Disclaimer: Moran and Moriarty belong to ACD. By the way, keep an eye on the dates.

Chapter 5

18 November 1887

Moran sat uncomfortably at the desk, facing the Professor. The room was dimly lit and barely furnished – just the desk and two chairs, a gas lamp turned down low, a rug on the floor, an unprofessionally produced picture of a country house hanging on the wall.

In truth he was not used to being on the receiving end of the Professor's questions. His usual role was more to enforce the wishes of his erstwhile employer. But not tonight. Tonight he knew he was only a few wrong words from the inevitable result of failing his master. He tried to sit more upright in the chair, but he knew that sweat was upon his brow.

"It was really a quite simple task, Moran," said Moriarty. His voice was cold, ruthless, every word calculated to convey his quiet displeasure.

"I did not set out to fail, Professor," replied Moran. "I have served you well, you know that. This is the first time you have had cause to summon me in this way."

"I know there is much that you could tell others, should you so wish."

"Never."

"Never? Never is a long time. Things change."

"You have nothing to fear from me, Professor. I would rather die than betray you."

"Perhaps. And yet, here we sit. And I put it to you that betrayal is precisely what we are here to talk about, my old friend."

Even the word 'friend' carried an air of threat about it.

"I have not betrayed you. It is just that ... events took an unexpected turn."

"A simple task. To relieve the Duchess of Mortonwell of her jewellery collection. How could anything be 'unexpected' in that? Holmes is sick – some reports have him at the point of madness. He is exhausted trying to keep up with me. There was nothing in your way."

"I saw the Duchess herself."

"So you say. But we are not talking as though she had heavily armed guards, my friend."

There it was, that word again. So cold.

"Guards? I'm not talking of guards. Maybe it would have been better had there been. It is the lady herself of which I speak."

"I can read you like a book, Moran," spat Moriarty. "Ever the gallant, eh? Ever the gentleman? Until the trap you so carefully lay closes."

"Not this time; I have a reputation to keep up."

"It will serve you well to remember that so do I."

"If my reputation is damaged I will not have the access I need to high society. That is what you need me for."

Before the words were out of his mouth he knew he had spoken badly. The Professor leaped from his seat in an explosion of anger.

"Need you? Need you?" he exclaimed, thumping the desk with his hand. "I do not need you, Moran! Rather it seems as though you need me, doesn't it? Without me, where would you be? A spent up old adventurer, penniless, friendless. I have taken you and moulded you into a thing I can use. But even the best made things can be replaced." His anger was subsiding, and he took his seat again. "Come, let us not fall out. You can have another chance. Prove yourself to me, and we will not speak of this matter again. Go back to the Duchess, and this time, do not woo her, do not play the lover; take the jewellery and bring it to the usual place."

"It will be difficult."

"That is what I pay you for. You speak of 'reputation'. What about mine? An upright intellectual, respected and, by some, almost worshipped – my words are law. I bring order to chaos. Never forget that."

Moran sighed with resignation. "I will succeed."

"Good."

"But, please, Professor, after tonight, never again ask me to harm this family."

"I will do as I please. Remember who is paying your not inconsiderable expenses to grant you access into the circles of the great and the good."

"I am grateful, Professor. But the Duchess – she has become somewhat dear to me."

"Be careful, Moran," said Moriarty, his tone lowering and becoming threatening again. "That way madness lies. Do not think that you can play both sides at once. You are either for me, and do what I say at the time that I ask you, or you get – distracted. And if you get distracted, then you will make mistakes. I speak from bitter experience." For a moment, his eyes seemed to be seeing something far away, long ago. "And if you make mistakes, you are of no use to me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very."

"Then go, cut whatever tie has developed between you and the Duchess, and get me the jewels. They are needed for a game I wish to play with Lord Fairclough later this week. Do not fail me."

Moran rose from his chair. "I will not fail," he said, and turned towards the door.

"No, I am sure you will not," Moriarty said as Moran opened the door. "You know what will happen otherwise."

Moran closed the door behind him, and walked out of the building into the daylight. Only when he was two streets away did he stop and slump into a doorway. Gasping sobs racked his body. The shock of his narrow escape was combined with the knowledge that he would indeed have to make a betrayal that very night. The woman he had only briefly come to love would be penniless by morning. What would she do then, a young widow with no other family? What would become of her? Surely she had friends? Yes, surely she did. She would recover.

But, at the same time, the shocking realisation came to him - what could he do? Nothing. He was caught in Moriarty's web as surely as a fly in a spider's. He knew it, and more than that, he knew he had done so willingly.

But it was only now that he fully understood the price he was paying for working with the Professor. He would be forever friendless, forever hopeless and unloved, forever distrusted and feared; whilst the Professor was free to live openly and freely.

Would he have had it otherwise?

Too late to change. Much too late.

He started on his way towards Mortonwell Grange.