Jim Moriarty felt rather pleased with himself.
"I pulled it off quite well, don't you think, Sebastian? I particularly liked the 'see you soon'."
"Yes, I quite agree – that was a nice touch."
"Of course it was. Now, go and make me some tea. I need to think."
As his favourite sniper left the parlour room, Moriarty tried to brush the cat hair off the sleeve of his black Westwood suit jacket. It had been half an hour since he'd paid a visit to Molly's flat, and she'd probably be finding the note any minute now. He'd found Molly's diary hilarious – what must it be like in that funny little brain? So boring. Oh, and she was so smitten over Sherlock… quiet sweet really, but pathetic at the same time. We're very similar, him and me. He's a sociopath, I'm a psychopath. He's a consulting detective, I'm a consulting criminal. He's as incapable of love as I am. Well, he'd let Molly keep her silly dreams – not much amused Moriarty more than the false hopes of ordinary people.
"SEBASTIAN! Where's my tea?"
"Right here." Sebastian carried a heavy tray with slight difficulty, balancing the teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl and cup and saucer.
"Good. Now off you go – read, take a walk, shoot something, I don't care. I'm planning something and I need to be on my own."
Sebastian turned and walked away without a word, leaving Moriarty to brood over his afternoon tea. He had a problem. The break-in to Molly's flat had gone to plan and he was certain that he'd messed with her head a little, and this new game would be very fun to play. However, he hadn't fully planned it, and in Moriarty's opinion planning was essential to winning – and he never lost. He wouldn't kill Molly, not for a while at least – where was the fun in that? This would be a mind game. No matter how hard she tried Molly wouldn't be able to outsmart him; of course she couldn't beat him at his own game.
DING.
Oh. I've got a text. Moriarty reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. Is it that Adler woman again? He got a shock when he saw the text, and who'd sent it: MH (and Toby). It took him a while to remember that Toby was that bloody cat who'd got cat hair all over his suit earlier. He hated animals, especially when they ruined his clothes; it had been a struggle resisting the urge not to dispose of Toby while he was pretending to be Jim-from-IT.
He laughed aloud. Did the stupid girl think she was cleverer than him? It would be so easy to break her; she had too many weaknesses. This game will be over in no time, Moriarty pondered, but it will be entertaining for a while. Pouring himself another cup of Earl Grey tea, he began to plan his first move. As the first move of the game, it would of course need to be memorable; that was how he operated. What would make the victim feel most afraid, what would mess with their head the most? For each person it was different. Threats, blackmail, taking away something (or someone) that they cared about, reminding them of the secrets and tragedies of their past. Blackmail wouldn't work on Molly – as far as he knew, she was an open book. He didn't know a lot about her past, and she'd never talked about her family. The only thing close to a secret that she had was her crush on Sherlock (and that was hardly a secret). This would be difficult…
"Sebastian?" No answer. "SEBASTIAN!" Still no answer. Furious, Moriarty dialled Sebastian's number.
"Sebastian! Where the hell are you?"
"Sitting in a cafe. Why, is something wrong?"
"Stop sitting around and get back here. Now."
"But you said –"
"Shut up. I need you back here, or I'll have to skin someone to calm my nerves."
Hanging up the phone, he stood up and paced around the room. Impatiently he wandered around his mansion for twenty minutes, flipping through books in the library and smashing a couple of vases out of sheer boredom. Finally, Sebastian arrived.
"About time! Now, I've got a job for you."
"What is it?"
"Molly Hooper. What do you know about her?"
"Er, not a lot, actually."
"Well, do some research. I want to know every one of her fears, secrets, and weaknesses. I expect you to return to me with the information tomorrow, while I'm having afternoon tea. Understood?
"Yes. I'll see what I can do. What's the poor girl done to you, anyway?"
"Nothing: that's the beauty of it. I'm simply terrorising an innocent to brighten up my day."
"Are you sure about this? She's quite close to that detective, Sherlock Holmes. There's no telling what he might do."
"Of course I'm sure; I'm always sure. As for Sherlock Holmes, well, I have a feeling that Molly wants to play this game on her own. Now off you go – my suits won't iron themselves, you know."
"Couldn't you try ironing them, just this once?"
"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous. Now run along."
With an annoyed sigh, Sebastian headed in the direction of the laundry room. Settling down into the black leather sofa, Moriarty began to write in a notebook. This game would need to be planned right down to the smallest detail.