Another One Bites The Dust (Jim, Casual)

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Boredom is a vicious enemy.

This was a fact that Sherlock Holmes came to realize at precisely twenty four minutes and thirty seven seconds after midnight. Like many other enemies, it seemed to be one that didn't give in easily to the actions of silly little nothings - and so participating in the trivial events that ordinary people seemed to when they fell victim to such a dreadful plague of dullness just wouldn't cut it for the consulting detective.
Though to be fair, he did so hate to do those things on an ordinary day.

In short, he had nothing to do. The most recent of the cases had been long since finished (loose ends were tied up around five hours ago - which was an absolute age to the lanky man who thrived on such eventfulness), and he hadn't even the correct supplies to conduct a new experiment. And no, it wasn't 'his own fault', as kindly put forth by the elderly landlady of his flat. That would be ridiculous.
As he had already stated, the microscope threw itself at the wall after it refused to co-operate.

And he had been the one to have to clean it up.
Wholly unfair.

There grew a steady rhythm of tapping echoing around the living room of the small flat as Sherlock began to pace around its perimeter. Or at least as close to as he could manage, what with all the junk piled around in clusters across the floors and surfaces.
'Always the option of going to sleep...'
This thought was dismissed as suddenly as it arrived. It turned out that four continuous cups of coffee did wonders to one's irrational desire for rest - though the effects did take rather a long time to wear off. Of course this was almost habit for the consulting detective, and he was certain that the not-too-familiar unconsciousness would not be missed.

Socked feet came to a halt just as the row of books on the shelves adorning the walls did. Holmes plucked the object before him, a brief twitch of the lips the only inclination that the thing had any amount of personal worth to the man.
There was an alternative to sleep.

And thus, fourteen and a half minutes after the first realization, Sherlock learned that playing the violin at odd hours in the morning was a good way to weaken his current enemy. Music could overpower boredom, it seemed.

It could be truthfully told that the consulting detective was possible more than just a little bit irritated, then, when he was so rudely interrupted by a familiar ringing sound.
Such a thing meant one of many things.
One, he could (after forgetting to eat for a longer amount of time than usual, and, of course, not having the time to properly rest) be well on his way to badly-timed unconsciousness. Something that had happened very few times before, as the detective was, after all, not stupid enough to never eat anything.
Two, there was somebody at the door who felt the need to repeatedly ring the bell.
Three, his phone was ringing.

Fortunately, it turned out to be the latter. Though why the other two could cause the man to hear sounds similar to that of his mobile phone would probably never be known.

A slight spike of excitement ran through Sherlock's readily-hyped brain as he considered the caller. It could be Lestrade. It could be another case. Oh, joy! Perhaps a local murderer had received a fortunate case of insomnia. Perhaps, somewhere in New York, there was a mangled body just waiting to be studied...

Blocked number

Huh.

Frowning slightly, Holmes raised the phone to his ear as he placed the violin and bow carefully on the sofa.
"Hello?"

[JAMES MORIARTY EDWARDS]

New York City was in a slump. There were no interesting or valuable shows coming to town besides some trunk shows and James Moriarty most certainly did not steal dresses, even if they were worth millions of dollars. It was a good that was too easily damaged to risk it. Fabric was so delicate, delicate but expensive.

James had always been in the mindset that if there wasn't any trouble to take advantage of, or a priceless artifact to steal, to make one. Simple as that. A man of his own means, James wasn't going to sit idly by while the world kept going and Moriarty faded from view. Time to raise a little hell.

It took a couple of days to work out the plan in its entirety and to get all the pieces into place. It wasn't one of his more complex games but James liked this one. It was clever. So very clever. So many places, so many little surprises.

He could have tried playing with Mycroft but he knew that the older Holmes wouldn't be interested. Especially once she learned the rules. The younger Holmes, he couldn't resist puzzle, especially not one from James. Since the bar, since the suicide, James had a curious little feeling that there was a peculiar connection between them. Even men who don't uphold moral codes honor someone who saved their life.

Granted, saving his life could be argued to be nothing but James making up for the kiss that nearly killed Sherlock.

