I crinkled my nose. "What?"

His breath was quick, heavy, his voice pleading. "Sherlock, please. I need your help. Meet me at the Attendant?"

I glanced at the time that conveniently displayed itself across my phone's screen. "Jim, it's nearly midnight."

"Yeah, and it's a fucking miracle that a nerd like you is still awake."

"That's a bit rude to say to someone whose help you need oh so desperately."

"Sherlock. Please. I don't think I have much time. I- I might be in danger."

"Am I expected to be worried? Because frankly, you're just about the last person I would put my life on the line for."

"Sherlock, you're my last chance."

"If you're expecting me to pull out some kung-fu shit, you're dreaming. I don't know what you want me to do for you."

"I just need you here. Trust me."

I rolled my eyes. "God, you're such a pain in the ass. Give me ten minutes."

He took a deep, shaky breath. "Please, just hurry up. I'm petrified."

I hung up, sighing. I almost felt like I was crossing the thin line that lay between curiosity and loyalty to Moriarty. Almost.

I quickly laced up my shoes and crept out the door. My parents were home and completely asleep. Had I really been in my mind palace for so long? I shrugged to myself as I walked moderately quickly down the dark sidewalk.

It took me precisely 10 minutes and 32 seconds to get to the Attendant, which was all darkened windows and closed signs. I groaned and pulled out my cell, calling Moriarty.

"It's closed," I grumbled the moment he picked up.

"I'm inside. It's unlocked, Sherlock. Please, I just- somebody's after me. I think it's the murderer. You were right, Sherlock! It wasn't her and now she's gone and-"

"Jim, you're panicking. Take a deep breath and try to focus on not being an idiot."

After hanging up on him for the second time that night, I tried the door of the cafe. It swung open easily. Did anyone care about the security of the place? I'd always had a suspicion that the majority of Greater London was made up of idiots, but this was a new low.

The only light on in the entire establishment shone through the tiny windows on the door to the kitchen. I approached the metal door carefully, silent as a cat in the night, before swiftly opening it with one quick movement of my arm.

Moriarty was on the ground in a panic, doing his best to crawl away from her. She stood over him with a knife, just seconds from delivering the killing blow. Moriarty's mouth was open as though he was about to scream, but it was as though time had stopped as soon as I'd opened the door: both of them were frozen, staring at me like I was E.T. himself.

She straightened herself, eyes immediately peeling away from Moriarty. "You're Sherlock Holmes."

I nodded. It was all I could do.

She laughed, practically screeching by doing so. Brown hair, dull, cold eyes. She had always been there. I'd practically told her to go ahead and kill Molly back at the corner store.

The crazy cat lady.

She'd watched from the coffee shop. From the store, where I spoke directly to her. And, of course, it was obvious that she had been practically stalking John's blog for months.

And he hadn't even been in town for months. 

She looked at me with what was quite possibly the least-comforting smile anyone had ever received. "You're deducing, Sherlock Holmes."

Thoughts were racing through my mind, and I was nearly shocked when some part of me managed to respond in a collected, though noticeably flat, tone. "Right, sorry. Terrible habit."

She turned back to Moriarty. "I should kill you now, you know. Let your friend watch- it would be the show of his life."

Jim began to squirm again, but kept his eyes trained on me. "Sherlock. Please. Help me."

"I know what I'm doing, Jim," I lied. Still, my words managed to fetch the attention of the woman.

Her already-arched eyebrows raised at least an inch. "Really, Sherlock? You know what you're doing here?"

I locked my eyes onto hers, hoping that she would fall for my feigned confidence. "Of course. I'm a genius."

She laughed a single, high syllable upon hearing this. "A seventeen-year-old genius? Sherlock, you may be slightly cleverer than your peers, but it's beyond egotistical to run around considering yourself brilliant."

I narrowed my eyes. "What exactly do you want?"

"Oh, sweetheart," she purred, "I don't want anything in particular. I'm just looking to have a little fun. A bit of murder here, a pinch of revenge..."

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster," I said bitterly.

Upon further inspection, she looked less like a crazy cat lady and more like a businesswoman.  Her hair was pinned up as though she'd taken count of every last hair, making sure they were all neat and organized; it was practically the opposite from how she looked on previous occasions. Her clothes were pressed neatly and her makeup was immaculate. Actually, if I hadn't been ridiculously intelligent, it would have been difficult to even recognize her as the same woman from the shop.

She raised an arched brow. "Deducing again, William?"

"Not deducing, observing." I furrowed my brow. "And please, call me Sherlock. I don't believe we're quite on a first name basis, Miss...?"

"Names aren't a favorite of mine, dear Mr. Holmes."

"Of course." I took a quick breath, trying once more to conceal my fear. "What do you want with John?"

A smile immediately crept onto the woman's face. "Good old John. You sure are quick to bring him up."

"He's a high priority."

She smirked. "I'm aware. John is a family friend."

"That's rather-"

Before I could even finish my comment on how vague she was being, there was a clash as Moriarty leapt to his feet and grabbed the knife from the woman's hands. He pressed her against the wall, knife to her throat, in a few movements so graceful that I was nearly surprised.

The woman looked panicked, pressed against the wall. I noticed her weaknesses. She wasn't nearly as put-together as she first seemed. "Please," she gasped, "stop."

"If you dare mess with me," Moriarty growled before sending me a quick look, "or my friends, I will skin you alive."

