"As if you aren't in enough trouble already with the law," I said as we found Kitty Riley's place. "Breaking and entering isn't going to help."

"I'm already a fugitive, what does it matter, Rachel?" Sherlock sassed me. "Now hand me a hairpin."

"What makes you think I have one on me?"

"You're a woman."

I made an annoyed noise at him. "I'll see if I have one." I began rummaging through my pants pockets. "But I doubt I—" I stopped midsentence as I found a cold metal touch my fingertips. "I swear I didn't know it was in there." I handed Sherlock the pin.

Sherlock picked the lock to Kitty's apartment. We walked blindly into darkness. I felt the wall, hoping to find a light switch somewhere.

"No, no lights," Sherlock scolded me.

"You don't know what she's got on this floor!" I retorted. "It could be a minefield."

"Stop over exaggerating, Rachel. Women..." Even though it was dark, I knew Sherlock was shaking his head.

"Stop bashing my gender."

"Found a sofa," John called. I heard him plop onto one of the cushions; Sherlock had to do the same since they were still handcuffed together. I stumbled in the dark, away from the door. I bumped into the arm of the couch. I put my hands out, waving them in front of me so they could hit things first before my face did.

It wasn't long before I found a chair. Relieved, I sat in it.

"So now we wait," I mused, crossing my legs. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Four months ago I was here so I could find my dad. Four months later, I'm running off with a fugitive." I laughed dryly.

We didn't have to wait long for Kitty. Before I knew it, I could hear faint footsteps. They stopped, and then the door creaked as it was pushed open. I squinted as Kitty flicked the lights on. The first thing she noticed was that she had visitors.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock drawled.

"How did you—?"
"That doesn't matter," I said simply. "We came here to talk."

"And who are you?" She directed the question at me.

"That doesn't matter, either."

Kitty adjusted to having three unexpected guests in her home. I ousted myself out of the chair so she could sit; all the while I shot daggers at her.

Sherlock and John removed themselves from the couch. I could hear Sherlock picking the lock on the handcuffs with the hairpin I gave him. I sat on the arm of the couch closest to Kitty.

"Congratulations," Sherlock said stiffly. "The truth about Sherlock Holmes." My eyes flickered to him long enough to see him pass John my hairpin. He then proceeded to do what he did best: pace in front of Kitty. "The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo!"

"I gave you your opportunity," Kitty sang. "I wanted to be on your side, remember?"

"When did she approach you?" I asked.

"That's not important," Kitty snapped at me. I clasped my hands together in my lap. Her attention went back to Sherlock. "You turned me down, so..."

"And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans," Sherlock butted in. "How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?" Kitty shook her head, not willing to give any information.

"Oh come on, Kitty," I groaned.

"No one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone." I heard John remove the handcuff from his wrist. "There are all those furtive little meetings in cafes; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your Dictaphone," Sherlock rambled on. "How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets." His voice grew stern. "What were his credentials?"

Kitty's sudden focus on the door had me curious. She rose to her feet. I heard a new set of feet coming down the hall to the door.

When her said "friend" came into the door, I leapt to my feet; my heartbeat skyrocketed through the roof, and not for a good reason.

Jim Moriarty walked into Kitty's flat, dressed completely normal.

This wasn't the man who had calmly visited me in 221B many hours ago. God, that was only today? What was also unusual was that he looked to be carrying a shopping bag, as if he had just come from a store.

I blinked hugely.

"Darling," he said. I cringed at the nickname. "They didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal..." He finally realized Kitty wasn't alone.

Moriarty dropped the shopping bag at his feet, suddenly petrified. Anger seethed in my veins. He had good reason to be afraid right now. The person whose reputation he was ruining, the man who he had tried to blow up, and the woman who he had tricked and threatened to come after were in the same room as him.

Moriarty backed up until his back hit the wall. I slunk behind Sherlock, my green eyes hard and cold like ice as they stared at Moriarty. He held his hands protectively in front of him.

