Chapter Six

Moriarty

John had been incorrect in his easier assumption; James Moriarty was not the family butler (although quite often he was treated as such). He was Lord Charles' assistant or at least he had been. An apprentice at the foreign office at the age of sixteen Lord Charles had taken an interest in him and invited him home for dinner one evening and then and there Lord Charles Holmes offered him the impressive role.

Flashback

James was about to decline – a PA was well below his ambitions but before he could answer the grinning Lord a ten year old boy was dragged into the dining hall by a stuffy old man with a bow tie and thick glasses. The man's grip on the boy's wrist was tight and red marks had already formed. James gazed up and down the boy with curiosity; far too thin and lanky, he was also too pale except where light freckles covered his nose. With jet black, shoulder length, messy hair and scruffy torn clothes he looked completely out of place in the grand sun room.

"My younger son, Sherlock," Lord Charles introduced as the child was forced into a seat. The man pushed the chair under the table and then stood behind it – trapping Sherlock. Part of James' mind concluded he was a tutor while the rest of it was busy analysing the child and how he held everyone's attention.

"I'm not hungry . . ."

"Eat something, please, Sherlock you've hidden yourself away for three days!"

Moriarty heard the desperate worry underneath the composed tone of the boy's mother and a dark part of him enjoyed it.

"I don't want anything!" the boy pouted and folded his thin arms sullenly. He raised his head and his pale eyes shone out from where his thick hair parted. That was when the ten year old deigned to investigate their guest. The boy studied him openly and James was stilled by his piercing eyes. The teen could almost see the child recording his observations. Both Lady Holmes and the other son Mycroft had done the same thing but they had been more covert.

"Would you like apple pie or chocolate cake?" a middle-aged ugly maid asked James, rudely intruding on his thoughts, while setting a toasted cheese sandwich in front of Sherlock (crusts cut off and sliced twice into four tiny triangles)

"Chocolate," Sherlock said, eyes still staring into his own,

"Sherlock? You want a pudding?" Lord Charles had asked surprised. The maid hurriedly picked up Sherlock's sandwich to take away and rush him what she thought he had asked for but the other boy stopped her,

"No daddy that's what Jim wants," Mycroft, sighed as he corrected his father.

James wondered at Mycroft's insight even as he tried to hide his anger at being called Jim but he knew Sherlock had seen it. No one else was looking at him and Sherlock waited curious to know if he would dare to correct Mycroft.

"Is that right Jim?" the ugly maid asked and James felt his eye twitch. Sherlock laughed loudly and, judging from the way everyone in the room suddenly froze, unexpectedly. Jim was gripped by a sudden rush of anger as the boy laughed at him. Since everyone's attention was on Sherlock they missed his murderous expression. The boy had gulped and tried to slip out under the table. Of course he hadn't succeeded and stared worriedly at James while everyone else ate pudding. The look made James feel powerful, strong and satisfied his lust for control. As the foul maid cleared the plates away James accepted the lords' job offer delighting in Sherlock's fear.

End Flashback

A month later the maid had died in a hit and run. Sherlock suspected Moriarty was behind it but had no way to prove it. Mycroft had already left for university and Lady Rose assumed his stories were a way of dealing with her loss. This was, for James, the most exciting part – for over five years he had been using the Holmes family connections to build a criminal empire and three of them were probably the only people smart enough to uncover it; one knew but couldn't prove it (and weren't his repeatedly tries so fun to thwart) and he had the other two (Lady Holmes and her eldest son) completely fooled. Of course working so closely with the eldest (and completely oblivious) Holmes the young evil genius had completely covered his tracks by the time the Lord retired (last year at the nice age of forty-eight, oh to be rich) and Jim's services were passed to his eldest son.

As he stood by the side of Mycroft James reflected how much more difficult the future was going to be with this man as his employer. There was no doubting Mycroft was more intelligent than his father, with greater observation skills than Sherlock and possibly a better understanding of human emotions than Lady Holmes. However the young man still thought of James as the man who made his sullen brother laugh. And that was how Moriarty intended to delude him. In the six years since that first meeting James had been surprised by how blatantly the family expected him to help Sherlock grow up. Now it looked as though they had found someone to replace him in that regard. James contemplated that John might succeed but decided it was too dangerous to him to let their friendship develop. The boy might try to involve him in their little game and that would definitely not do.

"What do you think Jim?" Mycroft's question suddenly jerked Jim out his thoughts. As usual in these circumstances he guessed an answer,

"I don't know either sir?" It so often worked with Lord Charles but Mycroft was not so easily conned,

"You didn't hear a word of what I just said," Mycroft smiled easily,

"You're right sir. I'm sorry," the contrite tone and facial expression came easily to Jim but he resented them. He forced himself to remember he was better than Mycroft to avoid a lapse.

"I understand I am also confused by Doctor Watson."

