A/N - Wrote this on a whim of sorts. It wouldn't get out of my head, so I wrote it down. Always like the idea of controlling the uncontrollable. Nothing special, but I thought I'd share anyway.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or its characters. They belong to Mr. Mark Gatiss and Mr. Steven Moffat.
Jim exited his car swiftly without waiting for the driver to open the door for him. His plans were on the very brink of becoming complete and nothing was going to get in his way. He had been planning everything for months and all of the pieces had fallen into place at exactly the right times. There were only a few loose ends to tie up before the finale.
The building that he was in walking into, courtesy of another man, was one exceedingly familiar to him. As much as he hated having to come here, this was the only person he knew that would put his affairs in order if something went array.
When style and location was concerned, he envied the building. It was out in the open for everyone to see. The resident never liked to conceal themselves from the public too much. They much preferred to regulate public and private appearances. Style was nothing short of simple, clean, but highly priced.
The exterior was brick. Nothing flamboyant to provide a reason to pay attention to it. Inside was nearly the opposite. Anyone entering would not be welcomed with a friendly atmosphere. There was dark wood everywhere. The floors were a darken Maple wood and the walls were Oak, all freshly polished. Chairs, small tables, and medium area rugs were the only decoration in the hallways.
Jim stopped in front of a large door and waited for it to open for him. That was a custom he forgot frequently in his younger years. Each time he failed to remember, he would be penalize. The methods used spurred his ideas for the frequent punishments he had to use.
"Let him in." It was the first time he heard a voice come from the room since he arrived. He did not have to wait long, but the declaration surprised him a little.
Yet another man opened the door for him and gestured for him to enter. The room was no different from the last time he had been there and that had been nearly a year.
The wood work was the same as the rest of the building. There was far more furniture that sat on a large, red, and brown Persian rug. Light fixtures designed to look like old fashioned oil lamps decorated the walls. On one side of the room was a window with the black curtains drawn and on the other side was an arsenal set out on a table. A few men were working to clean the guns of all sizes. Some things never changed in this place.
"Have a seat." The voice rang from the middle of the room. Jim looked in its direction to find its owner sitting in one of the high backed armchairs. Not even she had changed since he last saw her.
The woman was older than him, he never found out her exact age, but he guessed about a decade give or take. A clean, white dress fit her figure well, but conflicted with the atmosphere of her home. Her hair was the color of champagne that hid any grey's that dared to grace her head. She had the face of fifties movie star, but her eyes always gave her away in the company of colleagues. It was difficult to hide what you were passionate about; wickedness.
After taking in what little a year had done to her, he sat in the chair that was opposite of her. "Do things ever change around here?" He asked looking around the room again.
"Why try and change what's not broken? You know that." A voice still as smooth and light as ever.
Jim did not react, but proceeded with his reasons for his visit. "I need some help." He watched one of her eyebrows lift quickly and a hand supported her chin. She was interested. "There's something I've set in motion that will be concluding soon and if anything unimaginable goes array, I want you to insure that my affairs are taken care of."
"Unimaginable? Like dying?" It was sarcastic, but he only let his jaw tighten.
"In the unlikely event, yes." He was a teenager again replying with attitude, but now he would not have to suffer for it. Equality rested between them.
The woman hummed softly, leaning back in her chair, and resting her hands on the armrests. "I'm guessing these affairs are in the sealed envelope I received early this morning." She stopped to look at her nails on her left hand. "Fine. Anything else?"
"I've been wondering." Jim pushed himself up to straighten his posture more. "Soon you will have to relinquish your throne. Who's going to take over?"
"Who says I'll be removing myself in the near future?" Her eyes attached themselves to him. "And even if I was, I wouldn't be naming you as my replacement."
Jim rose from his chair suddenly without having the patience to think through his actions. "And who would be better? You know there isn't one better than me." His voice echoed slightly off of the walls, causing the other occupants to take interest in their conversation.
She calmly looked up at him and let the volume of his voice hang in the air. After a moment, she waved her hand at the other man and they left without uttering a word, closing the door behind them.
"You're still young. You have a lot to overcome." Her voice was calm and almost motherly. "Not to mention, you still need to acquire a hold of your… personality."
He stiffened at her last word. "You've never had a problem with it before. In fact, you encouraged it."
The woman rose from her seat slowly. "I did when you were a pupil, but when considering positions of authority, it is far from ideal."
"You think I won't have your position?" He dared to take a step forward. "Watch me take it from you."
She smiled at him softly and placed a hand on the side of his cheek. "Oh, Jimmy. You've overstepped again. "You're forgetting…" Her steps forward caused him to walk backward. The hand that was on his cheek had dropped to his neck and was starting to tighten. "I am the one who made you. I gave you this power. I trained you to be the criminal you are. Pulled you away from those poor excuses of crimes you used to commit. Getting your hands dirty and blaming others for it. I provided the contacts you needed, the funding, the clients, any materials you needed, and the men you needed to get started. I even had your favorite assassin trained." He had dropped back into his chair as she was leaning over him. Her face had contorted into the woman he remembered from years ago. His breathing was starting to become shallow.
She leaned in close to him so that her whispers could be heard. "I made you, James Moriarty, and I can take it back. Not just your power, everything."
Jim could only look back at her for a moment, but then averted his eyes to look at his lap. The tightness around his neck loosened and he could breath properly again. She had moved away from him by the time he decided to look up again.
"Your recent interest has been entertaining to watch." She was standing near a small table and holding a few papers. "Sherlock Holmes. I can see why you picked him. Quite impressive."
"Figured I should get to him before you did. You would break my favorite toy before I had time to play with it." Jim replied watching her walk back over to the chair she had been occupying.
"I'm afraid your toy is about to fail you." The papers dropped onto the arm of the chair as she sat back down.
He leaned forward feeling his anger start to flare. "What do you mean?"
"Well, he's figured everything out, in a manner of speaking." She started glancing at the pages once. "He took the bait and ran far away with it. That little fake code of yours played to his interests."
His eyes did not know where to rest. They shifted in every direction, pausing on random objects. "It always has to be a challenge." He said under his breath as he stood and started pacing.
"Seems this has troubled you. Did you really think he would keep you entertained for very long? He's predictable." The woman crossed her legs as she watched him.
A reply formed at the back of his throat, but he was interrupted his phone ringing in his pocket. He pulled out and glared at the new text message update. His curiosity got the best of him when it came from a number he recognized.
Come and play. Bart's Hospital rooftop – SH. PS. Got something of yours you might want back.
He rolled his head to once side when he felt the muscles in his neck tighten. "Sorry to cut this short, but I must be off."
"Be careful, Jimmy. I'd hate to open that envelope." She added as she walked behind him.
The door closed behind him as soon as he had crossed the threshold and not a moment later. With those parting words, he left the house of his mentor and instructed his driver to Bart's Hospital.
The End.
Like I said. Whim.