Missing me? - EDIT

You missing me yet, dear? - JM

Sherlock sat on the sofa, still in his pajamas (despite it being 8:24pm); a baggy grey shirt and navy blue bottoms, along with his silk blue dressing gown, staring at the text he'd just received. He simply cocked an eyebrow at first. There was clearly no clue behind the words that had pulled Sherlock's attention from his mind palace; it was simply Jim, bored with the normal people he associated with. The sleuth sighed heavily. He too was bored, and it was due to the Consulting Criminal himself; every case he'd been offered since Moriarty's game was far too easy - there was no real puzzle and no real incentive to solve them, it was just work. His thumb moved quickly over the touch-screen. Pressing send as he finished reading through the message.

How could I? You've been so awfully boring recently that I'm merely starting to wonder if you were even worth my time. - SH

Merely pacing myself, Sherly. Otherwise you'd get truthfully bored of me!
However, I do know of a different way to excite you, if you're so terribly bored. - JM

What did you have in mind? - SH
There was a second pause, in which Sherlock realized the undertones, and spelt out another message.
Are you flirting with me? - SH

Always, dear. - JM

There was no way to reply to that. Once again, Sherlock was staring down at the pink phone, though this time he was somewhat dumbstruck. Was Moriarty interested in him? They were very alike, after all - the only ones in their professions; the only geniuses in the world...
No, this was just Jim being Jim; insane, dangerous, and highly interested in Sherlock; not romantically or sexually, despite his common implications. It was obvious; why had he even taken a moment to think otherwise? God, he was slow today. He really needed a case.
The phone buzzed in his hand, pulling Sherlock out of this chain out thought, as if on cue.

No need for analysis, dear, though I do love to watch your brain work. Come and play; find out for yourself. - JM

Where exactly would I find you? - SH
Was he actually going to go along with this? Why should he? Moriarty had barely even tried to persuade him - he had no reason to go and find the criminal, other than pure loneliness. John had been spending an exceptional amount of time with that woman - what was her name again? Regardless, Sherlock didn't really like the company of anyone else. He gave a huff as he realized the extent of his boredom, erasing the message and editing his text to seem less eager.
Who's missing who now, Jim? I'll need some kind of incentive; I'm very busy. - SH
He read through the message twice before pressing send. His phone buzzed a moment later.

Liar. I think your curiosity will be enough, don't you? - JM

Sherlock pressed his lips together, putting the phone in his trouser pocket before bringing his fingers into a steeple in front of his face. He let his mind wander on the thought of the Consulting Criminal, his eyes closing as he did so. James Moriarty. Short, well dressed, black hair, black eyes, snake-like, and more than anything, dangerous. His mind ran back to the night at the pool. He'd stood right in front of him, fire dancing behind his dark eyes filled with ferocity and excitement. The sound of his enemy's shouting rang through his mind, and his eyes shot open as he heard footsteps. A strange hope filled in his chest; a sensation he didn't realize until John stepped into the room, bringing through a sense of disappointment with him. He looked up, catching his flate-mate's eye immediately.
"I'm going out with Sarah," Ah yes, that was her name. "won't be back until tomorrow."
"Again?"
"Yes again, when you're in a relationship with someone, you spend a lot of time with them."
"Well that's what we do." Was this what his boredom was leading to, teasing his flatmate?
"No, no it isn't - Sarah and I go out and have fun-" Sherlock's eyes narrowed and John sighed. Apparently so. "Fun that doesn't involve criminal masterminds and dead bodies; tonight we're going to the cinema."
"Sounds awfully dull."
"Well of course it would to you, I mean you're-" He stopped short, his eyes widening slightly as they ran over the detective's body, and John cleared his throat, moving to pick up his coat. "I don't have to explain my actions to you, don't forget to eat something!" And just like that, he was out the door.
That was strange. Sherlock looked down at himself, and suddenly realized what had gotten his flatmate so flustered and eager to leave as his eyes landed on his crotch; more specifically the erection tenting his pajamas ever-so-slightly, pushing against the two layers of fabric that covered it. This from thoughts on Moriarty? That couldn't possibly be ri-
The phone vibrated suddenly in his trouser pocket, drawing out an involuntary groan from the lips of the world's greatest detective and causing his head to fall back with pleasure - abruptly ending his train of thought. A light, almost non-existent blush crawled onto his cheeks as he drew the phone out, swiping the screen impatiently to read the text.

