It was often the evenings when he was not around. Those were the strangest times. She would take to biting at the skin around her thumb, deep in thought, only to realise that it was bleeding once more. She would wonder what she was doing. She would wonder if he was alive. The signs all pointed towards it. She needed little much more proof. Living with John was making her angry enough anyway. She had planned it out already. She would tell him who she was. Kill him in the knowledge that Holmes didn't actually die to save him. Holmes was a scoundrel.
Jim Moriarty was willing to die, safe in the knowledge that he had taken out his competition. Jim had promised he knew what he was doing. But he hadn't. Holmes had somehow outwitted him. At least, that was how it appeared... If it really was the case, she still had work to do.
Holmes would still have to pay. His dirty tricks would get him nowhere. She would have to make him see this. Jim wins in the end.
It would be too easy, she thinks as she accepts a kiss from the man she is to butcher.