These words surprised me far more than his tae-kwon-doe-whatever actions had. Friends? That feeling certainly wasn't mutual. And yet, there he stood, willing to kill to save my life. That was far more friendship than I'd ever imagined he would offer...

"No," she said shakily, "you don't understand. Please... I can explain. Please."

His eyes were slits. "You've had plenty of time to explain. Whatever stalling you were trying to get away with there... It would never work. I'm- Sherlock and I are far too smart for that to work."

This was peculiar. A compliment from Jim? I wasn't sure whether to thank him or to vomit right there and then.

"There's no- there's no stalling. Please, let me go. Please." Her voice was weak, cracking nearly every other word.

"You're making it worse," Jim snarled.

"I-" There was a hint of something playing on the edges of her lips, but I couldn't quite recognize it.

Moriarty shook his head. "Worse and worse. The more you-" He stopped, licked his lips, looking a bit concerned. "The more you-" He paused again, for longer this time. The same thing played at the corners of his lips. "Every time you-"

He dropped the knife, shaking with noisy laughter. "Oh god, I'm sorry, Mum. I can't do that."

Mum? 

The woman was giggling as well. "You performed brilliantly, Jimmy."

The bully was still cracking up. "Did you see the look on his face?"

"If only I had a photo of that. The brilliant Sherlock Holmes, looking like even more of an idiot than usual," she said, gasping with laughter.

That was the point at which I should have known. I could have gotten away if I'd begun to run at that very moment. However, curiosity got the best of me- as always. I stood rooted to my place in the kitchen, waiting for answers.

I let out a deep breath, shuddering. "You're his..."

"Mother, Sherlock," Moriarty finished for me. "Mummy Moriarty."

I turned to the woman. "If you expect me to call you that, I daresay you should lower your expectations immediately. Now, what do you two want with my... WithJohn?"

"Honestly, Sherlock, for someone so 'brilliant,' you're rather stupid," Jim said, leering. "You've only just begun to discover our family tree." He paused for effect, forever the drama queen. "John is my cousin."

"My sister- John's mother, of course, was always quite a... mess," Mrs. Moriarty explained. "Brought quite a bad reputation upon our family. Of course, dear Jim and I have always valued family..."

My bully immediately picked up where she left off. "...So it only made sense that she die to save our status."

I nodded. "She is beside the point, as is your terrible reasoning. Why John? Why Molly?"

Jim exchanged a knowing look with his mother. "Because it's fun."

"What?"

Jim's mother confirmed her son's statement with a beam. "Killing my sister was the beginning of quite the adventure. When the remaining Watsons moved to London to start anew, we figured it would be loads of fun to follow them, you know? John was an obvious target. An easy one, too."

"He was just a child then," I said, voice rumbling with fury.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Well, duh. It would have been far too easy to kill him then. No fun in killing a child- they're so simple. So we waited. Severed connections to the family. Changed our names, even." He looked to his mother, eyes sparkling, smile wide. "And then we made it even more fun."

It was like they had rehearsed this, done it many times before. She was grinning as freakishly as he was. "After all, what would be the point of waiting so many years for just one kill?"

"Molly Hooper," I said, immediately understanding her implications.

"Precisely." She and her son began to circle me, much like sharks would to a particularly tasty bit of prey. "She was an easy one."

Their movements were throwing me off, but I remained as calm as I had become under the pressure of their stares. "Obviously. She was an idiot. But why her?"

"Pick off the close friends," the woman said. "Kill John on the inside, make him wish for death. Take away his everything, his emotions and thoughts and feelings, and fill him with the promise of death."

Jim spoke up as he stepped behind me. "By the end of all this, he'll be begging us to kill him."

"If you legitimately expect that to work, then you underestimate John Watson. Besides," I said, "Molly wasn't one of his close friends."

I saw a slight hint of shock appear on the woman's face, but she covered it quickly and began moving around me, heels clicking on the cheap tile flooring. "Is that so? She certainly thought she was. In fact, I'm rather sure she fancied him quite a lot."

Jim was smiling again, but it was completely apparent that he was a simple little sidekick to his mother as he followed her in circling around me. "She may have even fancied him more than you do, Sherlock."

The woman completely ignored Jim's irrelevant comment. "I wouldn't be surprised if the poor girl genuinely thought she was dating John."

"She wasn't. I am. You've gone and killed someone unnecessarily."

She smirked. "It wasn't unnecessary, it was fun. After all, practice is practice, right, Jimmy?"

Every minute caused him to look more and more like a predator starved of flesh. It was rather unattractive. "Of course, Mum. Not that we weren't already experts."

"Of course, of course," she assured him. "And we won't be making any more mistakes about who John cares for, hm?"

Jim was practically baring his teeth. "Certainly not."

I sighed, frustrated with their endless list of implied threats. "Yes, if you're planning on committing another murder, it would be just brilliant if I could have a name. Cold as I am, I'm not a massive fan of people dying."

"You're right, Mum, he really is a dumbass."

"You want a name then, Mr. Holmes?"

I groaned, though my heart was nearly beating out of my chest. (Don’t be alarmed, that isn’t actually possible. It’s just a… What is it… Figure of speech. Yes.) "God, please. You're boring me out of my mind."

She smiled, lips curling. "Sherlock Holmes."

My eyes widened upon hearing her response. Did she mean…? Before even I could process, there was a flash of movement in front of me. Jim? What was he-?

Crack.

The world turned to black as I crumpled to the ground.