"You own tiny torture devices. Why am I not surprised?"
"It´s not a proper torture device, Seb. It was designed to pass cleanly through the prisoner's neck with one blow."
"And you bought a doll-house sized model because…?
"Louise XVI was given one exactly like this one when the Guillotine man presented his project. History says he kept it to chop off dolls´ heads when he was bored. I am a king, remember? And I am really bored." Jim sat cross-legged on his armchair, the tiny guillotine in front of him on the coffee table. A rag doll laid limp by it, and so did a paper crown.
"Please tell me you are not planning to wear that, Boss," the Tiger complained as he looked at the crown.
"Problem?"
Moran sighed a "No" and fetched his book. James could have fun on his own.
"Off with her head," the consulting criminal giggled childishly.
It took Seb a whole minute to realize he was being watched. No, not watched. Stared at.
"What?" he grumbled.
"The King is sitting on his balcony," Moriarty pouted. "He can't pull the lever from up there."
"Oh, for God´s sake!" The sniper banged his novel shut and leaned over the coffee table. He then pulled the toothpick-like "lever".
The blade fell with a soft thud, and the doll´s red-haired head rolled to the floor.
"I don't get paid enough for things like this."
"What was that, Tiger?"
"Nuthing, Boss."