The greatest kindness will not bind the ungrateful.
James Moriarty was in love with what he did for a living. Orphaned at age eight, the criminal mastermind in the making had skated through life without being noticed. Not being noticed was an amazing thing for the spider spinning its elaborate web in the dark corner. The few who were able to come near it were the harmless idiotic flies who could not do one thing to stop him from spinning his silky threads. They were his victims. And by now James had other smaller spiders to kill and lure the flies for him, so long as he gave them precise instructions to follow.
So James Moriarty was very content with his life and not completely bored (yet). How could he be? He had only just started a few years ago. Everything was still new, fresh and exciting to him; there was never a dull moment. Sure, he had always wanted someone to find him out, so that was so he could know there was somebody alive in the world as brilliant as him. So he could finally start his Great Game. But for now he had settle for the common folk who were motivated by greed, power, love and lust. James never met anyone face to face; he always preferred to stay in the shadows and speak through other people. It was clean and simple that way. No hassle and no extra time spent on making sure that his face was forever forgotten. Yet at the young age of seventeen, the Spider still had a few more mistakes to make before meeting his other half. Four mistakes, if one were to be exact.
Now James (it was always James, never the common place nickname Jim) rarely got sick. Well, not unexpectedly anyway. Sometimes if there was nothing going on and the boredom was getting to him, he would build up his immune systems to certain poisons or take cocaine. But one completely ordinary and dull weak it happened; he got sick. A simple cold it would seem, but apparently the poison he had consumed over the years did something to his body so that he could not fight off one measly little flu in a day. Instead it stuck around in his body for an entire five. Five days was not something James Moriarty could afford. He did have a... 'business' to manage. So for some reason he decided to see one client face-to-face to take his mind off his illness.
This job was motivated by love. A woman by the age of twenty was tired of her unrequited love for another man, and wanted the new woman, Elisa, out of the picture. Simple enough, though he was hoping for more alluring motivations than jealousy, and love. Get out of this rut already! His ill brain told him. Do something different for fuck's sake! But he was so damn sick the thought went ignored. He pulled a few silky threads, danced so little, and the job was done. A day after James felt like a new man and was relieved that the loud buzz of sickness was gone. The quiet hum of boredom was still there, but it was more than likely that it would forever be there up until the day he died. He was finishing his senior year in high school as a C average student as to stay unnoticed, so he attended the boring place for a day and bribed the parole officer to not mark him absent for the month of February.
Everything was going fine when he walked into his flat, but a few feet in he already knew he was not alone. Not that he was worried; his words, bribes and lies could get him out of anything. Yet at the same time James just wanted to continue his work in silence, and it would seem the woman spread across his couch would let him do anything but. She was twenty years old and nobody new. It was the woman he had met while he was sick. Skinny legs were spread across the white couch in a very sexual way, her entire aura screamed Fuck me! and I'm so desperate! When she spoke, James did not listen; there was no need to. She was so ungrateful for his services and would love to have just a little something more. Something that was actually worth the money she paid him. Whore.
"Excuse me? Mister Moriarty? Did you hear me? I said I would like to ask for just one more thing."
A manicured hand grazed his chest in a passionate way. The woman, Chloe, was petite red head with boring blue eyes; James found that most blue eyes were rather dull. He always observed that she was only wearing a designer trench coat, or so she wanted people to believe. It was really just a knock off. Her perfume was cheap and she just had plastic surgery on her nose. Chloe's one true love still didn't love her, or at least show any acknowledgement that she existed. She had spent the past few nights watching American drama shows and eating Mars Bars. Pathetic.
James grinned down at her and went along with it. "And what would I be able to give such a gorgeous woman such as you? Do tell me how things are going with Matt now that Elisa is dead?"
Chloe flinched. "He doesn't know I exist, which is why I need a little something more..." She trailed off and looked at him suggestively. James raised an eyebrow and smirked. Oh, the common people and fascination with sex! He certainly wasn't a virgin, oh no, no, no! But this woman before him was soo dull! Yet Moriarty knew how to make it a lot more interesting.
The Spider leaned down to the idiot fly's ear and whispered, "Name it."
Chloe grinned a boring grin, and her coat dropped to the floor. Boring body, boring kisses, boring roaming hands. James went along with all it and thought of things that were interesting to get the hard on she wanted to see.
