I prop my feet up on the desk and lean back in my chair, a smile slowly creeping across my face. Everything is going perfectly. People are so predictable. That's why it pays to be spontaneous. It pays to be changeable. It's a good trade mark to have.
"Mr. Moriarty, we have a situation." The man at the door states nervously. I look up from my hands and glance at the door.
"A situation?" I question smoothly.
"Aye sir." He pauses before continuing, "One of the contractors has gone missing."
"Missing?"
"We assume the police got him, but we aren't sure." I smile.
"Sherlock Holmes." I murmur under my breath.
"Sir?"
"Oh nothing." I smile again. Just as I thought. The man at the door trembles. I push my chair back and stand, turning to face the man at the door. "I'm just sorry for you." I say quietly, before starting to advance. The man starts to back into the dimly lit hallway. "I can't let my standards slip, not even for you." The man shakes his head and backs straight into a wall. He's taller than me, most of my henchmen are. Even John Watson is taller than me. I tilt the man's chin so that he can see me clearly.
"P-P-P-" He stutters, trying to plead with me. I know I have him now. I smile and he flinches.
"Thank you for telling me Dave, you know I appreciate knowing the comings and goings of my henchmen." I back into my study and close the door smiling, thinking of the face Dave is now pulling. So predictable. I fling myself back into my chair and swivel around to face my desk, moving one of the chess pieces, a pawn forward, while moving the black pawn to take it. I discard the pawn, and sit back to contemplate white's next move. My next move. I sift through the useless email that I've received, searching for one that starts properly, the word 'dear'. I'm just so bored now. So bored. My plans cannot move forward without another mess for me to clean up. Another meaningless death.
Although it isn't meaningless.
It's art.
What I do is art. Something to look at, something to be admired. Sadly it doesn't get the appreciation it deserves. My art is rejected and treated as slander. Criminal? Hah. Justice. I shake my head, a faint smile tickling the sides of my mouth. Ah yes.
Art.
I tighten my shoe laces and leave the study, laughing to see Dave still standing stunned against the wall.
Stupid pawn.
I don't know what I'm going to do next. Lie in wait until Sherlock makes his next move. Without a doubt he'll try to strike me. I've left myself open and teasingly close, he has to try and take my king.
This is a game of chess, and I'm the player.
I don't need anyone on my side. All I need are my pawns, and even then…. Even if the last piece I have to control is the king, even if all the bodies of the expired pawns lay before my feet, I will still play. If I am the last player, the king the last piece under my control, I will play. A dangerous game that I mustn't lose. Too much is at stake. And then again.
Too.
Little.
Sometimes I feel as if I'm playing just to play, as if I'm just toying with Sherlock to see him dance. As if I don't have a purpose. And sometimes I know I don't have a purpose. And it causes me to pause.
I play for the sake of the game.
I play because it's the only way to feel alive.
I play for Sherlock.
I play for me.
And I play for London.
Two players, playing for the same thing. One, black, wants London for himself. And the other, white, wants London for the sake of London. One can win, the other has to lose. It cannot be me. I cannot afford to lose to Sherlock Holmes.
My phone dings just as I push out the door into the night air. The smelly, polluted night air of London. It's a beautiful sight, but I've grown weary of it. I pull my phone out and take a look at the new message.
Close
SM
Ah. Good. This game is just about to get interesting. I waltz down the fire escape as a car pulls into the garage, coming to a stop.
"Thank you ever so much Seb. I owe you for this." I say into the window, knowing he can hear me, before opening the back door and peering in to see my prize. Another smile creeps across my face. One of satisfaction. "Oh Sebastian, you are good." I praise before pulling the unconscious Doctor John Watson from the back of the car. I smile again.
I win this round. Sherlock Holmes.
John is starting to struggle and I nod toward the car. Sebastian knows exactly what to do. The car pulls out of the garage and disappears around the corner. I drag John unceremoniously toward the prearrange chair and toss him into it, stripping away the piece of duct tape that binds his mouth. John wakes with a start.
Let the games begin.
John looks up at me with a confused face, and immediately backs up after seeing it's me. I smile.
"Oh good, you're awake. I thought Sebastian had killed you for a moment." I lie, running a thumb over John's cheek. Let him think he was in danger.
"What the hell Jim?" He asks, trying to slap at my hand. He can hardly do anything.
"I'd let you just walk out of here, but you can barely move, so I wouldn't try it. You wouldn't get far." He glances down at his bound wrists and ankles.
"What do you want Jim?" He asks angrily, after assessing the situation.
"To play. Sherlock's been a bit slower than usual. And normally, I wouldn't mind that because I did tell him to back off, but when I dangle a piece of meat in front of his face, and he refuses to take it, well then we have a problem Doctor Watson." He says nothing. "Tch." He glances at me before looking over my shoulder, as if expecting to see Sherlock to come and save him. "Oh, Sherlock will never find you. He probably won't even know that you're missing for a while yet."
"That fast Jim?"
"Oh hi Dave!" I exclaim, turning to see Dave walk into the garage, black hair falling into his face. He looks murderous.
"That fast Mr. Moriarty? You were that fast. I don't believe you." I laugh aloud for a second before turning to John,
"Sorry John, unfinished business with Dave. Do excuse me." I run my fingers over his cheek as he pulls away again before facing Dave.
"How were you that fast?" He demands, throwing his phone at me. I suppose it was probably supposed to hit me, like a projectile, but I simply snatched it out of the air and gazed at the message.
Dave Sanders,
Your family has been found dead.
"Tch."
"That's all you have to say?"
"All I have to say Dave, is that you shouldn't have gotten in my way."
"Your way?"
"My way Dave. My way. I'm just trying to prove a point here Dave. No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will." Dave stares at me.
"How did you-"
"I make it a point," I pause before saying his name, "Dave, to find out everything I can about a person before I make them mine. And I found out everything Dave." I start to walk towards him, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Dave." He looks livid, and frightened at the same time. I touch his small nose with one finger and smile. "You've done it now Dave."
"But-"
"Ah ah ah! Dave." He swallows and backs out the door. He does a lot of that. Backing. I can tell he's expecting mercy again. I reach out and shove him, pushing him onto the pavement. He screams and crawls along backwards. I continue. A plan, yes. I always have one.
"P-Pl-PLEASE!" I continue at my same speed, and he stands up, running backwards now, I smile. Dangerously. He knows he's got a problem when he sees my face and has the audacity to glance over his shoulder.
"Yes, Dave. I believe the words are, 'You're fired' but that's just so… mundane. A different kind of termination. I believe you'll find that there are tiny weights in nearly all of your pockets, sewn in over a period of five month, to the point you didn't notice them. And that's the Thames behind you."
"Mr. Moriarty!"
"Ah. No, Dave. You were calling me Jim earlier. Be consistent or I might get confused." I reach out and push him into the Thames before smiling as he tries to swim. Weights. Nearly undetectable when wearing, but they are worth their weight in water and drag you down until you drown. Child's play. Mentally I turn the pawn I used for him white and then sink it. I turn on my heel and head back to John. "Now John. Where were we? Ah yes," I say, looking him in the eyes, "I was about to explain my plan to you. Although, You probably don't want to hear it." I reach into his pocket and pull out his phone, swiftly calling Sherlock's number. It rings twice.
"John, why are you-"
"John? Eh, no."
"Jim-"
"Shut up and listen Sherlock. It's time to do things my way."
"Your way-"
"Stop trying to sound smart. You found the evidence I presume."
"Yes."
"Good. Now listen…"
