Pool, quiet. He loved the pools. The warm and humid air filled his lungs and every gesture, every movement, was amplified by the echo of the enclosure as a lullaby.
Sitting in the locker room Moriarty was watching John Watson's features, alien to everything, still asleep. It would take a while for him to wake up.
He frowned an instant. That was the reason he did not like to drug people. It was not fun.
Nevertheless that man of pleasant appearance who was sleeping heavily with the body covered with explosives had needed it on having made unconscious both stupid men who had to kidnap him.
And there he was. Sherlock.'s little dog had almost an innocent aspect.
But that dog bit, he smiled.
He understood what Sherlock was feeling to him but was not able to tell why; why this ordinary, crippled and gray man was exercising that force. He just about envied the detective.
He removed the blond hair that was falling down his forehead while he was half-closing the eyes, looking for what was shining in that Welsh exmilitar, later low up to his lips and not satisfy with this, his hand ended lost in the skin of the neck, making him sigh in dreams.
Moriarty would never recognize it, but if there should be any form of which that man was following him as it was following Holmes, he would have taken John with him. An ordinary, boring man ... however...
He wondered if Sherlock holmes also would like to caress him that way. Oh yes. Of course he would- a smile - but now he was all his; during those instants he had everything what was mattering for the detective in his hands
He returned to his lips. Would he have kissed them already?
And he did it; he kissed the lips of the blonde man, making sure itself mentally that he only wanted to go a step ahead of Sherlock in everything, but knowing also he was lying to himself ... because he wanted to do that, and even more if he had time.
if ever he would to kidnap John Watson again he would do it with more time and without drugs.
He would fuck him until he cry. He smiled for a moment, enough to get romantic, Sherlock would arrive soon.
He turned his face with a slap and felt bad when he woke. Would have continued beating him all afternoon.
'But ... what ...'he doubted. Drugs caused disorientation and drowsiness'you ... you are ... your name ... Jim?'
'Jim Moriarty', he saw his eyes opening with a sparkle of terror which only made the desire to the criminal consultant to rush on him increase. The doctor touched the bombs in his body. He gasped. - You already know how it goes, doctor- handed him a headset, 'please..., Mr. Holmes is comming. He will soon join the soirée. Do not go out until I tell you'He did not flinch. He was not stupid.
He left the locker room, leaving him alone, looking for a place to wait for the detective. He licked his lips. They still had flavor to the doctor. He smiled ...
That precious treasure he had stolen from Sherlock ... and he would ever know ...