Confused, as always, as to the point of dating or mating in general, Sherlock didn't understand why John was going. He had a fairly decent looking female, granted, but Sherlock only noticed because John had stressed the beautiful points to the point where Sherlock found it difficult to delete it from his brain.

"There's no point. She doesn't have what you're looking for." Sherlock commented, watching John straighten his tie.

"You can think whatever you want of her, Sherlock, it won't change my mind. I'll be back later tonight." With that he left the room and the flat. Sherlock watched from the window as he crossed the street and walked farther away. Sighing, Sherlock steeled himself for a night alone, bored.

"Booooored," he groaned at the walls before shooting from the chair and wandering the flat. For the next three and a half hours he tried his hardest to keep from shooting up the apartment. John hadn't reacted very well to that last time. Neither, he recalled, had Mrs. Hudson.

He was about to give up and attempt sleep when there was a knock on the front door. The curiosity in him sparked a maddening desire to just do something, anything. He bound towards the door, wondering if it were a client and why the person was up so late at night. It was-Sherlock glanced at his clock-11:30pm. When he swung the door inward, the curiosity may have stayed but hot, uncontrollable anger sizzled inside his veins.

Moriarty stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at Sherlock. After a few seconds, he asked, "are you going to let me in?"

"No." Sherlock said flatly and made to close the door. He saw Moriarty reach forward, going to attempt to stop Sherlock, but he stopped the door himself. "I will, however, ask what you are doing here."

"I need your help." Sherlock frowned, possibly more intensely so than he usually did, and studied the man. Surely enough, he wasn't lying. Though what he needed help for and why he thought Sherlock would be a great helper, was beyond even his amazing deductive skills.

"I am not known for helping criminals." He stated flatly and this got a small rise from Moriarty.

Moriarty, fluster in his cheeks, stepped forward and shoved against the door. Sherlock, having not anticipated the bold move, stepped back. Moriarty strode meaningfully into the flat, looking around. He seemed completely not amused.

"You're still living with the Dr. Watson?"

"Yes. I don't see how that's important to you or any problem you may have."

"Dr. Watson can not know I was here." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, slowly closing the front door. Moriarty sat on the couch gingerly, seemingly almost afraid to fluff up the air. "This is just for you. Watson wouldn't understand." His eyes rose and locked onto Sherlock's. Sherlock frowned, his eyebrows raising but he made no move. Even when Moriarty motioned to the seat next to him.

"You tried to kill me, as well as John, on many occasions. I won't just sit here and allow you to talk me into helping you with a problem."

"I ask you just to hear me out." There was a silence, only broken by the breathing of the two men. Inside both of their minds, there was no need for words. They assessed one another, every tiny piece of speck analyzed as if they were looking for a murderer. In a way, Sherlock wondered if he was looking at a murderer who needed help with another body. Or more.

Sighing, Sherlock had to admit that he was interested at least. He had nothing else to do for they'd just finished a case and Sherlock was already close to his dark place.

Instead, though, of sitting next to Moriarty, he say in his chair and cupped his hands together in front of his face. The other man seemed more than a little pleased and relaxed backwards.

"Tell me, then, why you are here." Sherlock demanded in his usual voice towards those who thought they had a problem difficult enough for him. Oftentimes, they were easily solved.

Moriarty knew this voice, knew what it entailed, but he chose to ignore it and instead told Sherlock his problem.

"You know my past just as well as I know my own. I get that. But this once, I didn't kill the woman."

Sherlock leaned back, surprise actually lining his features that were otherwise unreadable.

"A woman was murdered? When and where?" Sherlock asked.

"Last night." Moriarty said and then stopped. Sherlock knew by the silence and the expression that he wasn't going to know where. "All you need to understand is she was killed and I didn't do it."

"This time. Were you seen?"

"Yes. I got away, obviously." Sherlock stiffened and ignored a need to look at the door and windows. He didn't want to be associated with a murderer any more than he had to. It was already hard enough to stay on the good side without Moriarty. "No, no one followed me. I'm not an imbecile."

"Why were you there, with the body?"

"Would you believe me if I told you she was where I was walking? I found her shortly before a teenage couple did. They saw me leaning over her. I was checking her pulse. I am not heartless."

"I'm to assume you didn't stick around, knowing they would not only blame it on you but catch you for the other murders." Sherlock tapped his pointer finger on his lip in thought. Moriarty smiled a soft, smile Sherlock could only describe as disturbingly pleased. It didn't disturb Sherlock as he suspected it did everyone else.

"They didn't see you." Sherlock said, raising his head from his fingertip. Moriarty nodded the positive. "So why do you need help?"

"I touched her neck. To check for a pulse." Moriarty said with a wave of his hand. Sherlock's eyebrows drew together, thoughts connecting like puzzle pieces in his head.

"Your fingerprints," Sherlock murmured and Moriarty smiled a toothy grin.

"If they find them, I'll be a red flag. They may not look for any other clue, given my background."

"There is little I can do about that. The body is most likely surrounded by police. The clues and evidence are already being found. I won't stick my neck out for you by going into the crime scene and removing your fingerprints." Sherlock rose from the chair and Moriarty shot up, grabbing Sherlock by the upper arm. The detective stiffened, readying for a fight. The first punch was never thrown.

"Not so much as that, Sherlock. I need to be hidden. You have a reputation in this country, they wouldn't search for a murderer with you." Sherlock could honestly say he was stunned. What made the man think Sherlock would be okay with hiding him when there were more reasons to give the man up than he had appendages?

Before Sherlock could make up his mind, let alone think any of it through, he heard footsteps going up the stairs. By the sound, it was John. Sherlock knew John was loyal to the death but there were still some things he was not okay with.

Moriarty looked to Sherlock, a blank look on his face. It was obvious he was going to do whatever Sherlock thought best. Moriarty knew John so little, he waited for Sherlock to give him the best idea. Sherlock was intrigued at the sudden trust Moriarty had in his opinion. Sherlock waited a moment to gauge if the man would become nervous but, like he knew, Moriarty showed nothing but a small amount of curiosity.

John walked into the room and stopped dead. Thankfully, his date hadn't come up with him. Sherlock leveled a stare at him, wondering how he would react. John looked between the two men, seeing the non-violence that usually was never there, and closed the door behind him.