Don't be so dull, Sherly; I promise to make it worth your while. Twenty minutes, our spot. - JM

With a sigh of annoyance, Sherlock stood, leaving the phone on the table and moving to his room to get dressed. Purple shirt, black trousers, socks, shoes, simple. It took less than five minutes, though he hesitated a moment in front of the mirror to look over his appearance. He then walked to the door, pulling his coat off the hook and shrugging it on effortlessly, pulling that violet scarf around his neck and glancing at the phone on the table as he tied it. He swiftly crossed the distance and shoved it in his pocket -- his coat pocket this time - before pulling open the door and letting it slam shut after him. The noise that echoed through 221B left an odd emptiness in the pit of his stomach that he tried to ignore.
The cold air soaked into his pale skin despite the heavy coat, and his breath created swirls of steam as it collided with the cool air. He was never really a fan of winter; too much risk of illness. Sherlock hailed a cab without much effort, knowing exactly where to direct the man behind the wheel without having been told a specific location. He knew Moriarty better than he should have, given that they'd been in known proximity of each other a total of two minutes. Their spot. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. What a childish, unsuitable thing to call it. Then again, it suited the criminal perfectly. As much as the pair tried to keep this mysterious, cool persona, they actually acted like children in their fathers' clothes a majority of the time.
The drive to the pool took 14 minutes, so Sherlock arrived slightly early. The criminal would be exactly on time, obviously, so he took in the silence of the area. As he stood by the poolside, his mind began to wander once again to the night they'd met, but he shook the memories away quickly. It would not do to meet Moriarty with an erection he couldn't really explain. Then again, what exactly was the plan tonight? The most obvious answer sent cold, unwelcome anticipation in his stomach, and his hands had become slightly clammy. His jaw clenched in annoyance. His body was betraying him again. It could simply be another murder attempt, something he would welcome at this stage of boredom. It could be a clue, but no, that option didn't seem realistic as he looked through their texts.
"Good evening!" The sing-song voice of Moriarty echoed around the room suddenly, and the detective slipped the phone into his coat pocket, looking up at the figure of the elusive Consulting Criminal, stood at the opposite door, a positively mischievous smile playing on his lips. "I knew you couldn't resist me, Sherlock." He grinned, walking toward the taller man, who rolled his eyes in response.
"You're merely solving my boredom in the absence of a case."
"I don't believe that for a second, dear."
"Well, what do you believe?"
"I believe you came here for the exact reason I did; loneliness."
"What are you implying?" The shorter man now stood about a metre away, hands tucked into his pockets with the ghost of a sly sort of smile playing on his pale lips, though behind this his black eyes just seemed dead - no sign of spark or emotion. The view was almost discomforting.
"I'm simply suggesting that you find me far more interesting than you're letting on, even without a case to tease you with - lets not pretend otherwise." He grinned, two steps meaning that they were now merely inches apart, the criminal's hands resting on the detective's chest. Sherlock felt his pulse increase slightly. Moriarty was too close; too excited. "You like how dangerous I am." Moriarty's hands balled into fists around Sherlock's coat, pulling him down so that their eyes were level. "The fact that I could have you killed with a snap of my fingers at any time, doesn't it just fill your stomach with butterflies?" The excitement was back - the dark flames that danced in his eyes. Sherlock's heart was racing now, though he managed to keep a straight-faced mask to hopefully hide it. He felt sure that he saw the spider's pupils dilate, but he couldn't be sure. There was too much going on in his mind.
"You like that I understand your mind and that you understand mine; not feeling like the world is filled with stupid people getting themselves killed all the time." There was anger there now, revulsion even, as his eyes moved to the floor, the word 'stupid' having been spat out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. There was a silent pause, in which Moriarty tried to control his breathing. Clearly he despised 'normal' people, but there was something more important he needed to do, other than rant about it, evident once the criminal looked back at Sherlock with an almost manic smile. "And finally, my dear," His head cocked to the side slightly, his smile becoming more predatory, the excitement behind his eyes turning to hunger, "you like the fact that I dress fancy." With that, his right hand swiftly moved to the back of Sherlock's head, forcing it down into a heated kiss.
Well, it seemed he wasn't lying about the flirting. His hands were now around the detective's neck, and his tongue brushed against Sherlock's bottom lip, which is what pulled the detective out of this temporary shock-induced trance. He roughly pushed the shorter man away, causing him to stumble before regaining his composure and smirking devilishly, a light chuckle echoing in the room. Sherlock's mask had fallen; he looked confused and angry, he was breathing hard. "What are you doing?!" He barked, a little flustered.
Moriarty simply smiled widely. "Ah, that's right - the virgin." He purred, once again closing the distance between them, raising his hand toward Sherlock's face, who flinched back, wary of any more unwanted attention. The villain raised an eyebrow.
"Now really, I simply wanted to try you on. Be good for daddy now." Resting his hand on the pale cheek of the detective, Jim smirked. "There's a good boy." His words were a soft murmur, almost tender but severely mocking. Regardless of how much he thought he disliked it, Sherlock didn't stop Moriarty from running his thumb gently along his cheek, or even analyzing his face with a look of pure want and curiosity. The detective followed the subtle movement of the other's thumb with his eyes, trying to deduce some kind of clue as to what was really going on - this couldn't be genuine, could it? A seduction technique? Surely not; it wasn't his style. Their eyes met, a malicious grin forming on the shorter man's lips before the warmth of his hand was removed, soon replaced with the sharp sting of a punch, followed with the thud made by his head hitting the floor, and then, sudden darkness.