The car, about 15 minutes later, pulled up to my flat in a relatively nice part of London. As I stepped out of the car, I saw the front door slightly open. Someone was inside, and  they weren't going to like the consequences that would follow from breaking in. I wondered for a second why anyone would have broken into my flat, which sat among at least 30 others. 

I understood now. They were looking for me, or some possession of mine. 

Or maybe it was just chance.

No, it wasn't chance. The probability told me that the person that had made the ignorant decision to break into my flat meant to do it. There was no way mine could have been randomly chosen out of all the others.

It was then that I became aware that I had been in a good mood. However, any hint of happiness had left me. Finally dealing with Ludwig had given me a burst of satisfaction, but that was quickly replaced by white-hot rage. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, and got out of the car. 

I decided to go the scarily peaceful route rather than the furious route, considering that my eerie calmness would unnerve the intruder.  So, I steeled myself, put on an easy, confident grin, and acted like I didn't have a care in the world as I opened the door a bit more so I could slip inside. 

I paused at the foot of the stairs, barely hearing quiet, steady breathing, almost as if whoever it was had fallen asleep. Or they were just waiting, which was the more likely option.

I took another silent, deep breath, before beginning to ascend the carpeted stairs as quietly as I could. Whoever this was had made a bad decision, and I had an internal struggle whether to let them go scared out of their mind with only mild injuries, or to give them a taste of the resentment that was sour in my mouth. 

How dare they. How dare they break into my flat. Did they not know who I was? Were they not aware of the severe consequences that they were most likely going to face? Were they not afraid of the pain that I might cause them? 

All these questions ran through my head as I got to the foot of the stairs, ready to explode. But, my pent up anger just made me hold my head higher as I turned to face the intruder.

What?

I don't know why, but for some reason, I had been expecting some all-black and ski mask facade, but the man who looked at me with equal confusion looked normal.

Well, almost normal. 

He analysed me just as I analysed him, his brow furrowing as he tried to come up with a logical explanation for the situation, just as I was. This man obviously hadn't been expecting me, but I had been anticipating someone; just someone a bit more. . .dangerous. Instead of seeming unpredictable and threatening, he simply seemed smart.

So, just as he was doing to me, I looked him over.

On top of his head was raven, curly hair that he had run his hands through once or twice. There were heavy dark circles under his eyes, that were permanent, not just a byproduct of one night of sleep deprivation. No, this was the repercussion of many sleepless nights, all in a row. His pale skin was a blinding indicator of the fact that he didn't go outside often, so he had an inside job of some sort, or just wore too much sunscreen. I narrowed it down to the idea that he had an inside job, because he didn't smell of the potent odor that accompanied the lotion. And, he had to have gone outside to get here, and he wouldn't have broken his routine just to break into my house. He emanated great knowledge, although at the same time, he had a icy coldness behind his eyes that was unwavering as he silently regarded me. 

I couldn't seem to shake the feeling that I had seen him somewhere, although I was absolutely positive that I had never met him in person. I would remember, I was sure of it.

I snapped myself out of my deducing in order to greet him coldly, injecting as much cruelty into my voice as I could. "You don't seem one for pointless introductions, so I'll just cut to the chase and save us all some suffering. Who are you, why are you in my apartment, and would you prefer losing your tongue or an eye?"

I paused, as he looked at me in slight shock. I narrowed my eyes, putting a hand on my hip, and continued, "Actually, you don't have to answer the last question. I'm thinking I'll just go with both. Although it would be a shame to lose one of those dazzling blue-green eyes of yours." I feigned cheerfulness, talking as if I was deciding what to eat for lunch rather than deciding to stab him in the eye. My anger was burning inside me, and I internally had to calm myself down so I wouldn't lash out at him.

Then, his right eyebrow returned to its normal position and he answered me with an air of indifference. "Sherlock Holmes. I was waiting here to meet an acquaintance of mine who told me that he would be here. He evidently either had the wrong address, or he, per the usual, decided to trick me."

That caused an eyebrow raise from me. Some of the rage had been replaced by curiosity, wondering who this man was. I had never met this Sherlock Holmes, and I still hadn't forgiven him for breaking into my flat. But, I had no earthly idea as to who would have given him my address.

I made my voice light, yet still threatening again. "And who might this acquaintance be?"

