James Moriarty had a smile on his face when his eyes landed on her. She was a tall woman in a black dress which, he immediately noticed, was tight in all the right places.
"What's your name, darling?" He meltingly inquired, anticipating the cool curve of her lips to form the name he already was quite aware of.
Much to his delighted surprise, her remark was curt and achingly frank. "Depends on who's asking, doesn't it?"
"I'm a friend of your brother Sherlock." Moriarty's grin grew wider across his charming face.
She scoffed, adding a skeptical chuckle as if to assure him that he had amused her profusely. "Sherlock doesn't have friends."
James Moriarty drew back playfully, assuming his role as an actor. "Then I'm his archenemy."
"Can't be." She snapped and crossed her curved legs which gracefully flaunted out from the hem of the dress.
"And why is that?"
"Because I am Sherlock's archenemy. Understand?"
"Perfectly."
"I'm Rosalie."
"You're what?" was his prompt response, curling his eyebrows in curiosity.
"Rosalie Holmes. But you already knew that, didn't you, James?"
The dark haired man smirked, nodding his head ever so slightly as he sat down in the leather seat across from her.
"So what will it be, Mr. Moriarty? a drink or a kiss?"
"You have clearly placed me between a rock and a hard place, Miss Holmes."
"My little brother informs me that you very much enjoy it."
"And how would Sherlock," Moriarty leaned forward in his seat as he spoke. "be privy to my preference of position between two hard objects?"
Rosalie slowly raised her pointer finger up to her lips. "I would enjoy being between you and say a wall. That is, if I can control the need to have you right here and now."
He evenly studied her expression, hunting for truth in the mosaic of lies riddling her oval face. "I can safely conclude that degrading activities don't suit you, Miss Holmes."
Rosalie didn't so much as flinch when he wounded her pride. "You do speak bold words for a coward, Moriarty." she remarked with cold civility. "If you ever want to go back on your previous statement...you know where I'll be."
As fluidly as she had crossed her legs and cocked her head, ready for battle, when he approached her, Rosalie Holmes was briskly strutting away from him. Her body swayed as she did so, hoping he would take in the full affect of her aesthetically pleasing assets.
Moriarty noticed.
I*BELIEVE*IN*SHERLOCK*HOLMES
"You look nice," Sherlock sniffed.
"Your keen observational abilities are still sharp, I see, little brother."
"I saw you walking down the street." He met his sister halfway down the hall from his apartment. He had his violin and stick poisted in his hands, and a haughty look permanently plastered to his face.
Mummy always said that his face would freeze like that. Rosalie thought with a small smirk.
"You've been walking for at least six blocks. Your left foot only points out to the side and your right arch," Sherlock glanced down at her red shoes. "bends inward in those atrociously overpriced heels when you've been walking a long way."
His sister snatched the instrument from his hands and played a somber tune without a word.
"You've improved," he noted, hinting a subtle pride for her. "What brings you here, Rose? Death of a beloved family member? Mycroft, I hope."
"I spoke to Moriarty."
"He's boring and an ass."
She arched an eyebrow. "He's very much like you. And the general consensus does agree that you're a boring ass."
"Is that all?"
Rosalie handed the violin back to her brother, starting to step back to leave the dimly lit apartment house. "Mycroft sends his regards."
"Where are you going?" Sherlock took one step closer to his sister.
"I'm going to prove Moriarty wrong."
"Where? How?"
She smiled smoothly. "Ladies shouldn't talk about what happens in the bedroom, Sherlock."