Jim Moriarty sat upon the throne. It was good to know he could overcome the whole world from his little throne room. The flames licked at the chair and he wasn't bothered by that one bit. His topknot fluttered in the heat-breeze. He was the Firelord and it felt good.

"My lord," said his right-hand man Sebastian Moran, a very capable firebender in his own right, but nowhere near Moriarty's abilities. "There are rumours of assassins with designs on your life."

"They won't get to me," Moriarty said confidently. "No one ever has and no one ever will."

But he was wrong. At that exact instant the doors flew open and a small brigade of Earthbenders entered, lead by Greg Lestrade. One of the palace guard threw his helmet down and somehow Moriarty realized that it was Sherlock Holmes, the famous Waterbender. As the other guards fought one-on one with the Earthbenders, Sebastian fighting Sherlock's assistant John, the two great minds stood and faced one another.

Fire Lord Moriarty stared his opponent down, dark eyes blazing. "I will burn the heart out of you," he spat.

Sherlock smiled. "Oh, I don't think so," he said, and then the battle began. Sherlock was a strong enough waterbender that he could freeze the moisture in the atmosphere and turn it into sharp ice shrapnel. Moriarty retorted by melting the ice, but in doing so with a fire-bubble, lowered his guard and was knocked to the floor by a swift kick from behind from John. Sebastian had gone for Sherlock.

The battle raged for what felt like hours—earth and water against fire, and then Moriarty decided enough was enough. He felt the lightning flow through him and out into Sherlock, who fell down with a yelp.

"No!" yelled John, and his Earthbending powers increased tenfold, the ground shaking and the floor quite literally swallowing Moriarty and Moran. All the other Fire Nation guards surrendered then, their leaders gone. John ran over to where Sherlock lay semiconscious and in pain.

"Sherlock," he said. "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

"You're shouting," Sherlock whispered with considerable effort. "How can I not hear you?"

"Lestrade, go get Molly," John ordered. Normally it was not his place to command the Detective Inspector, but this was an exception. Molly entered, her healing waters ready, and soothed Sherlock's wound. He winced as the liquid touched his burned flesh, but then smiled as the bliss of healing overtook him. He was peacefully asleep, with the Fire Lord and his second defeated. All was well.