Bored (ˈbɔːd) - adjective. Weary from dullness, an emotional state experienced when an individual is left without anything in particular to do, unoccupied, and lacks interest in their surroundings.

Moriarty was bored.

Very bored.

Sebastian was away in France, so he had to entertain himself for the time being. Taking a small sip from the steaming cup of tea, he watch the world go by from the safety of the café.

Dull.

His previous obsession, a certain Sherlock Holmes, had thrown himself off the building and died soon after. Maybe he shouldn't have been so hard on him after all, he would have been able to play around a little longer. He felt his mood soured, he had also clearly overestimated Sherlock's abilities, he was merely a little puppet tangled in his own strings.

Pathetic.

Although a few months had since passed, the entire country was still abuzz with the consulting detective's death. Many still believed that Sherlock was genuine, and that he was still alive, and they created groups, online and offline, trading rumours, or to discuss theories of how Sherlock could survive the fall, ideas that their little brains have come with.

He had attended an offline meeting once before, for the fun of it, and he wasn't sure what he was feeling annoyed that the people just can't accept the fact that Sherlock had died, or amused at their ideas, most of them were just plain fictional and downright crazy. Really, Doctors and some wibbly wobbly time-y wimey stuff. Some of them can't differentiate the line between fiction and reality.

Ridiculous.

The media was the one feeding the people with ideas, the main reason of why people were starting to doubt that Sherlock was a fraud, so much that some people had even started an ongoing petition to clear Sherlock's name. Moriarty had to wonder if Mycroft was behind it. A clever move, but all too late. He highly doubt Sherlock would just pop out from his grave and solve cases again. There are live shows where experts debate on the truth, and there's even a new series that features Sherlock's past clients.

Which was airing right now.

'–And this was how the case of the elephant in the room was solved. Thank you very much, Madam.'

'Don't mention it.'

'What was your first reaction when you heard that Sherlock had died?'

'I thought it was a crude joke, but when the news officially announced it– '

Moriarty tuned out whatever the women on screen was saying, going back to people watching instead. The entire room was silence throughout the entire episode, without as much as a single whisper, all eyes glued to the screen. The stunned silence was broken when the show ended, and the entire café burst into excited chatters.

'I heard Sherlock actually– '

'You can get dead bodies– '

'… See? It's possible this way–'

'Bungee rope, seriously?'

Moriarty rubbed his temple, feeling a surge of annoyance coming up. How would it take for them to move on? It's always Sherlock this and Sherlock that, the same meaning in different words, can't they talk about something else?

Annoying. Annoying. ANNOYING.

The bell hanging on the door trilled, signalling the arrival of new customers. Moriarty watch the trio as they walked over at the table to his right, obstructing his view of the telly (and the majority of the customers). The noise that they made completely covered the noise pollution from the other side of the room.

'Finally, it's over!'

'Night shift wasn't as easy as you thought it was, huh lad? Ain't easy for a little kid like you.'

'I'm an adult!'

'With that squeaky voice of yours?

'Hey!'

'Stop teasing him –,' The other guy cut in, raising his hand to signal the waitress.

'See?!'

'– Tea is more important,' He nodded to the waitress, 'Two cups of tea, and a glass of milk. Thank you.'

'Milk? What?'

'A kid needs nutrition to grow.'

'Stop treating me like a child! I'm an adult like the both of you!'

'Oh really?'

'Tell me that when you finish your internship.'

'I can handle patients without you old geezer, like… that time where a man with his head bashed in!'

'Please, it was not "bashed in", and we were there, kiddo.'

'He still hit his head pretty hard though.'

'Very hard you mean, I suspect some foul play at work,' He glanced at the other doctor, 'But we can't confirm anything till he wakes up.'

'His brain activity has spike up for this couple of days, he should regain conscious soon.'

'Can he even remember? Chances of him getting amnesia is high, I'm not even sure if he could remember his own name.'

'I knew him in med school, he's quite the nice guy, and his results are always above average, one of the few top scorers. Pity that he might lose that too.'

'But maybe forgetting might do him some good. You know, the war and stuff.'

'Don't leave me out of the conversation, you idiots!'

Interesting. Interesting. Interesting.

Could they be talking about what he is hoping it to be?

'Double whammy huh? His best friend just had to go and killed himself, and this happens.'

Oh my.

'Don't ignore me!'

'Well, time to close up now,' The café owner said to himself, flipping the "Open!" sign at the door. He look around, the café was almost empty now, except for an old lady sitting at the table next to the window, and a homeless man sleeping near the fireplace. He walked over to the sleeping man, planning to wake him up.

But before he could touch him, the supposedly sleeping man drew back sharply, almost knocking a table down in the process. Bright silvery-green eyes glared at him, the man immediately drew the hood up and covered his dirt-smeared face, hurrying out of the door.

The shop keeper watch the man leave, wondering who this strange person was. He was rather used to homeless people coming in for the fireplace due the cold weather, but that was a new face. He paused, could it be the hermit? He had heard some gossip from some his customers just now, about a green-eyed hermit that gives answers to any questions or problems you have, for a price, that is. He shrugged, well, that was none of his business. Come on! The shop isn't going to close by itself!

He walked over to where the old lady was sitting, she was looking out of the window, eyes trained on something he couldn't see. He coughed, gaining her attention, and quietly informed her that they are closing up. The old lady sipped the last of her now cold tea, and apologies, with a warm smile that did not quite reach her eyes. With a sigh, she slowly manoeuvre towards the entrance on unsteady legs, carefully keeping her balance with a well-wore cane.

The old lady took a step into the crisp, cold air, a stark contrast against the warm café, 'Dear me, such chilly wind!' The wind carried her voice into the warm café, 'Rain be upon us soon,' She ambled down the road, 'Me joints be aching again.' She sighed and shook her head.

'I guess a trip to the hospital will be necessary.'

Postscript

Hiya! Thank you for reading my first story! At least, under this name. I have many handles, but this is the one I'm currently using~

I sincerely apologise if some parts don't make sense. I can't seem to put my muddled thoughts into written words, it doesn't flow as smooth as I wanted it to be. But I'll do my best! Umm... Feel free to give any constructive criticism!

I'll try updating on every 29th, thank you so much again!