Jim Moriarty shut his eyes. People were so boring. Take his flatmate Sebastian, for example. Every single morning, black coffee, no sugar. Up at the crack of dawn. The morning paper in his hands. Predictable as ever. And here he came.
Black met blue as their eyes contacted. Jim enjoyed teasing Seb, hinting at something more than friendship with his body language, but never really meaning it. Sebastian, for his part, was somewhat unnerved by this, being very very straight.
"Anything in Belarus?"
Jim tilted his head. "Booooooring. Not even worth my time." The peculiar hypnotic sing-song of his voice only served to accentuate his displeasure. Sebastian sat in the chair by the fire, reading the newspaper.
"Well, something will come along, Jim, it always does."
"Ooh, I hope so. Never enough interesting murders."
Sebastian Moran sighed. He had a hard time understanding his friend's peculiar ways, but when he talked about murder, he always made it sound like a good thing. Small, dainty steps came up the staircase, and Mrs. Hudson knocked on their door.
"Yoo-hoo, Jim, dear, I brought you some of that tea!" She placed it on the table. Jim grinned.
"Ah, thank you. You're a saint."
And then the explosion happened.

When Jim came to, he rubbed his head before looking around the flat for Seb. The colonel was rising from behind the desk by the wall. He motioned that he was alright. Jim's phone rang.
"Jim! Oh, my God, are you okay?"
"Yes, Molly, I'm fine. A bit bruised, perhaps, but nothing serious."
"They're saying on the news that Baker Street got blown up!"
Jim smiled at her concern. "I'm alright, my dear." His phone began to beep with call waiting. "Oops, sorry, that's Lestrade. Must dash. Kiss kiss, love love!"

"You like the strange cases, right?" Lestrade walked to his office.
"Mm, yes," Jim smiled, almost tasting the peculiarities. Seb followed a few steps behind. He knew Jim was in charge of anything and everything.
"That explosion wasn't a gas leak. We found a strongbox, and inside was this." Lestrade handed Jim an envelope. It was addressed in a strong, firm, self-assured hand to James Moriarty.
"We've x-rayed it. It's not booby trapped."
"Well that's good," Jim said as he tore it open. In it was a telephone in a pink phone case.
"Just like the Study in Pink?" asked Lestrade.
Jim looked confused for a moment before looking at Sebastian. "Awww, you shouldn't have! You blogged about me!" He winked. That wink never ceased to unnerve Seb, but he rather liked it in a strange way.
Five Greenwich pips came from the phone. A challenge. The voice of the unknown enemy was stolen, as other people were threatened at the hint of a bomb. Test after test, Jim saved lives by solving crimes, his trusty blogger by his side. The cases fell quiet and the bomber lay low. Seb had gone out early, eager to experience the lovely day, so Jim had spent the last few minutes alone. He had the final piece of the puzzle and now he sent his reply to his lovely lovely bomber that had finally made London interesting.
The pool at midnight.

Jim arrived, and looked around the empty room.
"Helloooo," he called. "Nice of you to arrange this little game for me, but I really would like to meet you properly."
Out from the side door stepped Colonel Sebastian Moran.
"Well, this is a surprise, isn't it?"
"Seb?"
"Of course not," he said in a flat voice. Someone else was pulling the strings. "Don't be stupid, you of all people. You're disappointing me."
"Where are you? Come out and play," Jim demanded.
"We met that day in the computer lab," a deep voice called out. "I gave you my card."
Moriarty looked astonished. How could his enemy be right in front of him the whole time? How could he have missed something so obvious?
The tall man stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed, not in the lab coat t-shirt and jeans Jim had first seen him in, but in a very nice suit.
"Thought perhaps you'd call. Don't be dull," he said, seeing Jim's concerned look. "Of course I'm not the one with the rifle."
Seb was frightened, of course, but not as badly as he had been when he had a gun to his head. Strange, that. Jim stared, holding the gun he'd gotten from Seb's room at the stranger.
"Sherlock Holmes," he said. "But you know that."
"You want these plans," Jim said, quietly, brandishing the stick drive.
"No, no, not at all," said Sherlock. "All I wanted was the chance to meet you. Interesting, wouldn't you say? We're two sides of the same coin. Both of us are utterly brilliant, and possibly utterly mad."
"You killed those people. People have died."
"It happens. Daily."
"So you decided to meet me?" He stared down the barrel of the gun.
"Just wanted to give you a taste of what I've been up to. Don't you feel enlightened? Sorry. Must dash. But just remember—you're not the only one with a unique consulting job." Sherlock turned and strode out just as arrogantly as he'd strode in.
As soon as he was gone, Jim ripped Seb's jacket off, throwing the bomb pack to the edge of the pool, far away from them. After a few brief silent moments of relief, they heard footsteps returning.
"Sorry. Too easy to just let you go, now that you know who I am. Can't risk exposure." The number of laser-sights on the pair had quadrupled, and the adrenaline flowed through their veins. "I think you know what I'd be inclined to say as it's already crossed your mind."
"My answer would probably cross yours," retorted Jim. He looked to Seb, who gave a nod of approval, then back at Sherlock, who looked nervous. Jim lowered the gun to the bomb pack. Sherlock smiled. Then there was nothing.