The shop closed early that night. It was understandable really. Jim had watched as the last customer stormed in; red in the face and shouting something about shoddy workmanship and poor quality leather.
He had thrown his shoes in the face of the stock-still cobbler and continued his tirade. Jim saw what the yelling customer missed and thusly knew what he did not. He saw the shop keeper's eyes narrow, trigger finger twitch, hands clench into fists nails digging deep half crescents into calloused palms. He knew that behind that man's calm exterior lay coiled something just as twisted and blood-thirsty as Jim's own heart.
The man stalked out of the shop and the proprietor turned the sign to closed. Jim smiled, revealing sharp canine teeth meant for ripping. Why not do a kindred spirit a favor?
Sebastian Moran watched Sir Conelly leave his establishment and bully his way down the street. Halfway down the street it almost seemed as if a shadow detached itself from the wall and followed him round the corner. Sebastian found himself fervently hoping it was wraith or some other type of nefarious creature that would rip Conelly apart. Images began to form in his mind, Conelly lying dead in the snow, blood spilling out dying the wintery whiteness around him bright red.
Once upon a time he would have done it himself. Knife in hand he would have stalked the man, cornered him and sliced beautiful dripping crimson ribbons into his skin. He used to enjoy, when he had the opportunity, sitting and watching his victims dim. Now he couldn't afford that sort of luxury, bills were increasing and customers decreasing. Sir Conelly was an absolute bastard but he paid his bills which was more than could be said for some.
The shoes sat abandoned on the workbench. Conelly had apparently found fault with both the leather and the workmanship. In truth Sebastian couldn't blame him. Although a cobbler's son, he had no real gift for it himself and with the price of leather what it was these days, well, one made due.
Bottle of brandy in hand he sat at his workbench and pulled the offending shoes towards him. Just a small drink and then to work.
Sebastian awoke to a foul taste in his mouth and a crick in his neck. He somehow managed to feel both stiff and fuzzy at the same time. There was an accompanying rhythmic pounding in his head, reminiscent of a nail being pounded into a shoe. Blearily he opened his eyes and found before him the most beautiful pair of men's shoes he had ever seen. They were made of a strange sort of leather; paler to the eye and softer to the touch than he had ever encountered.
There was something graceful about the shoes; they appeared as they were made for motion. Perfection in shoe form.
The rhythmic pounding in Sebastian's head grew louder, more insistent and he realized that the noise was actually emanating from behind him. He whirled around picking up an awl from the table and brandishing it in the direction of the noise. The pounding was coming from a small man who was seated at the other workbench. He was steadily hammering nails into shoes that appeared to be a women's version of those that lay on the bench behind Sebastian.
The man was immaculately dressed in the style of a gentleman and had small, pale, elegant hands that seemed to dance as they worked.
"Who are you?"
The small man's head snapped up, revealing wide chocolate brown eyes which were curiously like a doll's eyes; flat and cold. Instead of responding he smiled at Sebastian. A smile was supposed to bring light and warmth to a face but this one did quite the opposite; the sharpness of his canines doing little to help.
"What are you doing here? How did you get into my shop?"
Sebastian was still brandishing the awl in the man's direction but he seemed unconcerned by the sharp object being pointed his way. In the blink of an eye the man had jumped up onto the table and seated himself, legs swinging, face to face with Sebastian. He leaned in, nose mere centimeters from the sharp tip of the awl.
"James Moriarty at your service darling!" He leaned back legs swinging even more wildly and let off a high pitched giggle.
"Did you make these?" Sebastian gestured to the beautiful shoes now adorning both work benches.
"Yes." Another peal of child-like giggles.
"They're exquisite. The leather, I've never seen anything like it."
"Oh I wouldn't say that Sebby dear!"
"What do… Wait, how do you know my name?"
The man jumped off the table landing a hair's breadth from Sebastian.
"Certainly not because you told me. Rude. Rude. Rude." Each "Rude" was punctuated by a finger-tap to Sebastian's temple.
Momentarily speechless he barely managed to choke out a mangled apology before this James Moriarty was off, moving about the workroom touching running his hands over every available surface. He moved in an odd manner, with strange bursts of dancer-like grace interspersed with six-year old stumbling.
"I'm here to help you darling. To be blunt your business is failing and your customers are, shall we say, a bit not good?"
This question was apparently hilarious for James doubled over in another fit of giggles. Sebastian waited it out and soon enough James straightened up and skipped over seating himself on the stool next to Seb. He leaned in resting, resting his head on Sebastian's shoulder and staring up at him with those peculiar and yet somehow lovely dead eyes.
"Do you want to know what they're made of love?" Taking his silence for a yes James continued in his whisper giggle voice, "Sir Conelly was a pompous ass wasn't he? So pompous the he was sure he'd be able to ward off a small slight attacker like me."
Suddenly the giggles cut off and James' tone became dead flat matching his eyes. A chill ran down Sebastian's spine.
"Does murder bother you Seb? It doesn't bother me, in fact I like it. I think you just might too." He licked his lips. "It was so pretty watching him die. You understand don't you?"
Sebastian could hardly breathe. He could see it in his head in such vivid detail, and James was right; it was so beautiful.
"Yes, I do."
James giggled at that, almost falling off his stool with the force of it.
"I made him into shoes!"