1871
OXFORD, ENGLAND
QUEEN'S THEATRE
WARDROBE ROOM

        "I think we should join the Plod," said Sherlock with a smirk. He set the bobby's uniform back onto the rack and began removing his shirt. 

        Moriarty eyed him with interest. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

        Sherlock stopped mid-button. He arched an eyebrow. "You don't think I have what it takes?"

        Moriarty smiled. "Well, from our little scrap a moment ago, I'd say you've still got plenty to learn."

        "I am fully capable," said Sherlock, pulling his shirt from off of his sculpted torso. 

        Moriarty had to admit: he was surprised to see this squirrely, scholarly lad so built. His eyes drifted, his gaze lilting downward along his companion's stomach. He pulled them back after a moment. "I think your nose would disagree with ya." He pointed to the drop of crimson cascading from Sherlock's nostril.

        Sherlock wiped it away. "I got in a decent blow, didn't I?" He began loosening his trousers.

        "Aye." Moriarty nodded. "So you can fight. But how's your endurance?"

        "Endurance?"

        "Your mental fortitude. Your stamina."

        Sherlock scoffed. "Surely you jest."

        "I've seen the way you fight."

        A surly expression overtook Sherlock's face. A pout. "My stamina is quite grand, I assure you."

        "Care to wager that?"

        "I've got nothing to prove to you. Now come--why aren't you changing?" Sherlock slipped out of his trousers, sat himself among the pile of clothing and costumes around them, and began unlacing his boots.

        "I'm waiting for you to show me."

        "And how would I do that, exactly?" said Sherlock. One boot was off, then another. 

        Seeing his new friend disrobe to such a state of vulnerability stirred something in Moriarty that he did not quite understand. It was something devilish. Something that both frightened and exhilarated him. "Let's conduct a little experiment. You like those, don't you, Sherlock?"

        Sherlock brought his needs up and rested his forearms atop them. He sighed and looked up at Moriarty, his big boyish eyes narrowing. "What are you getting at?"

        "A quick test. Will only take a moment." Moriarty smirked. He put his coat back on the rack as well and extended a hand to help Sherlock to his feet. His companion took it.

        "If you hit me again, James, I swear."

        "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. Now, close your eyes."

        Sherlock looked skeptical, but he did as he was told.

        "Arms over your head," instructed Moriarty.

        Again, Sherlock obeyed.

        "Turn about."

        Sherlock did.

        And then Moriarty struck. He reached forward, setting one hand on each of Sherlock's sides, giving them a quick, calculated squeeze.

        Sherlock yelped. His arms fell with the speed of lightning and he sprang forward, away from Moriarty's reach. "What on bloody earth did you do that for?" he said, spinning around to face his tickler.

        Moriarty's gaze remained steely. "A quick test of your stamina."

        "How does that test my stamina?"

        Moriarty chuckled and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Oh, come lad. Don't you see? Our minds are in a prison." He stepped forward and reached for Sherlock's shoulders. His friend flinched, but allowed him to make contact. "This. Our flesh and blood." Moriarty shook him a bit. "But." He stepped back again. "But we are so much more than that. Our minds should be in control. Not our flesh. And yet..." He reached over and jabbed Sherlock in the stomach again.

        Sherlock grunted and weaved away. 

        "If we can teach our minds to overcome the sensations of the body, now that, my good lad, is the key."

        Sherlock seemed to relax. He smiled. "I can see your perspective," he said slowly. "But the way you go about it--rather senseless."

        "Senseless?" said Moriarty. "You nearly squealed like a schoolboy."

        Sherlock puffed out his chest, chin up. "I did not."

        Moriarty raised an eyebrow. "Care to try again?"

        Sherlock cleared his throat. "W-well, this is silly, James. Shouldn't we be off soon? Back to Oxford."

        "In a moment."

        "And we should be more concerned about someone coming in." Sherlock gestured to the door.

        "I've been hiding out here since yesterday, lad. No one's come in or out. Not in production right now." Moriarty grinned wryly. "Now, come on. Don't be   

         

        

        

        

​