The engine hummed. There was little traffic so the cab smoothly headed to his temporary accommodation. Moran was driving. It was the same cab that he had used to ride the clueless detective from the Yard and played a "fabulous" short fairytale video. Oh, that face of Sherlock Holmes. If only he could've taken a couple photos at Riley's. He chuckled low in the cab.
At Moran's question, Moriarty was snapped back to "present". Moran, his trustable lieutenant, had never failed Moriarty; he had cruelty like a tiger on its prey. The sniper would be the only person whose death Moriarty would lament for if briefly. The two men checked the plan for the last time. Sherlock Holmes was brilliant, cunning, and manipulative. He might be able to find his way-out in any circumstances. However, the consulting criminal knew the only weakness of his rival. Unlike him, Sherlock was on the side of the angels. He cared about people. Moriarty had seen it in the eyes of the sleuth when John Watson walked out in a vest laced with explosives.
All of a sudden an uneasy feeling crawled upon the criminal mastermind. Sherlock also knew that his only Achilles' hill was found. The sleuth may have a back-up plan to thwart his scheme. John Watson was not enough this time. He had positioned his men close to Sherlock's friends for months just in case. One was disguising as a plumber, the other was working for the Scotland Yard. He would need two more snipers on Sherlock's landlady and the DI.
At the last moment, Moriarty hesitated for a minute, stopping Moran from making calls. A new name had just popped in his mind. Molly Hooper. Should he add another sniper for Molly Hooper? The naïve girl of the Bart's morgue? As far as he remembered, Molly Hooper was clearly not someone of importance to Sherlock Holmes. That's why he hadn't set a sniper near her. Wait a moment. No girl had refused him; Molly Hooper was the first of its kind.
I should send her a nice present. How about the bashed body of the man that she had secretly fancied?
Three snipers would suffice his purpose. Moran gave the order: they were to shoot their targets if Moran didn't text them to abort the mission. Moran had to be able to watch Sherlock's fall and John Watson at the same time.
Moriarty's mobile alerted an incoming text. From the detective. Bart's? Sherlock Holmes was hiding there with his sidekick. Better! Molly Hooper would get the special present faster. His lips twitched into an evil grin. Let the sleuth decide the place of his death. Sherlock Holmes deserved a little generosity from him for making his life less dull for months. Time for details. It was hours later that Moriarty changed into one of his best suit. Moran got his rifle ready.
Moran disappeared to take his position, possibly a building opposite to the hospital. Moriarty took the stairs to the rooftop. A phone call in 15 minutes to the doctor... A scandalous suicide that no one would question why. A fake genius. Kitty Riley did her job well for now. The criminal sighed and played Stayin' Alive. His life would become boring again. He might regret this moment... If only Sherlock hadn't been a sentimental brainy bastard. He cussed Sherlock for his inability to stand on the same side of his. They could've have worked together, conquering the world and creating more mysteries... Sherlock Holmes was in the way of his business and had to be gotten rid of. Minutes later, Moriarty could see the tiny blonde man catch a cab. He sent a reply to the detective and waited. Stayin' Alive was his own requiem for his nemesis. The door creaked open.
Something went wrong. Sherlock started to chuckle out, stepping down from the ledge.
"Don't think for one second that I am one of them."
That bastard took off the last veil and showed who he was. He was neither good nor evil. Sherlock Holmes had been too thorough. He saw his chance and the three snipers wouldn't work. The scandal would die out fast. The truth would prevail with the former clients of Holmes testifying for the detective's genius and innocence. A complete downfall... of Jim Moriarty. The consulting criminal had risked everything to crush his enemy, even giving up his anonymity. He was defeated, exposed to outside world. What was left for him? The little consolation would be to drag down his rival along.
Holding out his right hand to Sherlock, his left hand was already moving to get his gun out. For a second, a lot fleeted across his mind. Would his death worth it? He had no doubt about it. That was the only way to make his archenemy complete his story. He couldn't allow any way-out. He uttered out the last words,
"Well, good luck with that."
Moriarty was sneering when he pulled the trigger.
