Confrontation
Jim Moriarty watched as light danced across the surface of the pool like stars in the night sky, and wondered how much longer he would have to wait. He hated waiting, the time dragging by at snail's pace, it wasn't his style, and neither was patience. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit and listened for footsteps, but none came. John was most likely still unconscious in the pool showers, and if he did wake up before his time, Seb could easily deal with it, and so there was nothing for him to do, except wait for the Virgin to arrive.
Footsteps.
It could be Sherlock, or it could just be Seb, but just in case it was the former, Jim crept backwards until he was stood behind the door, adrenaline slightly seeping into him. Something fun, for once, something fun, within the dull monotonous tone of everyday life, something, finally, to keep his attention. He regretted that it would not last very long.
Something was wrong.
The footsteps were not of the detective, the sound not of those made by the type of shoes he wore, and, rather unexpectedly, they were also not Seb's heavy-set boots. Jim rounded the corner again and stood at the end of the pool, glancing around him until his gaze settled on the man that had no appeared from the opposite door. From Moriarty's point of view, there was little he could analyse at such a distance, save that the man was most likely in his thirties, and, judging by the spring and power in his step, was most likely used to regular running.
"James Moriarty, I presume?" He smiled, as if he had right and reason for being here, at a pool in the middle of the night.
"Jim" Moriarty said, keeping his cool with ease, things like this were what life was worth living for, the little times when even the spider could not control his web, as if it had been disturbed by some external factors, in this case, the bow-tied man stood across from him "I prefer Jim"
"Ah, ok, Jim" The man grinned back, his eyes twinkling like the lights on the pool.
"I'm sorry but, is there something you'd like?" Jim smiled "It's just, I'm in the middle of a double murder and all that, and I'm not exactly planning on making it a triple one"
This threat seemed to roll off the other man's shoulders, and he swaggered around to the longest side of the pool, his hands in his pockets.
"Ah, funny you've mentioned that, because it's exactly what I came here to talk to you about…" He chirped, but his eyes were unmoving from Moriarty "I'm afraid it can't happen. No hard feelings and all, but Sherlock and John… They're not for you to play with"
"And why's that?" Moriarty smirked.
"Because they're protected" Came the other man's response, his smile faded into sobriety.
"I'm sorry…" Jim drawled, approaching the other man, hand on the gun he had kept in his back pocket for cases of extreme emergency. He wondered, with a fleeting thought, where Seb was "You know my name, but I don't seem to know yours… bit rude, isn't it?"
The stranger smiled, as if this was a question he was often asked, which, Jim guessed, he probably was. Now he was closer to him, more details had become apparent. There was traces of ginger hair on the stranger shoulder, caught by his tweed jacket. Another one, was this ginger-haired person (female, judging from the average height it would have taken for the hair to be there) the reason why Seb was not here? Jim couldn't help but smile slightly. This would be amusing, if his sniper had been overpowered by a woman. Something had caught Jim's attention, something not evident from the distance they had originally been stood at – This man's eyes did not fit the rest of his face. All his features were fairly young, no age lines, as if the man had lived a happy life, but his eyes were those of a soldier, the same eyes Sebastian and John Watson wore, the eyes of a man who has seen too much and yet will never stop seeing even more, but more importantly, there were the eyes of a man who had killed, and that made him a threat.
"The name's John Smith"
"How boring…" Moriarty retorted, rolling his eyes "You could've at least been inventive"
John Smith shrugged his shoulders, and stepped closer to Moriarty.
"Back to the point, Jim. Leave Sherlock and John alone"
"Do you really think you can stop me?" Jim laughed, although as he did so, he took an unconscious step back "Are you sure you really know who I am?"
"I know who everybody is, James Moriarty – Unmarried, one brother, station master in the west of England, originally born in Ireland – and if you knew anything, you would know to stay away"
Moriarty was about to fire back a retort, the type that roll so easily off his tongue, as a way of masking his mild surprise at the amount of information this man knew of him, and why, until this night, he had never even set eyes on this John Smith, however, his words were cut short of him when the other man turned, and with a final smile at him, left, without another noise.
"I'd like to see you try…" He murmured, despite the absence of anyone but himself to hear it.