Professor James Moriarty was drinking coffee. His feet were resting on the desk in front of him, about an inch in front of the keyboard. He was clasping a mug in his left hand and fiddling with his tie with his right.
Moriarty was bored. Bored, bored, borrrrred. He had so many brilliant plans to carry out, so many things to do. He could find a new way to have fun, which would probably include screaming. But could he be bothered?
He mulled over the concept for a few seconds. Nope, he couldn't.
Bored, bored, bored.
Boring soufflé with dull cream on top.
Moriarty lifted his feet off the desk and swung round on his chair. He carried on spinning for a few seconds. When he began to slow down, he set himself off spinning again. And again. And again.
Ok, that was boring too. He stopped and placed his feet on the floor.
Moriarty bent his knees forward. The chair rolled forward. He leaned back. The chair went back. Backwards, forwards. Backwards, forwards. Backwardsforwardsbackwardsforwardsbackwards.
Borrrred.
He looked into his coffee mug, which was bright pink with daisies on. The coffee swirled inside it. Dull brown coffee in a dull mug. Okay, the coffee in question was deliciously expensive civet coffee, made from beans hand-picked from civet cats' droppings (having been matured to perfection inside the cats' digestive systems), but it was still just coffee. Coffee, coffee, in a boring old mug.
Moriarty reached behind him for a wine glass that was sitting helpfully on the desk. He poured the coffee into it experimentally. Coffee in a wine glass. It was refreshingly interesting. He took a sip.
Nope, it still tasted like boring coffee.
He dropped his head onto the back of the chair. He was a genius, a genius with the resources and the authority to do whatever he *? !*!ing well wished. He could order his... friends... to throw themselves off a cliff and they'd have to do what he asked. So why was life so boring?
After a few seconds, he reached for his pistol and pointed it at the wall.
Nope, boring, plus he liked the wallpaper. He lazily swung it to face the door instead. He could cut a perfect rectangle in the door if he wanted. A tiny door, so he could provide facilities for elves. Elves?! Where did that come from? Why elves?
He laughed as a sudden thought came to him. He could have a whole army of elves, all squeaking as they hurried to obey his every command. If they didn't perform to standard he could decimate them.
Decimate. Now there was a nice word. Remove one-tenth... Yes, he could get them to stand in a line, and slowly walk up the ranks, the elves squeaking in terror while he looked on mercilessly... and when he got to the tenth... bang. Elf-brains everywhere. Did elves have brains? What even were elves? And why on earth was he even thinking this?
The boredom was taking its toll.
Moriarty took a careful aim. His secretary could clean up afterwards. Did he have a secretary? If he did, this would be a nice surprise. A secretary doing his cleaning because he so thoughtfully blew a hole in the door. He smiled to think of it. Secretaries didn't do cleaning, but who cares? Serves them right for working for him. He curled his finger elegantly around the trigger.
Then she walked in.