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Sherlock Holmes walked down the quiet corridor, being ware so his shoes wouldn't make a sound against the hardwood floor. Unlike others he had faced, this one killed purely for the sport- one wrong move, and the detective would end up dead. He was cunning, but his adversary was equally so, and far more rattled. Sherlock silently opened a door and found a knife in his chest. He looked slowly from the knife up to see a grinning man at the end of the room. He could feel his heart stuttering around the knife lodged through it. 'This is the end,' he thought, stating the obvious. But- he still had so much to do- no. He had never been an irrational person. He would not irrationally wish at his end. He closed his eyes as he fell back into darkness.
- - -
"You're here, too," Sherlock heard a familiar tone say as he opened his eyes, greeted by a small, dark room, a table with a chess board on it, and the source of the voice. He smiled.
"Hello, Jim."
"Hello, Sherlock. It's nice to see you again. It's been so looong....." his voice purred.
"I'm sorry that you died. But at least now we can have a little chat."
Jim gestured at the board.
"Please, have your tun- you're on white."
Sherlock leaned forward and moved one of his knights out. He was confused by Moriarty's statement- he was fairly sure he wasn't dead.
"What about?"
"Well," Jim said thoughtfully as he moved his piece,
"About the nature of our meeting, I suppose."
"What about it?" Sherlock asked confused. He tried to remember how he had gotten here, but he couldn't.
"Well," Moriarty said, moving a black pawn near Sherlock's knight.
"I have an upper hand here."
"What would that be?" Sherlock said, absently moving a player. This game did not matter; there was a far more important game in front of him. Moriarty smiled and took Sherlock's knight.
"Knowledge."
"Of?" Sherlock said, again absently moving pieces.
"Where we are."
"In what sense?"
"I guess you could say physical."
"How so?"
Moriarty grinned deviously.
"Look," he said, absently pointing to a window that had not been there before. He saw out it something that shocked him. He was laying on the floor, blood covering every inch of visibility within a foot of his chest, with John sitting near his head, saying,
"This is not funny Sherlock. You've done this before. Just come out of your hiding place."
Tears were streaming down his tanned face.
"You're not allowed to do this to me, Sherlock, not again. You promised," John said, gesturing to the ring on Sherlock's finger.
"You're not. Bloody. Allowed."
The window disappeared. Sherlock realized tears were streaming down his face. Moriarty grinned maniacally.
"Check mate, Mr. Holmes," he said, gesturing at the board.
"I win."