Day 3: Rain

As the soft rain beat against the muddy ground around him, Sherlock Holmes kept one eye trained on James Moriarty, who idly tapped his long gloved fingers against a fine looking wooden cane with impatience as he wrote his final note for his dear friend Doctor John Watson.

James Moriarty, the Napoleon of crime, leader and the criminal Mastermind of the largest organization in England. Whos cunning and ruthlessness allowed him to chase himself and John all the way to Switzerland and set a stage for a final confrontation that would surely end with one or both of them dying tonight.

Truly, Moriarty is a man to be feared.

As he writes his note, explaining the current situation at hand, that being his imminent confrontation with James Moriarty and the more alarming matter of Watson being easily fooled by the obviously fake note coming from Moriarty, who obviously sent that note to lure John back into the hotel.

Sherlock hopes dearly, that no harm would come to John upon him reaching the hotel, but does not let the fear show on his face or words as he quickly and methodologically prepares himself for the confrontation by folding the now finished note into a neat square, tucking the note into his coat and removing his coat with a flourish, letting it fall to the side where it would not fall and float down to the deep and jagged bottom of Reinbach falls.

"Are you finally done Sherlock?" Asks Moriarty placidly, his finger still idly tapping against his cane "Good, it is getting quite late you know? An old man like me should not be out this time of night, lest the wind chill my bones."

At this Holmes merely snorts and settles into a fighting stance.

Words were no longer needed.