"You said they wouldn't find me here," he whimpered, his voice trembling. "You said that I'd be safe here."

"You are safe, Richard," Kitty crooned. My face twisted into confusion. What had she just called him? Did I even hear that right? "I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

Sherlock might not, but I just might.

Wait a minute...

"So that's your source?" I asked Kitty, my voice deadly placid.

"Moriarty is Richard Brook?!" John exclaimed.

"Of course he's Richard Brook," Kitty muttered. "There is no Moriarty. There never has been."

I stared at her like she had grown an arm out of her head. How could she say there was no Moriarty? Of course there was! I had met the man! He had tricked me! He had attempted to murder me.

"What are you talking about?" John demanded of Kitty.

"Look him up," she dared him. "Rich Brook—an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty."

"Impossible," I hissed under my breath.

"Doctor Watson," Moriarty said in that quivering voice of his, "I know you're a good man." He backed into the corner of the room. I advanced slightly, but Sherlock put his arm out to stop me from going further. My eyes continued to see through Moriarty's "Richard Brook" act. "Don't...don't h...Don't hurt me."

"No, you are Moriarty!" John burst. I'd never heard him so vehement. He whipped his head around to glare at Kitty. "He's Moriarty." His focus went back to the man in question. "We've met, remember? You were going to blow me up! You forced her," he jabbed a finger my way, "to strap explosives to me!" I watched pitifully as John put his head in his hands.

"And let's not forget that you also put me through hell," I whisper-shouted.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Moriarty pleaded. My teeth grated against each other, my entire body tensed. "He paid me." He gestured to Sherlock. I sidestepped away from the consulting detective so he wouldn't be able to stop me. "I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay?"

I didn't believe a single word of this. Why on earth would that even make sense?

"Sherlock," John breathed heavily, "you'd better...explain...because I am not getting this."

"Oh I'll..." Kitty drawled, "I'll be doing the explaining—in print." She handed John a folder. "It's all here—conclusive proof." I could only imagine what she was showing John. "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"Invented him?" I snarled.

"Invented all the crimes, actually—and to cap it all, you made up a master villain."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" John shouted.

"Ask him." Kitty pointed towards Moriarty, who was still playing up his coward act. "He's right here! Just ask him. Tell them, Richard."

"Is he paying you, Kitty? Has he threatened those closest to you if you don't play along? Or are you doing this because you are no better than he is? This man is Jim Moriarty, damn it!" I seethed. "For God's sake, this man was on trial!"

"Yes," Kitty threw a finger at Sherlock, "and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good." My body quaked in outrage as Kitty flitted to Moriarty, putting her arm over his shoulders. "But not so good he didn't want to sell his story."

"I am sorry," Moriarty pleaded, putting his hands together, as though he were praying. He was going to need to very soon. "I am. I am sorry."

"So—so this is the story that you're going to publish?" John asked Kitty. "The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty's an actor?!" He shook his head. "Next you'll be saying Rachel is in on it too?"

"He knows I am," Moriarty whimpered. "I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!"

"Yeah, show me something."

My eyes flew back to Moriarty as Kitty went to get Richard Brook's so called "proof". I swore, for the briefest moment, Moriarty slipped out of his Richard Brook façade. I went rigid.

Before my brain could tell my body, I lunged. Sherlock held me back with an iron grip. Moriarty's smirk never left his face. I wanted to claw it right off.

Wait, he could bring me down if I attack him. He said he'd ruin me. I'd be giving him ammunition. I relaxed in Sherlock's hold, my eyes never leaving the snake before me.

Moriarty became his fake persona once again, turning from devious to fretful in less than a minute.

"I'm on TV," he explained. "I'm on kids' TV. I'm The Storyteller."

I watched John as he studied the "Richard Brook" profile. I wondered how long Moriarty had been planning to do this. I knew he was radiating glee; he was hiding it so he could pull off this act he was currently displaying. The only thing I could admit was that he was a damn good actor. He'd had me fooled once, but not this time.

