Hey guys. This isn't going to be a one-shot but it may be a while between chapters as I have very little actual plotline right now. But anyway, this was written originally as just an image, from a song and written on request of Kaizoku-Taii (read her stuff! Tis good!!). But please let me know what you think! (I don't own Sherlock Holmes. ) loves! xx

The cloth bag was lifted from his head as Watson was guided through yet another door. Before he had time to turn to see his captors, the door had shut. He gazed around the room for a moment, taking in everything he could about it, trying to work out where he was. But the room was bare, save for a single central table with a single chair pulled up to it, strewn with wrinkled paper. The only door was the one he had been pushed through and the only window was blocked by a figure facing away from him, his hands clasped behind his back. Watson frowned as he recognised the second man.

"Holmes," Watson breathed, partly relieved, and partly confused to see his friend here.

"Yes, Watson," Holmes replied pleasantly as he continued to look out of the window.

"Where are we?" he asked, taking a step closer.

Holmes turned, a proud smile on his face, "Do you like it? We are currently standing in the new headquarters of the criminal underworld."

Watson frowned, "Why are we here?"

"You, my friend, are here because I felt it had been too long since we last spoke."

"Holmes, I was attacked and blindfolded before I was dragged here."

Holmes frowned, "They attacked you? Well that was directly against my orders," he muttered to himself, "I trust you're not hurt?" he cast a glance over the doctor.

Watson stared incredulously at him, "I'm fine," he said quietly, "What are you doing here, Holmes?"

"Ah!" Holmes stepped away from the window and gestured at the table, "Many things, Watson. For example, last night I organised the theft of a stunning Bailey sculpture delivered this morning to the docks for loading onto a ship destined for the Americas. It was wonderfully satisfying. Oh and tomorrow, a vault load of gold is boarding a train to Liverpool, where it will also be packed onto a ship. Its destination is something only myself and the ship's crew have knowledge of."

The papers rustled as Watson glanced through them, peering at Holmes' scrawled writing, "There are more. Why have you done this?"

"Why you ask," Holmes murmured to himself, as though never having quite thought about it, "Well, shortly after you left me to my own devices, I came to a startling revelation. The thought occurred to me that my life appears to have been nothing more than waiting for a criminal to commit a crime so ingenious that it would keep me entertained for at least a day. But you know as well as I that they are not all too common. So, after a while of wallowing in my own self-pity, as you call it, I strived to see if I could create the perfect crime for myself."

"The perfect crime?" Watson's voice was quiet as he repeated the words, lowering the piece of paper he had picked up, "What did you do?"

"It was printed in the paper, last Thursday, if my memory serves me correctly,"

"The disappearance of the baker from Kings Way? That was you?"

"Well, indirectly yes. I have a number of contacts that were more than willing to assist me. While the abduction was taking place, I was sat quietly in Baker Street, reading the paper and waiting for news."

"What have you done to him?"

Holmes chuckled, "Nothing at all. Presently he is in Belgium, continuing his profession. I could organise a meeting if you are truly worried for him."

"Pray tell, Holmes, why did you abduct a man and send him to Belgium?!"

Holmes shrugged, "It was merely to prove to myself that I could," he smiled, his eyes glinting, "The intricacies that went into the planning were simply extraordinary. They had me up for no less than thirty hours. If the truth be told, I never planned to carry out the deed. But by the time I had finished, I felt as though I had theorised something revolutionary. I felt obligated to put it into practice. I had to test the practical issues that could arise in the completion of the theoretical plan. It seems that I have quite a knack for the art of crime and the young baker was sailing to Belgium with no one so much as blinking."

"So, now you've committed the perfect crime why all these others?" Watson grabbed one of the papers screwed it up in his fist.

Holmes raised an eyebrow at the anger in his voice, but chose to ignore it, "As I sat working through the details, something occurred to me. It appears I take much more pleasure from smashing the glass to picking up the pieces..."

Watson scoffed, "In the three short weeks I have gone, you have sunk a long way. The once great Sherlock Holmes reduced to petty theft?!"

"Reduced?!" Holmes yelled excitedly, as he rushed to the table and leant heavily on it, watching Watson, "My mind has never been so alive, Watson. This society protects its possessions with an intriguing amount of passion. From my renewed point of view it is almost an invitation to challenge them," he picked up one of the plans and studied it, "Why should I waste my not inconsiderable experience waiting for some desperate fool to present their pitifully simple case?" he muttered angrily.

Watson slammed a fist on the table, making Holmes flinch, "Because that it what is right!"

"Right?" he lowered the paper slowly onto the table, "You wish to talk to me about morals, my dear boy?" he laughed, "I have always been beyond what many think of as 'right'. Don't you agree?"

"No, I don't!" Watson replied, frustrated, "You're better than this, Holmes."

"Maybe I was, one long forgotten day ago. But now, I have no need to be better. I am almost invincible."

The doctor shook his head, "No one is invincible!"

Holmes held up a single finger, "Hence the use of the word almost," he said in a dark imitation of his old humour. A glimpse of what Holmes had been just a few weeks ago. With a smirk, curled his finger back into a fist and paused for a moment, then grinned, "Now, doctor, I have a proposition for you."

Watson frowned.

"My dear Watson, I propose you join me. Once more we can be like the days of old. Brothers together! Only this time, there would be no need for you to entertain yourself during my days between cases," he chuckled, "For, now I can decide when my cases show themselves."

"I can't do that Holmes," Watson shook his head, "I admit the days of old as you call them were, and still are, my fondest memories. But what you have created here. Created of yourself! Is something I simply cannot do! This is illegal!"

"You have helped me carry out many illegalities actions before."

"That's because it was in the name of good! This is for personal gain!"

"I think you will find, Watson, I have gained nothing."

"Then why, Holmes? Please, tell me why. I don't understand."

Holmes shrugged, "I suppose it is a thrill. I don't quite know exactly what it is that drives me so," he drifted into silence for a moment then, waved at the door, "But of course, I had expected your decision. If you could see yourself out, I have a lot of work to keep me occupied."

Watson took a deep breath, "I'm going to have to tell the police, Holmes."

A bark of laughter escaped his lips, "The police are useless fools who can no more find their own clothes than any of my criminals without my help. Which, they still ask for on occasion. It is quite amusing."

"Your criminals? They work for you?"

He nodded, "When I have need of them, they are my lapdogs," a strange smirk tugged at Holmes' lips, "They fear me, Watson. It is a terrible, yet enjoyable feeling. I daresay it's quite addictive."

Watson swallowed, scared of the man he once knew, "I have to tell them, Holmes."

"I understand," Holmes fixed the doctor with a flat stare, "In which case, you must understand that although I have yet to commit anything other than theft and the single abduction, I have little doubt in my mind that I could turn my hand to far more heinous crimes, should the need arise."

Watson was too shocked to reply. He simply stared at his old friend, struck dumb by the barely concealed threat in his voice. Despite the death threats he had received over his time, this one shot straight through him. He blinked, trying to keep his breathing calm.

Holmes' smirked as he tilted his head, "You've gone pale, dear doctor. Would you care for a drink?"

Watson shook his head, unable to speak.

Holmes hmm'ed as he turned back to the window, "Then I really must bid you adieu. It really does not do to be behind schedule. As always, it has been good to see you, Watson."

The door creaked as Watson opened it.

"Give my best to your lovely fiancé," Holmes said over his shoulder.

The door shut. Holmes smirked.