Jim Moriarty was giddy with anticipation of this game that was underfoot, utterly pleased with the way his pawns were playing his game.
Sherlock Holmes was so interesting...at least compared to the normal, boring people that walked the earth day in and day out. The detective consultant, at least, had an intelligence close to his, one that had led him here to this pool, playing so cleverly into his hands. And brilliant it all was, this game. A match between the detective consultant and the criminal consultant, two brilliant minds playing on a battlefield of innocent, meaningless humans.
Unfortunately, he realized, about to walk away from the pool, Sherlock was actually too close to unraveling some of his other plans. So, damn this game and this interesting, most handsome man. Jim had other things that tended to be tended to.
"But the flirting is over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even 30 million quid, just to get you to come out and play."
And honestly, it had been worth it, despite the need to leave it be for now. Jim had been interested in Sherlock for years, ever since finding out that the detective had known about the details of Carl Powers' death. However, until recently, the criminal consultant had done nothing about his interest, because, other than his brilliant mind, his personality could be considered lackadaisical. There was nothing fun about breaking a man already broken by society. But that had changed, hadn't it?
"So take this as a friendly warning…back off... Although, I have loved this, this little game of ours."
"People have died." Sherlock stated, and Jim noted the lack of empathy in his voice. It was just a cold calculation...or at least, that's how the detective wanted to come off as. Cold. Distant. Heartless. The pretense was enough to make Jim laugh.
"That's what people do!" He yelled, because in addition to being amusing in its own right, Sherlock's hidden emotional values were annoying too. Honestly, any sentiment towards the moral was annoying.
And then, the unsurprising happened. He was assaulted from behind from the captive himself. "If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up." The pet seethed in his ears, military arms tightening around his body. Beautifully strong, Jim noticed, but otherwise so boring. So predictable.
"Isn't he sweet?" He mocked, unafraid. "I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets." Sherlock made no indication that his words were getting to him, but his eyes were fixated on the soldier that had signed his death sentence by clinging to the game master. "They're so touchingly loyal," now he spat his words at the pet itself, "You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson. Gotcha."
This part of the game was fun too, Jim admitted to himself, though he knew he really had to be going. So he waited until he was, as predicted, let go, and hurried his taunts along. He laughed at the desperate soldier and the bravado of the detective.
"Kill you? Mm, no. Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it though." He was having too much fun. "I'm saving it up for someone special. No, no, no. You don't stop prying, I'll burn you," he spat, the madness in his eyes beginning to truly express themselves. "I'll burn the heart out of you."
Because that's where the real fun was to be had. Breaking a man that had just learned to be fixed and made whole. To crush what had just been created. To burn away something valuable that had just risen from the ash.
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."
Jim smiled at the thinly veiled stoicism. "But we both know that's not quite true." His eyes glanced at the soldier waiting at the side before he took off from the pool once more. No, Jim Moriarty knew exactly where Sherlock Holmes' heart lay, and exactly how to burn it.