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"The Reichenbach Hero strikes again, does he?" Jim smiles warmly, as he's been waiting to do for almost three years. It's near midnight. He's heard the door open, but staring out the window, he had only guessed who it was. But really, who else would visit Dear Jim at this hour?
"So it seems." Sherlock grins, walking into Moriarty's London flat.
It's nowhere near Baker street, and it had taken some clever maneuvering to avoid Mycroft's surveillance, but in the end, it was more than worth it. Removing his coat, he settles on the couch perpendicular to the window, eyes fixed on some point in the distance.
"Ready to start the charade?" Jim begins to trace patterns in condensation on the glass. In order to preserve Sherlock's safety card, they'd have to go back to being enemies.
"Mm. Not quite yet."
"Really? I've given you years to prepare."
"And the long-distance has been draining."
"Oh? Something left unfulfilled in our correspondence?"
"Not seeing you was a bit jarring…"
It started small — while dismantling the devious spider's criminal web, Sherlock would occasionally find flowers. Forget-me-nots, to be specific. At first it seemed coincidental, but what did they always say about coincidences?
As the deliveries became more frequent (on the doorstep, in a mailbox, in a market stall, barrels, crates, balloons, even a monkey once carried them), cards were added. The first was emboldened with only "M." But it confirmed the detective's suspicions that Moriarty was, indeed, alive.
Sherlock wished he could've been upset by this news, but it only served to fuel his passion to find the criminal.
But he never did. The cards were all he ever got. Some had one word each, "Smile"; "Dear"; "Closer"; "Maybe"; "Soon"; the last, delivered to Baker street shortly after his return, reading, "Goodbye."
The messages didn't seem to mean much, but he hadn't heard a word from him since. That is, until, "Miss me?" was broadcasted on every TV screen in England.
Sherlock stood, walking up to Jim, hovering behind him, staring at his neck, noting how enticing it was. Almost calling out to him.
"I should be going soon, brother dear will begin to suspect I've run off."
"Ah, I figured as much. Never can be too safe." James finally turned around, "It's been good seeing you. Let's catch up over a body sometime, shall we?"
"What ever did I do to deserve such treatment?" Sherlock encircled his arms around the smaller man's waist.
"That's easy, Sherlock." He leaned forward, sharing their first, and most likely, only kiss, "You saved me from eternal disappointment. You're my hero."