AN: A little ficlet written using the moonblossom prompt generator, with the words "Moriarty, Mrs. Hudson, Liquor." (Actually Liqueur, but I wrote this at 5 am and didn't realize there was a difference besides spelling.)
He'd come to kill her. Really, he had. Well, not him per se. He didn't like to get his hands dirty. That's why he'd brought along Sebastian.
Watching the life leave her eyes as she tried to scream through Sebastian's strangling grasp would have been delicious. Or maybe he'd have used the blade. Jim did love blades. Guns, while practical, lacked a certain intimacy. Good for business, bad for boring Sunday afternoons.
The possibilities had been endless, each one eliciting a sensation more arousing than the last as he'd imagined the look on dear Sherlock's face when he put the pieces together. Jim wouldn't have just let him know who the culprit had been, after all. Savoring Sherlock's attempts to maintain his cold persona would have been half the fun.
Jim had promised him. The burning had to start somewhere; might as well be the doddering landlady.
She'd offered them scotch when they'd arrived.
Not the cheap kind either. No, an obvious gift from big brother to Sherlock and Sherlock to not-a-housekeeper. Jim ran a finger along the length of the bottle. Pity he couldn't share it with its intended recipient, but that's also why he'd brought along Sebastian.
Bodies sliding along each other. Covered in blood. Tears. The potential defense wound – she was frail but Jim had no doubt she'd have thrown a baking sheet at him if given half the chance. Or maybe stabbed one of them with knitting needles? That's what people like her did, didn't they? Knit things.
Jim had had plans.
Still, she'd offered them the good scotch and it would have been rude to refuse.
Well, that and she'd started off the conversation with, "If you're here for that dreadful mess of his, it's the other flat. I have to warn you, it's quite horrible. Splattered paint all over the walls and other things in the carpet, if you understand my meaning. I'm not normally one to wish ill fortune on others, but I have to say that otter was right to bite him where it did."
That really wasn't a story a person could ignore.