To know the name Moriarty is to know instantly the viper's pit into which I had fallen. For Moriarty, whose name I now shudder to even speak, had quietly gained my confidences through his complete and thorough praise of my skills and mind. He proclaimed that he "had never seen the like" in one moment. "What greatness would I achieve," he spoke in the next. My ego was more than a little pleased to hear such words, and so I did not take the time to deduce the professor and uncover his faults as I had so many others. In his parlor, I was coaxed into laying out my ideas to reach god-like abilities, and, to my surprise and flattery, he supported my work as that of a genius- to be remembered forever. I was addicted, not just to the drugs or the work, but to his flattery. He became the confidante of my great experiment- though not in any way that should force me to share credit with him for my achievements. In reality, I did all the work, assumed all the risk- both to my mind and my person- while he stood back and gained all the advantage of my studies.
At last, after long months of practice and research, I reached the point to which I believed I had been aspiring- the final concoction that would lay the mysteries of the world at my feet. I debated between testing my achievement on some smaller mystery and attempting a true miracle, but my ego, as it often did in those days, won out. So I set myself up with all the few facts about the death of one Carl Powers, a boy who died when I myself was only a lad, and whose death was never satisfactorily explained to me. The fact of the case had been bare at the first and now were long cold- my pride said I could solve it.
And so one dreary night, as the fog settled throughout London like a suffocatingly wet blanket, Moriarty and I retreated to my rooms for the first test. The solution entered my system and oh!- I will never tell another living soul how it was done or the fell encompassing of what I saw, for though I had thought to attain heaven and sit in God's very throne, I quickly realized that human flesh was never meant to hold such power and what I had thought would be my ultimate triumph quickly turned into hellish nightmares as I was bombarded on every side. My mind moved faster than my tongue could maintain, spilling secrets of kings and ministers, industry barons and socialites- little intricacies that might make the world fall if used in an evil way. Finally, I managed to turn my thoughts towards poor Carl, and opened my eyes to see not the friend I had supposed the professor to be- nor even a devil for that would exalt him o'er much- but a base, scheming spider, scrambling about a criminal web as deadly and vile as any villain in any fairy tale. Here was Carl Powers' very murderer, in my own rooms, by my invitation, and for the sake of my petty pride, I had not marked him heretofore. All of a sudden, the minute details I should have seen came to the front of my mind with crystal clarity. And- oh- in my horror, I ran from him- ran into the streets and condemned him for the murderer he was in the streets for all to hear. I must have seemed quite mad, but the damage was done- he was uncovered. The inkling had been released, and eyes would now be levied on the mild-mannered professor. I traveled the whole of London that night in fear and loathing of what I might find if I returned to my rooms. Was he still there? Surely, I had made an awesome enemy of the man- a man who now knew all my secrets and the secrets of many people more. Instead of tearing down criminals, surely, I had helped this one his way up. Not that he likely needed my help, for it now dawned on me how fearsome he truly was.
I traveled the city straight on 'til morning, when passing by the Greenwich rail station, who should I spy, but my own John Watson leaving the platform. My confusion quickly turned to joy at the sight of the familiar face. He relayed that, with his service abroad now over, his contract served, he had returned home and thought to surprise me with a visit on his way back to the countryside. It was his dismay to see the state that I had worked myself into- such a drugged up, nervous wreck was I in that moment. I hardly dared to take him back to my rooms for fear of what we might find, but what choice did I have? I had no reason to keep him away from my accommodations as I had no desire at all to expound on the happenings of the previous night. On our return, I quickly searched the whole place for signs of Moriarty, any device he may have left behind or accomplice hiding in an unobserved place- nothing. Just the idol trifles of my latest "experiment." Now John could begin to see the full extent of my malady, and he quickly took it upon himself to see to my well-being. The next several weeks he spent caring for me and helping me work the drugs from my system. My mind cleared as my body recovered, and no trace or sign of Moriarty appeared. I almost began to believe I had imagined, not just my deductions of that cursed evening, but perhaps, the man himself, as there was no longer any Professor J. Moriarty to be found anywhere in London or truly, in anyone's mind but my own.
Author's note: The plot thickens! So what do you think Moriarty will do next? And I promise there is more Sherlolly coming soon- next chapter in fact, so yeah, if you're looking forward to that. Has anyone picked out which characters from Frankenstein (both book and play) the Baker Street gang are cast as?
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