10. Remains of the week

James Moriarty was lost in thought when he packed his stuff. One small bag, some stuff from the bathroom and that was it. A beautiful house full of precious items, a garden most meticulously tended and sculptured to perfection, clothes and personal belongings worth a fortune – so much he left behind and yet so little.

Money, possession, wealth and the life-style that came with it – that had been an issue when he started his career but that had been a long, long time ago.

Today it didn't matter.

What did matter though was to be on the top of things, the greatest of them all. Top dogs' top dog or die in the attempt – just like Sherlock did.

Risk one's life to prove who's best.

On that score, for the first time in his long-standing career as the master-villain, Moriarty had a mixed balance to show.

True enough, Mycroft had delivered what could easily be made into a hangman's noose around Iceman's professional neck. And Sherlock, the great Sherlock Holmes, had fallen for the faked data on the Harry Potter netbook, a thing the Consulting Detective would certainly chew on. But - Mycroft had presented his opponent with a two-sided sword. There was a king's ransom to be made from these information but to explore them would mean to do Iceman's work for him. Keep the real scoundrel's hands lily white while one's own became dirtied.

Exposed.

James didn't like that. He was the shining diamond in the shadows, now Iceman was going to force him out into the light.

"We'll see about that, Mr. Holmes senior" Moriarty thought. There surely was a chance to let people know who was behind the security leak that would cost some apparently decent and honorable citizens so much more than just their money. And if there was, James would find it in the end. Mycroft Holmes hadn't heard the last of this.

However, the order of the day was to give in to Mycroft's demands. Leave England and Europe. Find a safe place somewhere else, a place with reliable associates, a ready bank account and some high ranking connections. A place to regroup, make a plan and start his revenge from a durable power base.

Moriarty knew lots of such places.

That wasn't the problem.

But leaving England would mean leaving Mycroft's younger brother, too.

James hadn't had so much fun with another human being for as long as he could remember. If only he had had enough time, if only Mycroft hadn't cut the game short – perhaps he could have kept his wildcat to himself.

No, most certainly he could have kept his wildcat to himself.

So, it was all Mycroft's fault.

Yes, that was the explanation.

If it hadn't been for the elder Holmes' stuffy concepts of right and wrong, the younger brother would still be with the only man in the world who could really appreciate Sherlock's qualities. The man who could give him anything, anything at all.

Sherlock Holmes had been born for one reason only – to provide the most brilliant brain on the planet with some suitable company! It was the sole purpose of Sherlock's life and Mycroft was just too jealous and too selfish to accept that!

James zipped his bag with an angry frown. Maybe, now that Sherlock was gone, it was better to get away for a while.

"I'm off, Sebastian" he called at Moran through the open door between their rooms. "To the airport!"

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Sebastian asked, audibly anxious, as always when a parting loomed ahead. Eager to please or anxious for a friend's safety? Did he actually like his boss or did he just need the criminal mastermind to think for him? James had never known and, truth be told, he didn't care much.

Weren't ordinary people tedious? Who pitied James Moriarty for being forced by necessity to cope with someone like Moran? And Sherlock had chosen to get himself a live-in one. How could he stand it? Having this ordinary little brain around? Day after day? Dull-dull-dull! And he could have lived with the greatest intellect of all. Poor, misguided Sherlock.

"Thanks, Sebastian" James answered lightly, carelessly. "But I think I need to do this alone. No need to spell your important role in my organization out for Mr. Iceman." There, that would keep the dear Colonel in good spirits for many a week. How easy it was to make him happy. Like passing cheap chocolate to an unspoilt child.

And of course – what did he say? Moran beamed from one ear to the other, grinned like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

James gave him s lopsided grin and headed out, the Colonel with his own bag in his wake. They passed the guest room – Sherlock's room. It brought Moriarty's melancholia back. "I guess leaving isn't such a bad idea after all. I wonder why I stay in London any way – here's nothing to keep me. And Sherlock's gone now. Out of reach for the time being."

He should have looked over his shoulder at Sebastian instead of just tossing these words at the man. For Moran's face fell and the former grin vanished as if it had never existed. The one moment would have answered all of James' questions as to what his second-in-command saw in him.

But James missed it completely.

"I need sometime to myself" he said "I will see you in a few weeks at the agreed meet ing point. Keep an eye on things for me, will you. Bye, Sebastian."

Moriarty walked out of the door and headed for his car.

At the airport, when he checked in for his flight to a new – if temporarily - life he spot ted a young, handsome woman who watched him. Very flattering, had he not known Anthea from sight.

So! Mycroft was anxious to see him off.

Well, he had every reason to be anxious and before this was really over, Iceman would have even more reasons to feel anxiety.

Once up in the air, as soon as the "fasten seat belts" signs were off, James sipped his champagne with relish. In his lap he held his notebook and with his free hand he typed as fast as he could and yet it wasn't nearly fast enough to keep up with his thoughts.

The woman behind him, a nosy creature around fifty with a curiosity even bigger than her bossom, read his headline and found it necessary to meddle with his affairs. "Wildcats cant be tamed, you know" she said self-importantly. "If you try you destroy them."

James looked her over for a split second before he answered. "The way you destroyed your late husband, madam? He did commit suicide because of you, did he not? Perhaps you are a trifle overbearing and suffocating at times?"

Gratifyingly she paled and fell silent after that, as well as back into her seat and James came back to his text.

Oh, the things he would do to Sherlock next time...

It definitely was something to look forward to!

FINIS

/N: So that's it, people. The End. Perhaps we'll write a sequel one day, who knows? May depend on the number of your reviews :-). So please, don't be ordinary, don't be tedious, just let us have your thoughts on the story.

By the way, Dark Magical Sorcres is just working on another story, in which our friends (and foes) from Baker Street will encounter some magic of the female sort. Just you wait...!