The city of London was covered in thick gray clouds, that day, and mist veiled everything. People packed the streets, hurrying to get to work, like busy little bees. Sitting in a small café, there was a man, finely dressed in a tailored suit. His hair was gelled back, and he had a strange vibe about him, like the gentleman appearance was a façade to cover up another person. He was obviously waiting for someone, as his tapping fingers hinted. He gestured for the waiter to come and get his order. Two coffees, black, one sugar each, and an apple tart.
The door creaked open, making the bells hanging close to clink against one another. A man, dressed in a similar fashion to the gentleman sitting at the table in the farthest corner entered the café, gesturing another man to wait for him outside.
-Sorry to make you wait so long. Had a…delay. Work.- he excused himself. The man before him took a napkin and spit in his chewing gum.
-I understand- he said –Never let someone else do what you can do better-
-Now, why did you call me? It's been a while since we last saw each other- the waiter wordlessly brought them their coffees and the tart.
-Is it a crime to have a chat with my friend?-
-It is when said friend is busy.- the other man replied, taking a sip from his coffee, not tasting it.
-I have a problem that needs to be solved-
-Ah, there it is-
-Sherlock Holmes has to die-
-So you want a deal?- Crowley said, fixing his coat. Moriarty took a bite out of his apple tart, then wiped his mouth.
-Yes. I kept my end of our bargain. Souls for the city. But I want more. And Sherlock Holmes is the only thing getting in the way.-
-You know how it works, then.- Crowley handed him a pen and a standard contract.
-I don't want you to kill him for me- Moriarty laughed –I want you to make me immortal, so I can be the one watching the life leave his eyes-
-Well then, this is useless- said the King of Hell, folding the contract and pulling out another one. –This one doesn't come cheap-
-I know my business-
-No, you don't.- he warned Moriarty, but the manic look in his eyes as he tore away the paper from Crowley's hands convinced the King that this was one of the most successful deals of his career. With this, Moriarty was willing to sell his soul to him, and come back as a demon. As a puppet who will obey to his will, and who will fall into the darkest pit of Hell if he doesn't.
Moriarty signed, and Crowley took the paper –Pleasure to make deals with you-
-Sire- a minion of his appeared behind them, crouching to his ear's level –Sire, Frederick called. It's the Winchesters. Again.- Crowley nodded, then dismissed him. Moriarty took his coat and hung it on one arm.
-We'll see again. Very soon- he grinned like a mad man, standing up and leaving a ten pounds bill on the table. Crowley sank deeper into the chair, watching him go. A creepy grin spread across the demon's face.
-Oh, we'll see each other…puppet-.
