That was it then. The deal. "You know the rules. One mention of my name, you both dead. One description of anything that could, somehow, give even a slight clue that I am connected to that, dead. If you get yourself, magically, killed, run away or contact anyone other than those you've been told to contact with. John is dead. Is that clear?" He didn't even wait for an answer. "Well then. Follow me." Sherlock stayed sited and the two men grabbed his arms and forced him to walk.
They walked through a narrow corridor. Moriarty at the front and behind him Sherlock who had some difficulties breathing, being squeezed between the two big men. It wasn't a long while before the corridor ended and a sudden burst of blur sun light caressed his face. He hadn't seen or felt the sunlight for a very long time and its warmness and comforting touch made him feel much better but as he saw the rest of the room that feeling disappeared.
"Welcome to my secret base!" Moriarty seemed proud of himself and frankly, who wouldn't? It looked like a huge room at a palace. The ceiling was made of different coloured pieces of glass and the blur light of the sun came through them, creating some sort of a mysterious atmosphere. The walls were decorated with all kinds of arts. There were beautiful paintings hanging on them and all sorts of special cravings. There was one area that immediately caught Sherlock's attention. On that part of the wall there were cravings of angels and demons and the situation that they described was quite similar to his meeting with Moriarty on the roof. In that enormous room were working hundreds of people. Each of them had their own desk. It was separated in the middle by two long and big curtains. On each desk there was a computer and a phone. Few of them were walking between the tables, giving and taking papers. No one got out of their seat they all set there in a complete silence like robots. No one was talking unless they were answering the phone.
They started walking between the curtains. They were a bit transparent. "This is where the magic happens" Moriarty said looking at Sherlock. "This section" he pointed at the tables to his left "is the place where all the people who wants to hire our services call. Then they put all that information on the computers and it goes to this section" he pointed at the tables to his right "their job is to book all the murders so no one will ever sense the pattern."
It was a well-planned organization but Sherlock couldn't help thinking that using the phone is quite stupid. Even the police's most idiot detectives will someday notice that many of the killers they've caught through the years called the same number on the few weeks or month close to the murder. "Don't be silly" Moriarty said as if he was able to read his mind "It is never the same number and also, we never answer in a formal way. Do you think I'm an idiot?" It seemed as if he got hurt by Sherlock's stupid assumption.
As they walked by, every person in the room eyed Sherlock. Well, it was more of a glimpse. They all seemed so alarmed. They must have thought that he was dead. It was quite amusing actually, all those frightened expressions. He wondered how John would react when he sees that he's not dead. Actually "if he ever sees" is a more realistic way to put it. They led him to a big, gray door at the end of the room. It was so different from the rest of the hall. It was quite ordinary and colourless. He looked back at the room. Many people were now looking at him. They looked more worried than surprised. He turned his head back on them and was now facing the door.
Moriarty stood beside it, smiling "And this is" he said "your office". His office? Maybe Moriarty was smarter then he thought and knew exactly what was going to happen or maybe he had too much self-confidence. The second one seemed more reasonable. The door looked quite old, 5 years old at least. How long was Moriarty planning their cooperation? Or was that room destined for something else?
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