Kitty Reilly stormed out of the Crown Court buildings, pulling off the deerstalker hat as she walked. Sherlock Holmes. Pah. Yes, everything people said about him was true – including the fact that he's a arrogant bastard. "You repel me. Humph." Now he'd rejected her completely reasonable offer – it was actually a fantastic deal for both of them – her leads for an article had run dry… again. He'd also nicked her tape recorder, which even though it was really out-dated, she liked because to was so easy to use. She hailed a taxi as she reached the main road and barked out her address at the startled cabby. She fumed silently as the car drove through the London jams. She wanted to get revenge on Holmes, and she wanted to get it soon. She fumbled in her handbag for the fare, paid the driver, then swore loudly as she realised that Sherlock had pinched her iPhone as well. The cabby drove away fast, looking a bit scared.
Kitty slumped in her chair and stared at the empty room She should have at least stayed until the end of the court case, got a scoop on something there. She booted her ancient computer and went to make herself a coffee while it warmed up.
She came back into the sitting room a couple of minutes later, set down her mug and began searching through her records for her iPhone helpline number. She gave up after a while and just logged onto and waited for the computer to come up with her phone's location. She doodled on her hand as she waited. She glanced at the clock – it was half past ten. Would they have trialed Moriarty yet? God, that man was an idiot. Stealing the crown jewels in broad daylight and then just sitting there? Insane. She grabbed the landline phone and dialled her ex, Mark, who was a cameraman for BBC News.
"Have they finished?"
"I love you too."
"Shut up, Mark."
"Humph… The trial finished ten minutes ago." He hated the way she used him like that.
"Thanks… I suppose." She hung up. Then rang back. "Verdict?"
"Not guilty! Now piss off if you don't want to get back on with me!" He hung up that time.
"Not guilty?" She said to the empty room.
Not guilty! CCTV showed him actually breaking into the Crown Jewel's container! How could he be not guilty? She quickly switched on her TV and skipped channels until she saw a newsreader.
"The main headlines today is that James Moriarty has been found not guilty of attempting to steal the Crown Jewels by a jury of…"
Kitty hurried back to her computer, the reporter's voice droning on in the background.
It had finally picked up a signal from her iPhone… 221b Baker Street.
"Damn!" There was no way she would get into Sherlock's house after what had happened that morning. How the hell was she going to get her phone back? She couldn't really call the police about it, because they'd want to know why she had been in the men's bathroom at the Court and her reasons weren't exactly legal.
Holmes had a blog – but did he put his email or any way of contacting him on it? Of course not. There was a forum, but the last time that had been used was three months ago. John Watson had a blog though… One that was well used and updated regularly. The forum on there was visited often as well.
"For the attention of Sherlock Holmes" she typed, "we met this morning and you seemed to think it an appropriate time to relieve me of my iPhone. I would be greatly appreciative if you returned it. My address if Flat C, …"
Her doorbell rang as she finished typing. No one visited her! She walked slowly through the flat to answer it. "Hello?" she said into the intercom.
"Hi!" It was a man's voice that she recognised – she had no idea where from. "I have your iPhone, could you let me in?"
Always a sucker to curiosity and the possibility of an article, Kitty buzzed the man in.
Kitty opened the door of her flat and leaned out, waiting for the man to come up the stairs. Before he did, she decided that it was high time to run inside her flat and look for her digital recorder. She pressed record, slipped it in her pocket and rushed back to the door again. When she saw who was bringing her iPhone back, she was very glad she'd had the forethought to buy another recorder.
"Kitty Reilly?" the man asked.
"James Moriarty?" she replied, shaking his outstretched hand.
"Yes – I think you know that I'm an innocent and free man?" He smirked as he talked.
"I do. How did you get my phone?"
"Well, Sherlock Holmes really ought to be more careful when it comes to protecting his pockets. Here it is." He handed her her iPhone and smiled again.
"Right…Thanks! Do you want to come in?"
He smiled and the world's most dangerous criminal mastermind walked into her flat.
"Do you want coffee?" She asked as she hurriedly cleared a chair for him to sit down in.
"Do you have tea? I much prefer it." He said it slightly haltingly.
She looked at him as she went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Was he alright? It didn't seem like him to stutter over his choice of hot drink.
She came back with a mug of tea and sat down opposite him. She waited while he drank, then started to interview him.
"So, you're completely free of charges?"
"Yes… I am. I was made to break into the Crown Jewels… well, it was quite well paid."
"But then you did break in? Even if you were paid to do it, you'd still be guilty."
"Yes… but I was paid to break in. Not to steal anything. I was supposed to look like I wanted to steal them-" he cut off abruptly and looked as though he felt he had said too much.
