The chiming of an alarm clock echoes in a quiet bedroom tucked away in a discreet corner of London. Sunlight pours through pale blue curtains, casting a glow over very simple Victorian decor, creating a cool periwinkle light that is soothing on the eyes of one James Moriarty. It is eight in the morning, right on the nose as he sits up, the chill of an early morning breeze pouring into the room through his open window and onto his bare body. The hairs on his neck rise and his skin rises with goosebumps at the feel of it. Stiff muscles are stretched languidly, arms over head and back arched so every sinewy muscle is torqued just right to relieve tension. Jim's lips parted with a yawning groan of relief as he relaxed, slumping forward and hanging his head, just listening to the breeze, the traffic outside, and the chime of his alarm. With a practiced hand he swirled his fingers through the air theatrically before pushing the snooze button and lying back down.
Four more minutes, then I'll get up. Just four. Need a moment to think...
He listens to the quiet all around him and soaks it in, his tongue dragging out of his mouth and over his chapped lips as he rested there. The clock does not tick, but Jim imagines a rhythmic 'tck tck tck tck' in his head as he lets those four minutes pass. His mind rushes like a waterfall, every single thing he needs to do blowing across his mind in seconds. Chiming soon starts again, and pulls him out of his steady stream of thought. He rises out of bed, sweeping across the room to grab a dressing gown to slip his nude body into, turning off his alarm as he walks past it. Swaddled in fine navy satin, Jim makes his way out of his room and down stairs to his kitchen where his morning cuppa is waiting and his house keeper Agnes is cooking up two poached eggs, a bit of wheat toast, and some goetta imported from Germany. Jim's favorite Thursday breakfast. The woman need not be told what he wanted, after six years she simply knew. Jim sat down at the little breakfast nook in his kitchen with his cuppa, the morning paper folded neatly to the side, and a stack of letters beside it all addressed to him.
Ahh, to be a philanthropist. So many problems to solve, so little time... thought Jim, as he poked the letter stack idly with one finger, bringing his tea to his lips and taking a sip. His eyes didn't leave the letters until Agnes whispered a soft greeting of 'Good morning Jim.' as she always did. He appreciated her softness, it was so very kind of her to know how he hated loud noises first thing in the morning, and loud voices he loathed even more-so. He gave her a bright and charming smile as she brought him his breakfast and took her left hand in his, kissing her knuckles lightly, watching her pale freckled face heat with a blush that was almost as red as her hair. Her blue eyes sparkled a bit as she smiled down at him.
"Thank you, Agnes... I'd never get through my morning's withou' you." he whispered to her, letting her slim fingers slide out of his hand as he turned attention to his breakfast and his paper.