A/N: This tiny snippit jumped into my head as soon as I laid down to go to sleep. Of course I had to jump up and write it, and now I'm posting it in the middle of the night with no work done on it at all. For that I apologize, I just had to get this down and out there. Sorry, hope it's all right to read anyway.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Neither man saw the crack in the wall in their sitting room that day. The place was 221B Baker Street, and the year was 1891.

Professor Moriarty, a mathematician and criminal mastermind carried on in his little schemes, silently running the county's underworld but amounting to nothing more. He often thought that if only he he'd had someone to challenge him. He could have done so much more.

Mycroft Holmes, a man so important to the government that his very existence was erased after his death, occasionally felt a pang of sadness from some place he couldn't quite reach. It was as if he'd lost someone, and didn't remember.

Inspector Lestrade often runs his hands though his hair, feeling overwhelmed with the cases that no one could unravel. He knew that so many criminals remained out of their reach, simply for being cleverer than Scotland Yard. He wished there was someone else cleverer than they. He then would put on his hat, and sigh. There was no such person.

Mrs. Hudson frowns, and her eyes tear up when she looks at her empty lodging rooms. She often thinks she should find someone to fill that space, but she never can bring herself to put out the notice. She dreams of boys of her own, keeping her up at night, but always there to protect her.

Time has a way of reasserting itself.

The year was 2010, and two men were moving into 221B Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson saw the two on her doorstep, and smiled. Finally the hole in her heart felt right, filled with the joy and misadventures of her boys.

DI Lestrade goes to the consulting detective each time there is a case they can't figure out. He doesn't like having to swallow his pride to ask for help, but it's a relief knowing that if Scotland Yard can't get the bad guy, there is a man who probably can.

Mycroft Holmes sighs with exasperation as he watches his brother and his new flat mate walk away, but he can't help thinking that before now, he hadn't heard Sherlock laugh in a long time.

Jim Moriarty smiles. There is finally someone to challenge him.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

A/N: Please tell me what you think, and if there are any glaring errors that my midnight brain didn't catch? Thanks!