Oh no, 2 weeks alone with Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and those idiots, oh pardon, inspectors from Scotland Yard. Why do you hate me, John? What have I done to you that you wish to torture me like this?

A whimper.

Sherlock stopped immediately. A whimper, high pitched but male, not animal like, but also barely human…a homeless? One of his homeless helpers? No, they catch his attention by talking to him. "Maybe you should look at him?" he heard Johns voice in his head.

Slowly he turned around and looked down. He recognized him immediately.

The man was naked, underfed, ill with a broken arm, fractured ribs, wounds all over his body, crying, shaking, bleeding, freezing, time till death: 30 minutes to an hour.

Sherlock knelt down and touched the man's face with a gloved finger. Black hair and pale skin. Oh yes, this was definitely him.

"I'm surprised to see you like this, Moriarty." He whispered with a soft, cold smile.

With a slight start the man looked up. Sherlock's smile disappeared as soon as he saw the red-rimmed eyes with fresh tears. This was not the Moriarty he knew and…loved.

"W-W-Who is M-Moriarty?"

Stuttering? Moriarty never stuttered. Scared looks? Moriarty was never scared! And this question: Who is Moriarty? Maybe it was an act, but this… He didn't recognize any lies in this simple question. Not even one. His face: scared. There was nothing else neither in his face nor in his body language to read than immense fear. This was not the old Moriarty… and the fear seemed to increase.

"What…" Sherlock began frowning but was interrupted by a scared begging Moriarty: "S-Sir! I-I´m sorry, Sir! I-I-I w-won't forget it again, S-Sir! I k-know I-I'm below you, S-Sir! P-Please d-don't b-beat me, S-Sir!"

A begging Moriarty was definitely amusing, but still… The fear, it didn't fit him. Sherlock looked at him closely. In this condition… Broken arm, fractured ribs, several wounds on his body, he remembered. The question is: Will he bleed to death or will he freeze to death? Oh this is…interesting. Sherlock smiled again this cold knowing smile. 45-15 minutes (with the stress he himself was causing him to feel) were left until Moriarty was going to sleep forever.. Probably 17 minutes until there was nothing he could do to safe Moriarty´s life or any body parts (not that he would want to).

"Do you remember me?" He asked looking at the man with his cold unforgiving eyes.

The answer meant everything. Not everything but a lot. Actually it meant nothing; he just wanted to scare him a bit. Naughty little Sherlock, he heard the old Moriarty say in his sing-sang voice.

Moriarty looked down at his hands. He seemed to debate about his answer. Lying or telling the truth. Two answers and obviously Moriarty thought only one was right. Was there nothing of the old Moriarty left? Not a bit?

12 minutes

Slowly with fearful looks he nodded his head, no. It was not a lie Sherlock could see that the moment their eyes met again. Breathing in and out Sherlock moved closer.

"I want you to listen very well now, boy, and do as you're told, is that clear?"

Moriarty moved farther into the corner he was sitting in and Sherlock could tell that it was more than difficult with numb limbs.

"Y-Y-Yes, S-S-Sir." he whispered frightened and looked down again.

10 minutes

Oh how Sherlock loved this. These scared looks, this stuttering from Moriarty! He forced himself not to smile or laugh, but it seemed like it was going to be a good day after all…Moriarty in his hands, at his every wish. Gosh, was it Christmas already? He pulled out his unused umbrella and unintentionally frightened Moriarty with that.

"I'm not going to beat you with it, you know." Sherlock said without looking at the shaking man.

"A-A-Are y-you s-sure?" He heard Moriarty asked in a little more than a whisper while looking up.

Are you sure? What a question. Are you sure, Sherlock? Mycroft's voice. Are you sure? Of course he was sure! No, no, calm down! Calm down, Sherlock!

6 minutes

"I-I-I m-mean… I-I meant… A-A-Are y-you sure, S-Sir?" He corrected himself.

"I can assure you, I am 100% sure." Sherlock snapped without looking at him while opening the umbrella.

Moriarty winced and looked down.

"Of course, Sir." He whispered.

Were the words that harsh? Obviously. Moriarty…What did they do to you? Slave traders? Okay, Sherlock, you need to concentrate now. He closed his eyes, the umbrella still clutched in his hand. What happened to his favorite enemy? Slave traders, sold on black-market, new master, new rules, he didn't follow them, punishment, whip lashes on his back, kicks in the ribs, starvation, master got tired of him, left him here. The End. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at his old enemy.

4 minutes until there was nothing he could safe anymore.

Sherlock could see that all the man wanted to do now was lie down and sleep for a very long time. He could see that Moriarty had forgotten the coldness and the rain; could see that the man's eyes closed slowly… Oh no, not now, Moriarty, not today. Sherlock lifted him to his arms and ran with the umbrella shielding them from the rain. Bakerstreet, Bakerstreet, Dorset Street, run left, Montagu Row, run right, Crawford Street, run right, Bakerstreet!

2 minutes.

Moriarty shook in his arms either from cold or from fear and closed his eyes.

"Don't you dare sleep! We are almost there. Don't sleep!" he yelled.

Moriarty´s eyes shot open. Oh yes, the good old reaction of a slave to an order, Sherlock chuckled.

221b Bakerstreet… There! He ran and ran, didn't even realize the exhaustion of this run. And then he could see the door open and Mrs. Hudson waving to him.

"Hello Sherlock! You missed our daily afternoon tea and… Mr. Sherlock Holmes who is that man in your arms? And why is he naked? He must be freezing! And death pale too! Oh Sherlock, what did you-"

"Mrs. Hudson, warm a bed and bring some tea, bandages and salve! We need to warm him up!" he yelled while running past her and throwing the umbrella away.

"I´m not your-" she began but was interrupted by Sherlock who stopped his running to look at her and yell: "Mrs. Hudson, he is nearly dead so please shut up already and do as you´re told!"

There was silence for a while. No one dared to say a word. Sherlock was slightly shocked. He hadn't meant to yell at the woman who kept him alive.

"I prepared the room already, it´s upstairs…and it´s John´s room." Mrs. Hudson said with a knowing smile.

Sherlock mouthed a thank you and ran upstairs. The warm bed was prepared, a hot cup of tea was standing on the night stand and fresh clothes were laid out for Moriarty. How did she do that? And he remembered: A man with a red scarf has walked past him. Angelo had seen him and had called Mrs. Hudson, who knew what he planned on doing. He was, like Lestrade always said, deep inside a good man. Sherlock chuckled, he should have known sooner. Slowly he put him under the warm covers after placing the broken body on the bed. A sigh was heard from Moriarty and he relaxed immediately. Still the man refused to close his eyes for longer than a few seconds. Again this day the consulting detective chuckled while leaning down to the nearly dead man and whispered the nicest order the man had heard so far: "Sleep."

Sherlock turned to leave, but soft spoken words stopped him before he could close the door: "T-T-Thank you, S-Sherlock."

And he smiled.