It has been a long and unfortunate day. I close my eyes and roll my neck until I feel a satisfactory pop. The smooth leather of the office chair groans not unlike the bull it once resided on as I shift my weight uncomfortably. Someone has just left my office. A client who I cannot care to place-another loose end to be cut short by my favourite helper, later in the day. After all, people who wish their families dead because of issues with a marrige shouldn't be alive, should they? They are bad people. This makes me smirk crookedly. I feel my fingers reach out for the cool glass of bloodred wine I have been ignoring since Sebastian brought it in before the meeting with the client. He wasn't allowed to sit in with us, nooo. I learned long ago that he intimidates people. The wine bites at my tongue when I swallow it, but I am uninterested; the chair groans again. I try to find something to interest me, but even Sherlock is being dull. He is so stupid sometimes. Always wanting things to be more difficult than they are. I am the man with the key because I am the man who can see the forest and the insects on the trees without focusing on either one, because the one that interests me doesn't exist. I have had this problem for as long as I remember. None of my brothers were clever enough and the adults were only misleading, not understanding this. It isn't a mood-I know by now-it is me.
I place my shoes on my matching cherry wood desk. Conversations drift in my mind and become so loud I almost throw the glass..or shatter it. Just something to shut them up. Suddenly, I find myself returning to the Slieve Leag's cliffs of Ireland. The climb to the cliff was hard, and as the youngest brother, I had difficulties with keeping up...I shouted a few times at them as they led me onwards and quickly abandoned me. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if they didn't come back. I remember standing on the edge, ignoring all signs of caution. Nothing interested me. I passed through schooling easily, staying rather unknown while being a know-it-all. It was a gift, I supposed. People were bullied; I was ignored. Everything was grey and dull, but on that cliff...on that cliff, I found my death, my life, and my everlasting ennui as I looked down. Images filled my mind that I, at ten years old, couldn't comprehend. Images of the rushing wind as it stung my face on my way down to the sea and rocks below. Images of blood and a mangled body. Images that filled me with horror, yet a mobid curiosity, like a cobra has for the vibrations of music. That was the first time I, James Moriarty, considered an alternative to suffering through this thing called 'life'. I can still smell the air and the copper of the imaginary blood on the boulders below. I can feel the air rushing past me as I make my way blissfully down...
WHAM!
I fell asleep, lulled into the caress of drowsiness by the bitter wine and ennui. Sebastian wakes me with earth-shattering banging on the door and whines of "you okay, boss?" Yes, I am fine, I snap back viciously. He enters cautiously and I realise I have spilled my wine onto the licorice floor by following his gaze. He has been around me long enough to not dare bring it up. "'S a clien' waitin' outside the door," he says dryly, "d'you wanna let 'em in?" And so it begins. Will this end it all, or lead me to my own Slieve Leag?