Moriarty and Moran get on like a house on fire. Screams, flames, no survivors.
In fact, that was how they first met.
Sebastian Moran led a simple life. Kill someone and get paid. It was an arrangement that suited his needs. It wasn't so much the simplicity of the army life, it was the excitement he craved, the thrill. Travel the world, meet new people, kill them. This job wasn't much different.
He was going to get paid up front for this one. The biggest job of his life. Certainly the highest paid.
Kill James Moriarty.
He slipped out of the car (it was a nice touch, really, for them to organise that) and stepped onto the pavement of a quiet North London street.
'They look like houses,' a man leaning on the railings turned to him. 'But really, they're offices.' His voice was high pitched, and had an Irish lilt to it.
'Oh yeah?' Noncommittal. Keep it fast, keep it professional.
'Not just any offices though. Nonono. These,' the man turned round to face him fully, revealing a pleasant-looking face and with an unpleasant expression. 'These belong to the secret service. Although it's a wonder they still call it that. Secret? Hardly…'
Moran felt a stir of doubt. Hired by the British Government? Almost unheard of, but possible.
'How do you know?' he asked the man, who held out his hand and smiled.
'Jim Moriarty.' They shook hands. Without releasing his hold, Moriarty continued. ' I heard you were hired to kill me.' His smile dropped. 'Don't.' Moran removed his hand from the vise-like grip that was now cutting off circulation to his fingers.
'Why shouldn't I?' Moran countered. 'Nothing personal, but it's nice to have a kill giftwrapped like this.'
'It's easy.' Moriarty stuck his hands in his pockets, smiling like a child with a secret. 'If you kill me, you're going to be blamed for this.'
A resounding crash shook the street as two floors above him, every window blew out with a gout of flame, sending shards of glass falling into the road. Moran had ducked into an instinctive army crouch, natural even after all these years, protecting his head. Jim Moriarty just stood there, letting the chaos rain down on him, watching as the buildings across the street began to collapse.
Screams, flames, no survivors.
Moran was going to enjoy this.