James fiddled with his phone, watching the clock carefully, waiting for the game to start. At midnight, their little game would start. He dialed slowly, eyes never leaving the clock. When the consulting detective answer, duly skeptical, an impish grin broke out on James's face.

"Hello, Sherlock, darling. Have you missed me?"

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"Hello, Sherlock, darling. Have you missed me?"
Oh, well. It seemed things were about to get interesting.

A game on its own was already a dangerously addictive drug - Sherlock was hardly able to resist a good murder when one presented itself. Perhaps it was that there was some sort of exciting high that came along with a challenge. Or perhaps it was simply that the consulting detective found perplexing mysteries... well, blatantly fascinating. Maybe he just wanted to show off. But, whatever the reason, there was no denying that Holmes enjoyed himself when given a reason to dance as much as a cat would when presented with a colourful bundle of yarn.

But a game with Moriarty.
That was an entirely new level.
The cat was given a living target.
A mouse.

It honestly couldn't be accurately said who was assigned to which role in their 'game'. But, then again, that was just a completely irrelevant matter.
So why Sherlock found himself still pondering the thing as a very slight expression of amusement wormed its way to his features, he wasn't entirely sure.

"Me? Can't say I've had time to. I have been awfully..." there was barely a pause as the man cast one sweeping gaze over his desolate flat, "...busy."

The consulting detective was already shrugging on his thick coat by the time he found it presumably necessary to pry into the reason for the call.
"Well then James, what's going on in the world?"
That would do.

[JAMES MORIARTY EDWARDS]

"Me? Can't say I've had time to. I have been awfully...busy."

James chuckled lowly into the phone, moving about slowly. His shoes crunched quietly on the roof of the building he had staked himself on. His eyes had been trained on a large clock that a building several blocks away had put up (no doubt trying to mimic Big Ben given the style of the clock) and now they swept effortlessly over the city. "Yes, I'm sure sitting in your home doing absolutely nothing is very time consuming."

Pulling out another phone, James checked to make sure the first part of the game was ready, and it was. A nice little puzzle to start them off.

"Well then James, what's going on in the world?"

"Oh, not much I'm afraid. All my favorite toys have broken." James sat on the edge of the building, looking down. "Fancy a game? Why am I even asking, of course you do." James chuckled again and put the other phone away. "There once was a small village, no one would bother to pillage. Too small to be noticed and to boring for anyone to care. There was a great man from hailed there, a bishop, of Llandalf in the mid 1700's; he only held his titles for 6 years. On the map of this man's tiny parish beginnings, you'll find your next clue."

James grinned widely. "And don't bother hanging up, Sherlock. That wouldn't be any fun at all."

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Even by pressing the receiver closer to his ear, there was little of use to be heard that would help Sherlock determine the man's whereabouts. In all honesty, it had been somewhat of a puny attempt in the first place - even if Jim hadn't taken the care that Holmes expected him to in being rather difficult to locate, New York (being, in general, rather big in size) would be bound to make the task ever more difficult.

"Yes, I'm sure sitting in your home doing absolutely nothing is very time consuming."
The consulting detective rolled his eyes, beginning a steady pace across and back the centre of the living room. Of course James would know exactly what was going on. But Sherlock was not concerned by this fact. And he certainly did not cast a brief glance out of the window before spinning on his heel to return to the kitchen.

"Oh, not much I'm afraid. All my favorite toys have broken."
The tall man bit back a petty remark that was almost definitely going to be something along the lines of him being 'hurt' by that comment, considering that he, after all, wasn't broken. Though holding such a stupid sentence back was definitely something the consulting detective would be later glad for.
"Fancy a game? Why am I even asking, of course you do."
It probably wasn't even surprising that Sherlock didn't find the fact that this was entirely true the least bit disturbing.

"There once was a small village, no one would bother to pillage. Too small to be noticed and to boring for anyone to care. There was a great man from hailed there, a bishop, of Llandalf in the late 1700's. On the map of this man's tiny parish beginnings, you'll find your next clue."

Oh bugger. He really wasn't very good at riddles - though usually passed off this mild weakness as him being simply not interested in them in the slightest. That excuse probably wasn't going to work in this case, though. Which meant he'd at least have to try.

