"I should have you skinned, Sebastian. Honestly, confusing the bombs!"
Standing like a teacher scolding a student, Moriarty paces back and forth. Flinging his hands into the air and throwing his arms out in a greatly animated, and angry, speech. "All I asked of you, was to take the pet and strap him into the smoke grenades. Was that so difficult?"
The brunt of this lecture stands as straight and dignified as he can, knowing not to bother with an apology (as that would likely fuel his rage). In two or three quick strides, his boss gets right in his face. Moriarty's own being severely burnt and blistered on one side - his only injury following the botched explosion. He grabs Sebastian's chin, sneering a final warning. "I don't expect fuck ups like that again, Sebby. Understand?"
Sebastian answers, feeling Moriarty's claws in his cheeks. "I understand, sir."
"Good." He releases the man's fan, his hand still in a claw-like stance even as he becomes that bit more whimsical. "Still, I cannot be too angry with you. You did manage to dispose of Sherlock Holmes, which means I can continue uninterrupted."
Moriarty pauses, the dark sneer still evident in his voice as he touches the cooked side of his face. "And you'd best pray this heals. Now go away until I need you."
With his pride wounded, Sebastian leaves - and as soon as he does, Moriarty seems to sink into a more mournful demeanor. He had always planned to kill Sherlock Holmes, but only after testing the full extent of his brilliant mind. The games had been so much fun, and he knows he will never again encounter someone that he could acknowledge as an equal. Almost an equal. Sebastian, though his most trusted staff, had robbed him of his favourite toy.
All because he had strapped Johnny-boy into the wrong bomb.
Out of the blue, Moriarty's mobile begins ringing in the inner pocket of his blazer.