Thanks for the reviews everyone! Oops, wait. That was my other story. I got no reviews for this one. My bad! Haha, sorry for the mix up.
Disclaimer: This is the sad tale of a fandom addled girl who prays to her Godtiss every night that she may someday own BBC Sherlock. Her prayers have so far gone unanswered, but she's workin' on it. So for now, I own nothing.
A bit of language in this chapter again folks. Sorry… but not really! ;)
Chapter 5:
Moriarty's bodyguard needed three stitches in his ear. It wasn't as if he cared, he was still working out the riddle Erik had given him. The boy hadn't looked from the camera once, not since he had been left alone nearly three hours ago. Jim got up and paced a bit before sitting back down with a huff. He was getting bored.
Erik knew he wouldn't be down alone for much longer. How long can a hyperactive psycho stay alone and not stimulated before he snaps? It had been a few hours at least, and Erik knew he was bored, so Moriarty must be practically running up the walls. He gave a snarky wink to the camera before hunkering down for a potentially long wait.
James Moriarty had decided that the message was purely meaningless; something the little brat had probably picked up off the streets. Nothing special about that. The twit was probably just as ordinary as everyone else. However, deep in the dark recesses of his ever whirling mind, Jim hoped it was not so. With Sherlock being so boring lately, he had nothing to distract him from his dull business. Another puzzle, however fleeting, was appreciated. He didn't trust another lackey to screw with his new entertainment, so he made a fateful decision. He decided to get his hands dirty for once and visit the boy himself. Moriarty grinned and picked up a kitchen knife. This was going to be fun.
Erik finally broke his staring contest with the camera when he heard the door rattle. Grinning manically, he licked his lips and clenched his fists. He could tell by the way the door opened deftly that this was it. This was the man he wanted to talk to. It hadn't been easy, getting on Sherlock's radar so he could get on Moriarty's, but it was so worth it. This was going to be fun.
Jim felt his pulse start to race the way it always did when something interesting was about to happen. This feeling was usually reserved for his encounters with Sherly, or when a particularly interesting job had come along. But these times were few and far in between. It felt good to have a different subject for his frightening intellect to focus on. He could feel his mind whirring at a thousand miles an hour; where it would hurt most to strike, what words he could string together to cause the most fear. He grinned down at the defiant blue eyes staring up at him. The infernal boy still had a smirk plastered on his face. Show time.
"It was awfully rude of you to bite Andrew in the ear the way you did." He said sorrowfully. "He had to get three stitches." He made sure the knife was easily seen, but not truly in the picture. Not yet.
"Well, it got you down here, didn't it?" Erik's face remained impassive, coolly indifferent, but his eyes danced. He was enjoying this as much as Moriarty was.
"Ah! So it speaks!" He ruffled the teen's inky hair affectionately. "Very Good!" Erik jerked out of his grasp. "Oops! Touchy!" Jim grinned sickeningly. The boy said nothing, but he jerked his shoulders sporadically. Jim watched with morbid fascination as a couple of drops splattered to the dirty floor below. What the hell? There was a couple of loud pops and cracks from stiff muscles, but Erik finally managed to get his hands out of the binds behind his back. He calmly moved them forward onto his lap as though nothing happened.
"Tha's better." he said, ignoring the shocked flicker in the Irishman's eyes. His hands were bloody and covered with shallow cuts, but he showed no signs of discomfort. He did rub his wrists a couple of times though.
Moriarty's mind worked quickly. The cuts were made by a knife, which Erik must have somehow managed to sneak in. Judging by the indents in the teen's wrists, the zip ties had not been applied correctly, which indicated an inside job. It must have been that idiot Matthew. Jim rolled his eyes. He must have pissed the man off a little too much when he stabbed him in the foot.
"Making friends with my lackeys? That hardly seems fair." Moriarty gave an exaggerated frown. "You wound me, turning Matthew against me like that."
A musical laugh rang through the basement. It was creepy, the laugh didn't really seem to match the boy's voice.
"Oh, you mean Charlie Montague? I'm afraid he was always on my side, Mr. Moriarty." Erik grinned wolfishly.
That name sounded familiar… ah, yes. Now he remembered. That man had disappeared of the criminal map a couple years ago. What was he doing with an urchin? Maybe he's working with Sherlock?
As if reading his mind, Erik spoke again.
"A magician never reveals his secrets Mr. Moriarty." That sounded like another riddle. Jim filed this away for later inspection. "Um, actually, can I call you Jim?"
"Only if I can ask you a few questions." Erik's eyes narrowed slightly.
"If a few is three, then I accept."
"Clever!" Jim's smile came back quite suddenly, a predatory look that usually scared the shit out of his captives. All he saw in Erik was the same expression, however, not fear.Delightful! Moriarty thought gleefully, resisting the urge to rub his hands together. This boy, Erik, was going to be a tough one to crack. But he would, eventually. They always did. "For one, what have you been doing with my dear Sherly?" Might as well get the important stuff out of the way first, so he could play later.
"You still think this about that twat?" Erik snarled, much to Jim's surprise. "Well, I'll answer your question anyways. It's only fair, is it not? Well, I passed on information to the junior Holmes using the Homeless Network and some… personal contacts. He wanted to do it to irk you, but I could tell that he wasn't having any fun anymore. In return, I got a nice pack of cigarettes and a new gun to reward me for my efforts." He said bitterly. "But that's not really why I did it, Jim. I knew you were watching him, I knew it far before he did. And well, I wanted to talk to you. I've been watching you for a long time, Mr. Moriarty. And it was difficult to get on your radar. I knew I couldn't come to you, so I just had you… come… to…me!" Erik was smiling gleefully by the end, and Jim's head was spinning. This was a bit more complicated than he originally thought. But it was oh so intriguing. There was still a possibility that the boy was lying, that this was one big joke set up by Sherlock, but the look in the boy's eyes told differently. This was a separate puzzle, one starring himself, not Sherlock. Jim didn't know whether to be elated of irked.
"Well, how old are you then Erik?" he asked in a sing song voice. Jim decided on a weird combination of the two. It gave the illusion that he was very unstable, which generally served to scare people even more.
"19. Last question Mr. Moriarty." Erik was full out grinning now. He knew what Jim was going to ask next. And he was looking forward to it.
James Moriarty narrowed his eyes. The boy looked no older than 12. But why would the boy lie? He didn't have time to ponder anymore, because his mind had already produced the last question. It was one of the first he had, all the way back from when he was first looking at the boy's file. The boy shifted uselessly in his chair, trying to get blood flowing back into his legs, which were bound tightly. The boy's eyes drifted down towards his pants pockets, and he seemed to think for a little bit. He finally reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of expensive cigarettes, no doubt the ones Sherlock gave him. He smiled sardonically before pulling one out. He looked up at Moriarty and laughed quietly.
"Your body guard didn't have a light…" His eyes were laughing. "Do you mind?" Jim huffed before pulling out a lighter from his shirt pocket and expertly lighting Erik's cigarette. The boy took a deep drag before sighing contentedly. "Working for Sherlock was hell, but this is a lot better than the crap you get on the street." He smiled. "What was your last question?" He took the cigarette and took a couple more drags before throwing it to the ground and smothering it with his heel.
"What is your real name?" Jim rocked forward on the balls of his feet imperceptibly, fiddling with the knife carelessly. The boy threw his head back and laugh deeply.
"Why I knew you would ask that you son of a bitch!" Erik cackled. "I don't have a real name, I was left for dead on the streets. But I'm known by this name… Erik Weisz!" The boy had a crazed gleam in his icy calculating eyes as he laughed again.
Well Damn.