His indifference dissipated a bit, and I could hear the ever so slight undertone of respect in his voice when he said his next two words. Sherlock tried to hide it, I could tell, but my ears were so used to listening to the emotion in people's voices that I caught it. "Moriarty. James Moriarty. You might know him as Jim."

I stood frozen for a second, most of the anger that had been bubbling inside me replaced by the hard bite of shock in a millisecond. However, I quickly recovered. Moriarty. He was the man I had met before going to meet Lucy. The odd man in the suit.

How had I not realized that this man had been a criminal? Now that I thought about it, it was obvious. His lack of reaction to the gun, not a common item carried around by your everyday citizen, was a dead giveway. Of course he was a criminal, and I scolded myself internally for a second for not noticing what was right under my nose.

Once again, I regained my composure. "Yes, I know James," I could see his eyebrows, as they had before, raise ever so slightly as I referred to this man (who was undoubtedly an important criminal) on a first-name basis. "Now, if you would leave, Sherlock, that would be lovely." I made it sound as less of a suggestion and more of a command.

He stared at me, trying to decide whether my threats were real and he should leave, or if I was just kidding and he could stay without any injuries. Our eyes were locked. "Any time now," I urged him, letting a little annoyance creep into my voice. 

Finally, without another word, he got up out of the armchair in which he sat, and walked briskly past me, leaving. I smiled, even though he couldn't see me, because I was glad I didn't have to use violence against him. I do admit, he was pretty. But no, he was too. . .easy for me. I could tell that he was used to people being confused by him, not the other way around. It was about the same way Jim made me feel.

The footsteps that had been descending the stairs stopped, and I heard him turn around and start coming back up the stairs. I put on a sickly sweet smile, and when he made it to the top of the stairs, he gazed at me thoughtfully. "Forget something?" I asked, my tone sugary and teasing. 

"How do you know him?"

I decided to play dumb and annoy him. "Know who?" 

It worked, which made the smile on my face even bigger. "Moriarty. Who else?" I could hear the irritation, and see it flare up in his eyes.

I dropped the light, conversational tone, and scolded him like a mother. "Now, now. Don't be so touchy. I was only asking a question." 

"I was merely doing the same, when you had to act ignorant and-"

Sherlock stopped, seeing the warning signs in my eyes. He stared at me, as I carefully and precisely said my next words.

"Sherlock Holmes, you have ten seconds to get out of my flat." I closed my eyes, over-enunciating every syllable, trying to contain myself. First he breaks into my apartment, and I let him off easy. Then, he has the nerve to call me ignorant after inviting himself back into my flat after I explicitly directed him to leave. 

I heard quick footsteps going back down the stairs. I kept my eyes closed, my face pointing towards the ground. The sound of my front door closing matched perfectly with the time I reach 10. 

He's gone. I flopped down in the cushy chair that he had been sitting in, and took another deep breath. Nothing could be easy, could it? Everyone had to get in my way and make an attempt to ruin my day.

I decided that I wasn't going to let Sherlock off that easy. After all, I had politely contained my anger for his sake. He was going to have to pay in some way or another. Hmm, I'll get someone to get me more information on Holmes. My thoughts took me away as I plotted the things that I could do as revenge. No, I wasn't going to just kill him. He reminded me of a male version of Lucy, interesting enough to play with and make dance. I'd just find a way to corrupt something he loves. Or, maybe-

My thoughts were cut off as I heard the door swing open again. 

I cursed mentally, and didn't move a muscle as I heard him ascend the stairs, poised to verbally abuse this painfully ignorant man. 

It was odd, though. His footsteps had slowed to a point where it sounded like he was just casually popping in for a visit, and not like he had just been told to leave. Twice.

It was agony, as the seconds lazily passed, it seeming like hours as Holmes took each step. I didn't have that many stairs, what was taking him so long? I nearly yawned, wishing he would speed it up so that I could get him back out again, possibly this time with an injury or two so he really wouldn't come back. I was surprised that I didn't scare him off the last time. I guess he had too much confidence, which was dangerous.

What I saw next made my heart freeze. Every muscle in my body tensed, and I unconsciously sat up a little straighter, staring at him.

The man who had just entered my apartment was not Sherlock Holmes.

It was James Moriarty.