The Greatest Trick.
-You are one curious creature.
-And you are one rare species.
-Have you ever heard of James Moriarty?
-Vaguely yes.
-Have you ever seen him?
-What do you want?
-Hm, the Devil.
-Who are you?
-Let's just say I'm a... Concerned party.
-I know nothing.
-Just... Answer the question. Have you ever seen Jim Moriarty?
-You wanted the Devil?
-Have. You. Ever. Seen. Moriarty?
-How can you want the Devil, if the world tells you he doesn't exist?
-ANSWER THE QUESTION GODDAMIT!
-Who are you? The Devil isn't something to be taken lightly.
-I want him. I WANT JAMES MORIARTY! I WANT THE DEVIL TO EXIST!
-Already cracking up? We just started.
-Fuck you. He doesn't exist does he? The Devil.
-I do not know. How can I know?
-Get out.
-What?
-GET OUT!
Lestrade leaned on the table. He looked at his messy office.
He was trying to find evidence that Jim Moriarty was indeed real and that Richard Brook was fake. No one ever said the name Moriarty or Jim or James, just the Devil. Cause he was the Devil alright. Making everyone suffer, and being smart and cruel enough to frame the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade had just interrogated a young bloke with short blond hair, a recent scar across his cheek (which looked a lot like the one John recently inflicted on himself after shortly going mad) and sharp blue-green eyes. He claimed that he knew Richard Brook, says that he saw Sherlock pay his friend to act like the criminal mastermind. But Lestrade didn't believe the story one bit. But his mind was wrapping itself around the story, slowly accepting the fact that the Devil never existed, that the White Knight had broken his shield for a fraud, and that the fallen angel with the black wings, had definitively fallen. Lestrade closed his eyes. What was the bloke's name again? Sam?... Simon? No... Sebastian. Sebastian Moran. He asked Mycroft to find his file for him. And, as if reading his mind, Mycroft phoned him.
-Yes, Lestrade here.
-There is no Sebastian Moran.
-... Excuse me?
-Sebastian Moran in this current time does not exist.
-In this current time?...
-Gregory... Moran died three years ago in Afgahnistan. Shot through the mouth.
-Just like Moria-.
-... Gregory? Hello?...
-In Afgahnistan you said?
-Yes.
-John must have been with him.
-There's a chance.
-What rumours were present at the time?
-Moran was shot in the shoulder but recovered quickly with minor consequences and John was sick. Why do you ask? These are just rumours.
-Are you that thick mate?
-Impossible. John is right here in London!
-And where is John? I haven't heard from him in weeks.
-He's probably mourning?
-He would've at least called Mycroft.
-... So John Watson is Sebastian Moran?
-And Sherlock Holmes is the Devil.
-Why?
-Because Mycroft he's bored. He never died. He just convinced the world he didn't exist.
-But... Sherlock's my brother.
-He's bored Mycroft, he's capable of doing anything. You know that better than I do.
-Where did Moran go?
-Gone. I can't lock him up without evidence Mycroft.
-How could we have missed this?
-This is something beyond us Mycroft. An intelligence we have by far underestimated. The Devil isn't something to be taken lightly.
-Underestimated. Yes, and we were too blind to see it.
-Sherlock Holmes was just another pawn in the game, another character. And we were dancing around it.
-It was so real.
-It really was.
Reviews are appreciated! Kisses,
Ritsui.