They stood on the brink of Nature's open maw, two shadows in the eternal whose terrible rivalry could end in only one way.

Moriarty took a step closer, and another. Sherlock watched him stonily, ready to see this to the end.

A little out of arm's reach, Moriarty stopped, then leaned sideways, craning to look down the chasm at his enemy's back. He grimaced. "That's a very long drop."

"Yes."

He sucked on his teeth thoughtfully. "A man could get himself killed doing that." He raked Sherlock with his eyes, reading him. "Of course, we'd both go, wouldn't we. Yes, I can see it. You're planning to drag me right over with you. Oh, Sherlock, tell you haven't taken up martyrdom."

"I've had as much of you as I can stomach," Sherlock told him impassively. "I'll end this any way I have to."

There was a moment filled only by the roar of water, then Moriarty flung up his hands. "No, oh no, that's it! I'm calling a do-over!" He took two paces backwards, finger jabbed accusingly at Sherlock. "I refuse to allow a line that hackneyed be the last thing I hear. God, Sherlock, where did all that creativity go? Where's the fire? Did that dismal little doctor of yours drain it all off like some vampire of mundanity? No, this just won't do."

Sherlock tensed when Moriarty reached into his jacket, only to pull out his wallet and rifle through his cash. "Now, I know this magnificent little cafe on the edge of town where we can go threaten each other in warmth and comfort. I've just been dying to try their pastries, but you've kept me so busy lately I've barely had time to think for myself."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, running through the odds and his own willingness to die today if it could be at all avoided. "And all this?" He took in the scene with an elegantly sarcastic gesture. "Your grand revenge?"

"Lost the mood." Moriarty flicked it away with a flip of his hand. "Oh, don't look like that. Next time we can bring the guns and the busted-up military marksmen and go for a nice, civilized mutual murder attempt. It'll be lovely, you've always liked splatter patterns. Now come on, it's my treat. I know you've been skint since Provence, and I idid/i want to ask you some questions about that monograph you published on the radioactive decay of tobacco ash..."

The coffee really did turn out to be worth missing death for.