And so, Holmes immediately crossed the room to sit by his laptop - and was typing a search into google within the next ten or so seconds. In fact, the results on the web browser began to load at just about the time Moriarty had stated: "And don't bother hanging up, Sherlock. That wouldn't be any fun at all."

The consulting detective's thumb hesitated over the 'end call' button on his mobile phone. The man's last sentence would probably be enough for the lanky detective to end the call purely out of spite. But, once again, curiosity won the control of his actions.
Returning the device to his ear, Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he began to speed through the information he was presented with after looking into a few details from the puzzle.

"This is new, James. Why are you suddenly wanting to talk so much? I'm honestly surprised that I haven't been given the game by one of your puppets, but now you're sticking around? I'm flattered,"
Well, if he had to stay on the phone he may as well keep talking. The consulting detective didn't pay any attention to the words he spoke - brain currently only focused on the task at hand.

Bishop of Llandalf... Late 1700's?
There were a few, and none who seemed to prominently stand out.
So, start with the first one.
Despite the name of the first Bishop of Llandalf in the late 1700's, there really was little information to be found. Perhaps that was the idea?

Sherlock wasn't aware that he began to mumble odd snippets of thoughts and theories as he continued to search. It was a habit of his that he probably didn't realize he had. Because, truth be told, if he knew it existed then it would be very likely that Holmes would have found some way to stop doing it a long time-

"Cound."
Looking up, the man's eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. Why, there was nothing at all special about the map of 'Cound'. It looked like a dull little place in reality.
"That's right, isn't it? But why... You said on the map. So you mean... But where would..."
It was probably an unfortunate habit, actually, as only fragments of sentences tended to make it out of his head.

"Oh,"
The library?
A triumphant grin flickered briefly over Sherlock's features as he finally came to [what he hoped was] the right conclusion, before he was bounding from his stationary position near the laptop to head down the stairs and out of the door.

The game was on.

[JAMES MORIARTY EDWARDS]

"This is new, James. Why are you suddenly wanting to talk so much? I'm honestly surprised that I haven't been given the game by one of your puppets, but now you're sticking around? I'm flattered,"

"I'm bored Holmes. If I gave this game to one of my special assistants to deal with, I would still be bored." James rolled his eyes. It wasn't that difficult a concept to grasp, really. Chatting with Holmes on the phone while they played was far more interesting than anything else that's been going on or that would happen. James realized that he probably could have helped himself to Mycroft's apartment but that was the same old same old. There was nothing new or exciting about sitting around with the lawyer and commiserating.

Not that spending time with Mycroft was a bad thing. It usually meant unabashed leering on James's part.

James stood at the edge of the roof, listening to Sherlock mumble to himself while he worked through it. It wasn't a difficult riddle, really.

"Cound."

James gave a small huff. "Yes, Cound."

"Oh,"

"For a self-declared genius, you're rather slow sometimes, Holmes."

James had taped a key to a lock box to the map.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

James gave a reasonable response to one of Sherlock's statements (or questions - he didn't particularly remember very much of what he had said before coming to the conclusion of 'Cound'), before confirming that he had been right in the result.

"For a self-declared genius, you're rather slow sometimes, Holmes."

Holmes narrowed his eyes slightly at the words. He probably would have said something, had he not been currently saving whatever air he managed to draw into his lungs for speeding up his sprinting pace. Having decided against bothering with the fiddly little annoyances of taking a taxi, the consulting detective had begun running toward the nearest library as soon as his feet had hit the pavement. Or sidewalk. Whatever it was that these people called it nowadays.

It didn't take long to reach the entrance to the New York Public Library - and it was even less time before he found himself searching through the map division for a little place called 'Cound'.
It was a ridiculous name.

"A key?" Sherlock asked finally, bringing said object closer to his face, whilst the other hand held the phone firmly to his ear. His mobile hadn't left his hand since he had started sprinting, not that he had noticed, of course.
Holmes pocketed the item after a few seconds of close scrutiny, and began to pace around a small area of the floor.

"Okay, right then. Good. What's next?"