Sensing a story she quickly went into reporting mode. "If you tell me who paid you, I can tell the public your side of the story, what you know really happened that day! If you tell me, we can write your story together and everyone will understand." She could see him looking sceptically at her, "All right. It's my living, so obviously I'd love you to agree to this as it would boost my career amazingly, but if you agreed to it, it would be fantastic for you too! It's a win-win situation really, I get lots of money and you got the public to trust you! You must realise?"
He stared into his mug for a minute, then looked up at Kitty with anticipation. "I'll do it. I'll give you my story."
She smiled. "Do you have accommodation? Because this could take some time…"
With some help from James, Kitty managed to uncover the bed in her spare room and put all the stuff in her room. It meant that she had to fight her way through piles of boxes to get to the bed, but it also meant that James had a room to stay in, so she had an article! The fact that a serial killer would be sleeping in the room next door hadn't really occurred to her.
James Moriarty went outside "to get a breath of air". He had been proved innocent of a crime of which he was guilty, convinced a journalist that she was on to a good story – one that would ruin Sherlock Holmes's life – and had a hot girl twisted around his little finger! He stood in the middle of the road and laughed and laughed. Life was sweet.
The next morning Kitty and James were sitting in Kitty's tired old chairs opposite each other. The digital recorder was resting on the coffee table in-between them. Kitty told Moriarty to start with who had paid him, then pressed record.
"The man who paid me is called… his name is… his name is Sherlock Holmes." His voice came out in a rush.
"Sherlock Holmes. You want me to believe that Sherlock Holmes paid his archenemy to break into the Crown Jewels? Sherlock Holmes!"
"You said you'd let the public see my side of the story, but even you won't believe me! Sherlock Holmes paid me to do it, not his archenemy!"
Kitty stared at him, shook her head slightly in disbelief then continued with the interview. "You're not his archenemy? Who is then?"
"His brother has always been his worst and most dangerous enemy, since they were children." He sounded as though he knew rather too much about Holmes's life for a man like him.
"So… if you're not his nemesis, who are you to Mr. Holmes?"
"His… servant, I suppose. That's not really the right choice of words, though."
"James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes's servant? Doesn't really fit in with how you two usually treat each other."
"Moriarty doesn't exist. He never has. There's just been me… Richard Brook." He could tell that Kitty didn't believe him. "I am Richard Brook! Hang on, I'll get my portfolio."
He rushed off to the spare room whilst Kitty looked on sceptically. He raced back into the room five minutes later, with a large folder full of documents. He dropped it on the table and it spilled its contents all over the floor. In his mad hurry to get them back he knocked over Kitty's "MUST READ" pile of books which added to the general mayhem of the flat. He blustered around a bit more while Kitty looked on, amazed at how the man had changed since she had first met him, When he sat down again he took a deep breath, collected himself and opened the folder. The first page was an actor's portfolio with a studio picture of James at the top, next to the name 'Richard Brook'. At the bottom was the National Theatre's hologram mark, signalling the CV's authenticy. Kitty quickly scanned the rest of the file. It said he had been in the Royal Shakespeare Company, taken part in tours of the UK with the Old Vic and been a drama instructor at a secondary school in Surrey.
"There. I am Richard Brook the actor, you can see the truth with your own eyes! About a year ago, on February the 21st, Sherlock Holmes contacted me and said he had a commission for me." Kitty pricked up her ears – was it just her or had his Irish accent disappeared? "I agreed to his conditions and within a week we had created the master villain, James Moriarty. The week after that I took on the character full time. Sherlock would call me when his flatmate was out and arrange Moriarty's next attack. I would play the bad guy, everyone would run to Sherlock for protection against me, he would solve the case and get lots of money and appreciation. Bingo, another case cracked, another pay day for me."
There was a long pause then Kitty replied "I'm beginning to believe you James—Richard , but the public will need more solid proof – is there anyone we can talk to about that?" she could barely conceal her excitement – this would be a bloody brilliant article once she'd finished with it!
Moriar—Richard went out at eleven to find contacts who would clear his name. As soon as he got out of the house, Moriarty's trademark smirk plastered itself across his face again. Grabbing a baseball cap from his bag he walked to the nearest shop and bought himself four cans of spray paint, then hailed a cab to Baker Street. He had to be a bit more careful there, but Sherlock wasn't going to expect his biggest enemy to come and have a cup of tea with him again. He got out the cans and sprayed a complicated pattern on the office wall opposite 221b. Then he unlocked his iPhone and scrolled through his apps until he found the listening device he'd placed on Sherlock's coat the day before at the flat.
