Just a little something I wrote these days, hope you enjoy :) My first attempt for the Sherlock fandom !
"I own secrecy."
Moriarty stepped off Baker Street; curling his thin lips upwards at the rainy weather that awaited him and pulling the umbrella to assist his secure steps. The bruises from his latest encounter with the Ice Man were barely healing – he had to admit that Holmes brother was rather rough when he wanted to – but nothing could erase the look of satisfaction and terror he just got from the mighty, genius Sherlock Holmes
The empty pen drive from that day at the pool – the one where he killed Carl Powers -danced inside his pocket, matching perfectly the merry revengeful mood he was in. Holmes had fooled him once, and Jim couldn't say he wasn't disappointed at the perspective of losing his perfect half. His nemesis.
Just the sound of the word inside his head brought shivers to his spine. Pleasure, adrenaline, everything mixed when he thought of Sherlock and his pet, Watson, and nothing would certainly give him more satisfaction than getting to see an unhappy look at the doctor's face. That petty being wasn't supposed to be so close to one of the world's most interesting genius, and yet he was, always getting on the way, perhaps even helping sometimes, but infuriating Moriarty at every beat of his living heart. Hopefully, when the grand finale arrived, his heart would be dead, or else, he would.
The key to everything was, of course, in the circus. Oh, Jim could remember clearly the first time his mother, sick of having him inside all the time, took him to Manchester's Grand Circus, showing him the delights only a good show could proportionate. He could remember all of the spectacular characters he'd seen, and spent the rest of his life living and reliving the marvelous experience of amazement and fun.
The magician was his favourite. Making thinks disappear – such as money, or even better, people – and cutting his assistant in half, just to see her smiling at him moments after. Jim tried that trick once, but his lousy little cousin Jane wouldn't smile at all after he separated her legs from her waist, using his father's old saw they found in the garage. Unfortunate.
There was the ballerina too. Oh, how wonderful was to see her dancing around, her feet jumping and hopping as if they were being scared off by bullets flying around. Dancing around clues, mysteries and murders, just like Sherlock. Now that was some good dancer.
The clown, amazing the audience with his stupidity and dull ways. John Watson would make a perfect clown to the circus, always impressed at his much more intelligent friend and with such a mediocre smile on his common looking face. Thinking high of himself based on society's dull and unimportant ways, proud and privileged to be part of a world to which he obviously did not belong. Sherlock's world, Jim's world.
The bear with a tiny bicycle, trying to keep its balance on a fragile rope, what a perfect portrait of Scotland Yard, the secret service and, specially, Mycroft Holmes. If there was one thing Moriarty detested was traitors, and what a betrayer the Ice Man had been.
My, selling his own brother for his secrets! Jim could barely hold his laughter inside the cab thinking how easy was to get access to the Holmes' lives. And for nothing! Absolutely nothing!
How long, he wondered at the sight of the Westminster Abbey, how long will it take for these two puppets of justice to realize it is all a joke, a perfectly made one to fit two perfect pieces of the lovely and surprisingly distracting game of hide and seek him and Sherlock were playing? Hopefully not soon, for he still had aces in his sleeves, too good cards to waste with simply murdering him too early.
In the end, he knew. He knew the only one good enough to win such entertaining game would be him. Sherlock is weak, he's on the side of the angels, and God knows Hell is way funnier, and always stronger. Pity, though, to lose such a companion, but in the end they always had to die, and Moriarty knew that very well.
The fall will be the grand finale of my circus, he thought as the cabby opened his umbrella at the door of a hotel, handling it to him. The ballerina will fall, the bear will trip and the clown will cry, ladies and gentleman.
Excitement ran through him, and the flashing lights of success shone upon his dreamy face. I am a magician. I hardly own secrecy. I am secrecy.