And now - *drumroll* - the tattoo of the one and only Mr. Moriarty! Mind you, this is a scene before The Reichenbach Fall, i hope you like it!
Studies in Ink - 4
The water from the shower was raining down onto his shoulders, massaging his muscles. The droplets were running down his arms, drenching his hair, dripping off his jaw and cheekbones, making their way down his stomach and his back. On their way down between his shoulder blades, they passed the one and only tattoo that decorated James Moriarty's body. It was small, a dark spot of black ink, shaped like a crown.
He sighed in relieve, his whole body shaking with anxiety. Today was the day. His costume was already waiting on his bed, simple jeans, t-shirt and a cap. Sure, he preferred his Westwood suits, but pretending to be a tourist was a price he paid with joy, considering that in just a few hours he would be able to wear the crown jewels, if only for a few minutes.
He had the tattoo made at the tender age of seventeen. Of course he had known at a very young age, that he was different from others. More interesting, extraordinary, special. The proof had been the fact that, although he had been successful in killing the despicable Carl Powers by poisoning him, nobody had even suspected it. He was just too clever.
For him it became clear that he was not just a genius, not just a criminal mastermind – he was a king.
He had just finished school though. It was tedious that, just because he was a young man of 17 years, people still thought he was a kid, not thinking of him as a serious threat. Not even his parents suspected that he was the most dangerous person they would ever cross paths with. One would think that you know if you give birth to pure evil and genius, but all his mother ever did was treat him with the utmost care and love – it was despicable.
Jim was a pretty good actor, so it was no surprise to him that the people around him bought the act of him being utterly shocked and depressed by his parents fiery car crash when he was 16, suddenly left alone in the big bad world, with nobody to care for him. How horrible. And not a single soul suspected him. Again.
Of course, nobody knew the real meaning behind the small crown that the tattoo artist stitched into his back, free of charge of course, unless he wanted his wife to know that he secretly preferred to have sex with people who possess the same body parts as he did.
But the anticipation and joy he had felt while the needle had pinched the ink into his skin was nothing compared with the anxiety he felt as the shower washed away the stress of the previous days. Really, it was way too annoying to find people who could think properly. It was worth it though.
How would Sherlock react to this? He was fond of playing chess with the consulting detective, and he was also sure, that he would win. He was the king after all. Sherlock had all the power of a king, if you compared him to a chess piece. He had a whole bunch of helping hands and underlings, but unlike himself, he was not controlling them. The real power lay with the king who knew how to play the game properly, who would stand on the top. After all, in a game of chess, only one king would be victorious.
Slowly, with a wide grin on his face, James Moriarty stepped out of the shower, ready to play. Time to make the first move. Time to solve the final problem.
Little did he know, that only a few weeks later, he would lie on a slab in Molly Hooper's morgue, cold and defeated, the crown between his shoulder blades nothing but a meaningless symbol.
I know, it's way too short. But who cares? Sometimes the short ones are the most thrilling! Did you like it?
Next up: Molly Hooper!