He pretended to be somewhat out of breath and cried out, "Bedroom. Now!" He led her down the hall and opened the door to his favorite room in the entire flat. It was dark and cold inside, and Moriarty just loved it. His favorite shirt had been torn off by Chloe a few minutes before and he welcomed the crisp chill with a sigh. The aforementioned woman kept grabbing at his pants, moaning the entire time. James rolled his eyes at what she was saying. Well, what she was trying to say anyway. The moron was coming undone not even a few minutes in.
The criminal picked her up and placed the cold metal table in the middle of the room. He grinned down at her evilly and chuckled.
"Lay still for a moment. It will be worth it. Trust me." The petite red head nodded, mumbled something about his pretty brown eyes and liking younger guys. James grabbed four leather belts and tied all her limbs down to the table.
"Ooh, bondage. I knew you looked like the kind that liked it rough." Chloe smiled flirtatiously and batted her fake eyelashes at the minor towering over her. James didn't even bother to smile back now and continued to mark her with a black sharpie on precise areas of her body. The woman was thoroughly confused and needy now. Not that it mattered; the fly was stuck on the spider's web and could not escape.
"Would you touch me already? For the love of god, you're driving me crazy Jimm-OW! What the he-mph!" James fucking hated it when people called him Jim or Jimmy. She deserved that slap, and he really wouldn't have gagged her so soon if she wasn't such a brat.
Ignoring her muffled screams of protest, James walked over to the tall, black cabinet in the corner and opened it dramatically. He grabbed several 'tools' and placed them on the cart next to the table, just out of Chloe Fenton's eye sight. James giggled and skipped over to Chloe, placing a kiss on her cheek.
"Don't move! I'll be right back, Sweetie!" Moriarty said in a sickly sweet voice before walking out of the room with an obvious bounce in his step. He closed all the curtains, locked the windows, locked the doors, and turned off every light. James preferred to work without being interrupted. Now this work was different than what he had been planning for the evening, but it was still welcomed with open, eager arms.
James returned to the now crying woman and cooed, "Now, now," while removing the gag from her mouth.
He rubbed circles into her left hand in a soothing manner. "Stop crying."
"Everything will be just fine." His free hand grasped something cold and smooth on the stand next to him.
He wiped her tears away and watched her visibly relax. Smirking at her stupidity he thrust the long knife into her left thigh, and laughed at her screams. James watched the blood trickle down from her flabby skin in amusement. He then picked up a small scalpel and carved into her skin. Not deep enough to completely drain her, yet deep enough for her to writhe in agony. James carefully traced the marks he drew on her previously.
When finished with that, he took a step back to appreciate his handiwork. The blood was a beautiful red and it was dripping off her disgusting tan body with ease. James was having so much fun! He hummed a favorite Beatles song of his, Hello Goodbye, and pondered on what else it needed. Brown eyes lit up; he plunged two fingers into her arm and began to paint her face with bloody designs.
After painting pictures and smearing the blood all around, boredom began to seep in. Chloe was starting to fade and not screaming as much as before. Even being tortured she was boring! James glanced over at his other toys; usually he liked to stick to his knives, but now he had to really spice things up. The poisons were kept in drawer, and would stay in there for now. Most of those were extremely rare, and Moriarty would be damned if he used them on such an uninteresting person. Bright blue attracted his eye to the electric toys hanging on the wall. Now those would be fun, but it would end the game too soon.
"But then you aren't a game really worth playing, now are you? Oh well." James rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen. He grabbed a container filled to the brim with salt and meandered back to Chloe, mumbling miserably something about dull women and boredom.
Chloe eyed the salt warily and started crying again. "O-oh my god! You're a c-cannibal! Don't-t-t eat me-e-e-e!" Chloe cried out in the most annoying high-pitched voice.
Once again, Moriarty rolled eyes. Lazily he poured salt into her wounds, smiling slightly when he heard her scream in agony. Hating that she was still soo boring, James stabbed her in the heart with a butcher's knife.
Finally. Moriarty thought, With her high- pitched voice forever gone the dogs will stop going crazy.
To the day he died, James Moriarty never met anybody face-to-face as himself. The aftermath was just too bothersome to deal with.
Sherlock Holmes was the only exception.