Shuffled between the snow and the lack of power and John being so far away with a distracted Mycroft, Moriarty couldn’t have planned for a better way to have a second date with Sherlock Holmes. He sent his wonderful, tiger-catching, darling Moran to wander out into the cold and play fetch for him. It would be easy. Even without a gun.

Because no guns! He didn’t need a happy trigger finger painting the snow blood red! That was his job! Eventually. Maybe. Who knew? He didn’t.

He was much too pleased with his glorious, clever little playmate to think too hard about killing him.

Moran might not have been able to bring a gun along for the initial playdate, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t pistol whip Sherlock for the transport. Moriarty was not entirely pleased, so he bloodied Moran’s lip and kissed it better with a bite before sending him off to clean up.

He waited…just waited…crouched at Sherlock’s knees like a school child, big, bright eyes focused only on him, and waited for his sweetie to wake up.