"… Oh, look who's here – freak and co…" Sally Donovan's voice carried the information he needed through the airwaves. He got a cab to New Scotland Yard.
After generally messing up London with graffiti Richard got a final cab back to Kitty's flat. When he walked into the living room at six o'clock Kitty barely glanced up from her typing.
"Took your time." She commented. Richard knew she didn't really mind, because even though they didn't have much concrete evidence yet, she still must have had a lot of writing to fit in.
"I've got the numbers for everyone, we could see most of them tomorrow."
"Cool." She resumed typing at massive speeds.
Richard went and made Kitty and himself a coffee, then drank it whilst watching her work. After about five minutes he went into the spare room to "sort out some more paperwork". He spent about an hour on the phone, contacting other people who could help him. By the time he had finished he could almost see the lines of power spreading out from the middle of his spider's web.
The next day, Kitty and Richard were outside the office of the head of the National Theatre. As they entered the room, its occupant said
"This had better be a short one, I've got an appointment at ten."
Kitty introduced herself, then asked, "What is this man's name?"
"Richard Brook. Why?"
Kitty smiled, satisfied, and walked out. When they had gone, the chairman put his head in his hands and exhaled sharply. He looked up at the balcony surrounding his office and sighed with relief when he saw that the sniper had gone.
A cab ride later, the two stood before a similar office in a similar setting at the Royal Shakespeare Company's HQ. The woman inside the office breathed heavily, trying to prepare herself. She had been told exactly what to say in the next five minutes, but she'd also been told that if she didn't do precisely what the man had said the sniper would shoot her from behind the curtains.
The rest of the day passed in much the same way: five more terrified heads of companies lying to Kitty about Richard Brook. When they got back to the flat that evening she began to type at about 70 words per minute whilst Richard went into the spare room again.
"game over". As soon as they received the text from their employer seven gunmen took the safeties off and shot their respective targets – one for the head of the National Theatre, one for the head of the Royal Shakespeare Company…
The next few days had a similar routine: they talked to more important people, more important people lied to Kitty, Kitty wrote about more important people, more important people got shot. Richard got better at finding himself again and by the following week he had ditched Moriarty's trademark suits and hair gel. He had the messed up look he used to have, before he had met Sherlock Holmes. Kitty was typing for most of the day, so Richard took over the cooking and coffee making.
"I'm just going to get bread and milk." He called out to her on his eighth day in her house.
"Well, I'm just going to visit my editor and I might not be here by the time you get back, so take a key."
"Sure." He left the flat smirking again.
Richard walked up the stairs to the flat and laughed harshly before going back to his usual timid composure. He opened the door as he said
"I got the milk, but there wasn't any bread…" he trailed off as he saw who was in the room. Kitty was there… along with John Watson… and Sherlock Holmes. "You said that they wouldn't find me here, you said that I'd be safe here!" He was visibly sweating.
"You are safe here, Richard, I'm a witness, they wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses." Kitty sounded a lot more confident than she felt.
"So that's you're source," John pointed at Richard, "Moriarty is Richard Brook?"
"Of course he's Richard Brook, there is no Moriarty," Kitty sounded like she was explaining it to a toddler, "There never has been!"
"What are you talking about?" It was obvious that he didn't believe what she was saying, not a bit.
"Look him up. Rich Brook, an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty!" She was getting annoyed with John, but not paying any attention to Sherlock, who was standing quietly, listening to it all.
"So this is the story you're going to publish. The big conclusion of it all. Moriarty's an actor?" John shook his head and laughed.
"He knows I am, I have proof!" Richard was getting more scared by the second, "Kitty, show them, show them something!"
Kitty walked over to her desk to uncover Richard's folder as John replied "Yes, show me something!" Richard held his head in his hands and turned to face Sherlock. He smirked behind his hands and Sherlock grinned back as he realised the extent of his brilliant plan. Kitty opened the folder and passed it to John.
"I'm on TV, I'm on kids TV, I'm 'The Storyteller'." John looked at his papers as Richard wrung his hands. "I'm, I'm 'The Storyteller', it's on DVD!" John leafed through a few more pages in the file before turned around as he heard Sherlock laugh loudly. Sherlock ran towards Richard with a mad look on his face as the actor ran up the stairs, screaming. John quickly followed as they went into the spare room and he just had time to see Sherlock jump out of the window in pursuit of Brook.
"Sherlock!" He ran back through Kitty's flat and out onto the road to look for him.
Richard flew from the window and landed like a cat on the pavement. He ran along the street to where Moran was waiting with a car. He slammed the door behind him and the car moved off whilst Richard Brook sat in the back and laughed. He was playing the bad guy.