Though John may have had his doubts about Sherlock and Moriarty, I knew what was true. Sherlock hadn't made Moriarty up. How could you make up a man so vile?

"I'm...I'm The Storyteller," Moriarty repeated. "It's on DVD." He glared right at Sherlock and me, keeping his faux mask on. "Just tell him. It's all coming out now. It's all over. Just tell them." His voice became more panicked, higher. "Just tell them. Tell him!"

Sherlock released me, pushing me aside, and headed for Moriarty.

"It's all over now...NO!" Moriarty scuttled back as Sherlock slowly pursued him. Moriarty was backing up the small flight of stairs in Kitty's apartment. I tailed the consulting detective, ready to tackle Moriarty. "Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!"

"Stop it!" I raged. I'd had enough of this stupid game. "Stop it NOW!"

Moriarty bolted; Sherlock and I sprinted after him. "Don't hurt me!" he called.

"Don't let him get away!" John yelled. I didn't hear him follow Sherlock and me, so I assumed he left it up to us to fetch Moriarty.

"Leave him alone!" Kitty pleaded.

Sherlock and I were already up the stairs, trailing Moriarty, who ran into Kitty's bedroom, then went into the bathroom. We caught a flash of a smile from him before he slammed the door shut. Sherlock and I banged on the door in frustration. I wiggled the knob, wanting it to open.

"You bastard!" I screeched at the door. "You son of a bitch! You—" I nearly fell onto the floor as the door gave way. I stomped my feet on the ground as Sherlock and I didn't find Moriarty, only an open window.

I winced as I heard a loud crash outside. Sherlock brushed past me to glance out the window. He turned back around, heading back the way we had come from. I started to head for the window myself but he cut me off.

"No, no, no," he told me. "He'll have backup."

I hesitated following Sherlock as I looked back at the empty, open window. I wanted so badly to hop out it and follow Moriarty, but I knew Sherlock was right. Reluctantly, I stomped back down the hall, only to see the stairs holed up by Sherlock, who was blocked by Kitty at the foot of the stairs.

"Do you know what, Sherlock Holmes?" she growled lowly. "I look at you now and I can read you." I saw her get in his face. "And you...repel...me."

I had a feeling Sherlock had said those exact words to her in their first encounter, but I wasn't about to ask or linger on the thought too much. I had more important things to dwell on, like the fact that Moriarty had disappeared when he had been literally feet from us.

Sherlock was the first to leave Kitty's place. I shot the reporter a death stare before I went out her door. John, Sherlock, and I ended up out in the cold London night once again. Like always, Sherlock was pacing in the middle of the street.

"Can he do that? Completely change his identity, make you the criminal?" John asked.

"He's got my whole life story," Sherlock murmured. "That's what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable."

"Your word against his," I realized aloud.

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to..." Sherlock stopped abruptly.

"Sherlock?" I asked.

"Something I need to do," he mumbled.

"What? Can we help?" John pressed.

"No—on my own." He stalked off.

I sighed. "We'll never really figure out what's truly going on in his head, will we?" I asked John.

"Probably not," he agreed. "How are you?"

"Okay...why?"

"You looked pretty shaken up back there."

"When you've got a lot of hatred, and the man who's the reason behind that hatred is in the same room as you, it's very difficult to keep it contained."

"I could see that. You don't believe—"

"Not a single word," I said shortly. "I hate to admit it, but he's a good actor."

"Why are you giving him credit?"

"He tricked me once before, remember?"

John cleared his throat awkwardly. "Come on, then. You're with me." He started to head in the opposite direction Sherlock was. I looked at John confusedly before trotting after him.

"Wait, we're not going to go after Sherlock?"

"He said—"

"I know what he said. I figured we weren't going to listen. So, where are we heading?"

"We're going to make another house call."

**Let's talk about this scene for a minute. Good lord did I feel pissed at how Moriarty was trying to be so clever and pull this scheme off!**