"It is curious that such an ordinary person has held Sherlock's attention for so long," Jim guessed following Mycroft's lead,

"I have John's file and he is anything but ordinary however I am interested in what it is about him that Sherlock finds so fascinating."

"…" Jim let a little annoyance show,

"Come now Jim you aren't jealous of our visitor are you? You still hold a significant amount of Sherlock's attention," Jim's flush of anger was interpreted as embarrassment and he turned his attention back to the screen. John was standing over Sherlock's bedside now, tucking him in. something only James and Miranda had done before (outside of his family).

As Mycroft laughed, Jim pictured how he was going to kill the man and his father. It needed to look like an accident but he wanted to watch the pair realise exactly who and what he was. He wanted Lady Holmes to know as well and he planned to use Sherlock to keep her under control. Use him to convince her to marry him – Lord James Moriarty just sounded right to him. At forty-five she was still pleasing to the eye and after a year or two he could get rid of her. Use his criminal empire to find the best women to please and entertain him while he kept Sherlock locked up.

The evil genius had never examined why he wanted Sherlock so close to him. He merely assumed it was because he recognised so much of himself in the boy; the only one to recognise the greatness (evilness) in him. The game they had been playing since the boy was ten delighted him and he had never stopped to consider its impact on the young Sherlock. Moriarty always wondered what the teen would do next; whether he had any more surprises. Just last month Sherlock had successfully stopped a shipment of stolen computer hardware reaching Britain from America. James had lost a quarter of a million pounds guaranteed income and more importantly his largest gang of thieves operating in the states were arrested. Perhaps he should move into another criminal area – murder or assassination maybe. How might Sherlock try to stop that?

"… I have even compared John's file with your own to see if I can find any overlaps …" Mycroft was still talking about his brother (really did anyone in this household talk about anything else?). Jim smirked at his own wit, facing the screen to avoid Mycroft seeing.

John was sitting back in the chair reading Sherlock's file as the teenager was asleep again. Jim loved watching the boy like that. He was so open unlike when he was awake. Jim had taken to imagining what he was dreaming about based on his facial expressions. Most of them involved himself of course like right now the boys hands twitched and his whole face was lit up in satisfaction – Jim imagined the boy was dreaming about strangling him.

It had occurred to the criminal mastermind early on that if he didn't murder Sherlock the boy would probably kill him. Thoughts like these didn't worry him, in fact part of him welcomed the challenge – in the future of course he had far too much to do to be killed now. He didn't want the hassle of offspring and looked to Sherlock as a strange sort of progeny – could he turn the young boy evil? James thought he would have fun trying. And if he succeeded . . . well the world would be theirs!

"We must move on from my brother now Jim there is work to be done after all," Jim rolled his eyes before turning back to his 'boss'.

"Yes sir,"

"Now then have you seen that file I put together about my suspicions of a criminal gang responsible for that bombing in Kookynie?"

'Yes sir I took it to find out what you think you know about MY true job' Jim could barely stop the words spilling over his lips and quickly said,

"Yes sir, it's here, do you think MI5 will give it any attention?"

The first time Mycroft had spoken to Jim about his suspicions of a shadowy criminal responsible for a high proportion of illegal goings-on Jim had been hard-pressed to avoid panicking. He soon realised Mycroft only had the vaguest of evidence and he could use the man's investigation to follow where any loose threads of his empire were unravelled.

"I doubt it I need more proof!" Jim delighted to hear the real frustrations of a man who wanted to do the right thing. Mycroft was a realist who bemoaned the wishy-washy free speech, civil liberties brigade that he saw as interfering in the task of protecting the citizens of his country. He was not above sacrificing a few principles for lives. To that end Jim could respect him and since he had started working for the younger Holmes Moriarty questioned whether this Holmes son was his true opponent and Sherlock merely a prize.

Mycroft stood and picked up the thin report,

"I must go then," Mycroft paused looking once more at the screen on his brother,

"Will you stay and keep an eye on Doctor Watson?" Jim would much rather go with Mycroft and hear him try to convince the government Moriarty's organisation was real but he knew Mycroft had surveillance so he could watch and react (laugh) without restraint.

"Of course sir," Jim put a question in his reply,

"There is nothing in John's file to suggest he would take advantage of Sherlock but . . ." Mycroft trialled off,

"I'll stay right here and double check sir," Jim waited until Mycroft had left before chuckling,

"Sir you make it too easy!" he mocked.

All he needed to do was make it look like John posed a threat to Sherlock and Mycroft would take care of him – probably in a very painful way. He wondered if he could make it clear to John who was pulling Mycroft's strings.

Jim moved to Mycroft's still warm seat, put his feet on the desk and stared at Sherlock's sleeping face, plotting.

WC – 2073

This might be it for a while.

Thanks for reading this far and please bear with me while I figure out where this story is going.