Eyes on me, eyes on me.

The white walled and white padded and white floored room seemed to reverberate torrentiously with the thought flooding in Jim's head. Although this was a regular thing, it seemed so much louder now. Thoughts of how and why were a plague that studied him more than he would study them at the basis to which he would revel upon them; Red wire crosses blue wire, Schrodinger's Cat, what a silly thing, how are we held to this Earth, really? Gravity is a force, of course, of course it must mean something yet why, why, why do these mysteries follow Jim like a shadow, like his skin, of all things? There certainly wasn't time for that now, yet it simply exists as a constant and he has become so maliciously conditioned to it.

Eyes on me, eyes on me you fucking simpleton you know where I am you know exactly what's going on and yet Jim was stricken to a point where the weights constricted to his person known as thought and intrigue had been making quite the apparent point that it was time to sink against his bones and meat and tear him in half; starting right at the brain. Right at the knot of his spinal cord, where everything held structure, where everything reached a pinnacle. To be pulled and yanked out of socket into this scenario is beyond his comprehension. He was kicking himself for not noticing earlier the happenings and how suspicious all of this was. The mad genius indeed had been reduced to a level of stupidity to be humiliated by someone who was practically yet a child. It bore into his brain and left heavy black holes in his thinking, now, and he was flat out pissed.

He was trying to think of methods of escape, but, the room was sealed with one other beside him if he tried to play funny. Jim wasn't going anywhere and he knew it. He'd been placed in a chair, a very plush black one, surrounded by the white of the room how avant garde, he thought. He could only imagine what Edmund had up his sleeve in these following moments. Jim's face would not falter, he would not unclench his jaw, at this very moment he was the epitome of what was to be represented as danger. As death; because once he was finished here, Edmund was finished with his business and he would topple just as anyone else would. Checkmate.

It was almost funny, really. It was almost as if thought Edmund was the equivalent of Sherlock, but the opposite in reference to motives. Edmund simply gallivanted about like a child collecting corpses and death dealing but simply because he could; once he had gained wind of the great Consulting Criminal, oh was there ever competition at hand. It was very funny. Jim had to supress a laugh at the irony.

"And here we are, we meet." A voice rang, as if through a speaker, surrounded by nothing but the whiteness of the tiny room, the simpleton of a guard, and the two-way glass infront of Jim. "I suppose this isn't the most...pleasant of introductions."

Merely known as Edmund to Jim (for whatever reason), Jim had never heard of this man. This boy, rather. He might as well have been. Although judging by his demeanor and his offices to which he had been led to by Jim, he seemed to know the ropes of business in debauchery. Anyone willing to seek business with James Moriarty must, in any case, it is to be expected. A Necromancer, Jim might call him with a chuckle if he wasn't in such a predicament. An aficionado of the dead and Egyptian customs one might think so. Walls of his homes were lined with golden and brass sarcophagi in halls, as well as skulls on display. Very tasteful, really. Jim was impressed and almost tempted to take on his business for this fact alone. Edmund went on to revel on his indulgences with the dead, explaining to Jim the methods of preserving those who he has killed or have destroyed or will preserve for others, for whatever reason- Jim had no interest in this. He went about his own ways and he cared not for anyone else's. That was all fine and dandy but it was the least of his concerns and he wanted to leave after whatever this farce was was finished.

They had met before in the previous room, where Jim had refused his business because he found him feeble and that of a child. It appeared he was wrong, which was a rarity. He analyzed Edmund and found him to be very, very fucking annoying, to say the least. Almost a petty emulation of himself, it was revolting. Edmund had requested the business of Moriarty in respect to perhaps combining business, sharing profit and that of chaos, so to speak. Half of the stock that Jim Moriarty, and Richard Brook own throughout England, all of the dirty money and all of the hard earned cash and pelts, of all things, through out deposit boxes and Swedish bank accounts would go to Edmund if they began running this together. Edmund admired his work but Moriarty did not fucking share. This was his genius and his mission and his delicious dance and Edmund would not play second wheel.

"No, no." Jim had told him, before he was led into this room to further negotiate an offer (call it curious, yet curiosity killed the cat), "I don't think so."

A pause, Edmund wrung his hands in the large library (Jim was quiet in reference to it, he wanted one now and it pissed him off he didn't have one), his eyes flitting against Jim, watching the stone face before him look for a response. He chuckled, his eyes falling to the floor, smiling. "Pity, then. I would have very much liked to have seen your methods in action."

"Never had a fan before, that's cute." It was Jim's turn to chuckle. "It was a pleasure, Edmund but I'm afraid you'll have to find your business elsewhere." He turned to the door before being stopped, mildly annoyed by the persistence. Jim wasn't used to people thinking they could plea for his business. Begging for mercy at the tip of a blade, but never for his business; but then again, he never shared a moment like this. It was infuriating.

"Wait, please, Mister Moriarty." Edmund laughed inside his own mind at that, how silly he must sound. Yet, for all he knows, Moriarty could see right through his guise. Might as well play along anyway and see how far he can push it. "I have something that may interest you, really."

Whatever it may have been it doesn't matter it was all bullshit now. Jim cursed under his breath, he was without any idea as to what was to come, now. The glass was black, and he was only faced with the sight of himself. He wanted nothing more than to bring his head into collision with the taunting screen.

"Moriarty you seem livid. You ought to relax, I have a business proposition for you and I can't have you thinking irrationally."

Silence.

Jim said nothing.

There was nothing to say, he's already made his decision- it doesn't appear as if though that warrants anything now. He's infuriated.

"Well- I mean, either way - I ought to move along with it than leaving you in suspense."

A loud snapping noise was unleashed as what Jim would think was him hanging up the loudspeaker, followed by him discovering that he is on the observing end of the two way glass with the taunting face. Three lights turned on in the room opposite him, which appeared to be a gray walled and filthy dungeon, if anything. Tables with fluids and caskets and tools and whatever the hell else lined the walls, the floor stained with anything and everything. It was revolting and Jim made no sense of it. Two large support pillars of stone stood on opposite ends of the room, as if it were an entire seperate entity from the building they were already in. He didn't remember venturing down any stairs, so to see this savage and prehistoric looking room attached was baffling- but it wasn't important, now. Jim continued to set his jaw, intimidated and guarding himself. He's been through torture before this isn't anything new.

"I'm sure you can figure out this is where I perform much of my business, as I'm sure you can imagine there aren't many other places where you could venture to have a corpse preserved for the keeping without question." Another chuckle. "I digress."

Jim made no motion to respond, his eyes dark with rage, obviously there was ulterior motive and dreadfully obvious it was and he turned his head to watch the guard with his glossy and dead eyes, mentally keeping note of his pressure points and areas to which he could strike the much larger individual and take advantage. Of course there was no reason for the guard's presence other than another motive. Jim's head was beginning to pound as there was the sound from another speaker in the room, opposite of the one to which Edmund announced his presence. The sound being a heavy metal door opening in the disgusting cement room (the smell alone must be unbearable), followed by footsteps. Six, Jim counted, six feet approaching, a stout guard similar to the one that stood beside him, damnedable Edmund following, and a tall unmistakable frame, his head covered with a burlap sack.

Oh.

Now this was something.

"You cunt."

Jim hissed, the first words spoken in this everlasting period of time that seemed just so arduous, and it was quite evident that it was to last just so much longer.