Angel
noun-
a person of exemplary conduct or virtue.
"Sir?"
Jim Moriarty jumped; sloshing tea over his Westwood blazer. The air in the room immediately crackled.
"HOW DARE YOU. I specifically said, NOT, to DISTURB ME." Moriarty snarled, rounding on the poor man.
The soldier quaked in his boots, his round face not yet showing signs of adulthood. He backed up past the door-frame, his look of horror fondly reminding Jim of his dear old mum. She had always been so afraid of her son.
"Please Sir, we have eyes on the target." The man muttered.
Moriarty's demeanor instantly changed, a simpering girly expression split his face.
"Oh, my dear man," Moriarty purred. "How fortunate for you."
He dumped the remainder of his Earl Grey tea over the man's head and swept himself out of the parlor. The soldier stood for a moment, letting the hot liquid run down his face, then releasing a shaky breath as Moriarty's footsteps faded away.
oOo
Jim Moriarty strode purposefully through his country home, swiping at his jacket with a handkerchief. He decided that incompetent man would be first on his expendables list.
As he strode into his surveillance room, all thoughts of his guards' uselessness fled his mind. Moriarty basked for a moment in the clicks, and beeps echoing through his network room which rivaled even the great Mycroft Holmes'.
It hurt him how he had to employ ordinary people just to get anything done, but unfortunately, he couldn't be everywhere at once.
A hesitant cough shattered Moriarty's moment of peace. He rolled his eyes spectacularly and sighed. His executive supervisor found himself the center of Moriarty's icy gaze.
"Why is everybody so on EDGE?"
The inhabitants of the room all jumped. Twenty worried eyes circled around to Moriarty. Worry regarding the inevitable explosion of course. The supervisor wrung his hat in his hand anxiously.
Admittedly, Moriarty had been quite unpredictable since Moran's failure, but to be fair, only three of the kitchen staff had disappeared so far.
"...Well? Show me, NOW."
The supervisor jumped into action, pushed an intern aside at the nearest computer, and started typing. He signaled at his assistant; who quickly turned on the projector overhead. Moriarty stood tapping his foot while inspecting his flawless nails. The screen shimmered, and the supervisor's computer screen loaded.
Moriarty stepped forward, a giggle escaped him as the highly anticipated footage buffered onscreen.
Static rippled across the screen for several seconds.
"Sorry Sir," the man said quickly. "Give 'er a mo, She's a live feed."
The projection settled, and a grainy image of a street appeared.
The image could be looked at as a simple view of a London road- clearly looking down from a building as, cabs, and pedestrians all went on their way.
Crosswise from the street, adjacent to a cafe with a bright red awning, was a large, black mahogany door. Moriarty's eyes found the chrome 221B lettering almost instantly.
"Bellissimo!" Moriarty cackled.
"Sir- there is more."
The semi-proud man took a step towards his computer, and with a few strokes of the keys, the camera's direction changed.
The lens was now directly across from the roof of 221B, and clearly huddled against the air duct was a man. Wrapped in a dark blue blanket, with a mop of dark hair poking out, was indisputable a certain consulting detective.
"Do mine eyes deceive me?" Moriarty said.
He was met with silence. None dared to speak up- no one was brave enough volunteer as the subject of praise or even scorn. Nobody could what would come out of this man's mouth next.
"Zoom." Moriarty directed.
Tip, tap, tip, tap.
The screen focused in on Sherlock Holmes' face. He was staring in the general direction of the camera, but obviously unaware of its presence. It had been the most useful thing Moran had accomplished, Moriarty thought. Sherlock Holmes was dressed in formal garb, clearly having escaped from some gathering. An unlit candle sat a few inches in front of him.
"Time?" Moriarty asked.
"He's been there for twenty minutes, Sir."
Moriarty watched as Sherlock uncovered his hands, and held them in front of his face. Even from a distance, the camera could clearly make out the violent tremor in his hands.
"Oh, my sweet little angel!" Moriarty cried. "Do you see that? Do you see that!"
He took a step towards the screen, his chest shaking with laughter.
"This is so wonderful," He spoke to the screen. "Bleed my darling, I want to see you bleed your heart dry."
He turned around to his frozen workers, with a wide cynical smile on his face.
"It seems London's angel has lost its halo."
