Prompt from Catherine Spark - Moriarty gets a visit from Santa

The Adventure of the Unwelcome Guest

The darkness was near complete in the first floor room in the old mansion on the edge of London. It sat upon a small, lightly wooded estate surrounded by an eight foot high stone wall, the top of which was studded with rows of wrought iron spikes. The gates to the grounds were flanked by stone guard houses, like those found at most military installations. The gates themselves were higher than the walls and though decorated, they were clearly intended as functional barriers to any who might call unannounced. Therefore, the occupant of the room slept soundly. At least he did until there came a booming knock at his front door.

BOOM!

Professor James Moriarty woke a little surprised. He had never heard any knock at his front door. Not ever. Especially not in the middle of the night. He lay in his overstuffed bed under his down comforter wondering if he had dreamed it. A strange dream if he had. He rolled onto his side and snuggled into his pillow, intent on returning to sleep.

BOOM!

Moriarty rolled to his back and frowned at the ceiling. Who could it be at this time of night? What time was it, anyway? The clock on the wall read 12:01. Just after midnight? A visitor? One of the servants would surely answer the door. Surely.

BOOM! BOOM!

Moriarty sat up, very irritated. His door would be knocked off the hinges if that kept up. Where were his servants? They had better answer the door and send whoever was calling on his way. If they didn't, he would…

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Each blow came harder. The booming became so loud it drowned out everything, even Moriarty's thoughts. Pressing his hands to his ears the criminal mastermind rolled out of bed and staggered for his chamber door. He stumbled to the head of the stairs and worked his way down to the ground floor and out to the entrance. As his fingers touched the handle of the heavy wooden door the booming stopped. Moriarty breathed a sigh of relief. Drawing himself up to his full height and adopting his most haughty and affronted air, he yanked open the door.

"Who the devil are you, sir?" he snarled at the large man filling the mansion's portico.

"Call me Kringle. My card," said the man in a friendly tone. He smiled and held out a calling card to the professor.

Moriarty was so surprised by this that he could do nothing for a moment save gape incredulously. His quick mind assessed the man before him. Tall. Very tall, powerfully built, thick white beard, sparkling blue eyes the color of ice. Burgundy red cloak with white fur trim. Hunter green frockcoat with a crimson waistcoat and white shirt with crimson cravat and hunter green trousers. Very theatrical looking, but something about him spoke of real power.

"How did you get past my guards?" Moriarty demanded, ignoring the proffered card.

"I don't believe they even noticed me," Kringle replied, still holding out his card.

"Well, be off with you, sir," Moriarty hissed and snatching the card from the large man's fingers he tore it in two and cast the pieces on the floor. "Be off with you or I will have the dogs loosed! Caesar! Heel!"

From somewhere in the house the sound of nails on hardwood came. A large mastiff appeared an instant later and stood ready at the professor's side, its lips pulled back and a deep growl rolling from its throat.

Without fear Kringle looked down on the beast and spoke in the voice of an angry glacier, "Bad dog. Sit!"

Caesar was no cowering mongrel to take orders from strangers, but he was no fool. The mastiff stopped his growling and sat, hanging his head and tucking his tail in close to his haunches. Moriarty stared at the dog and then looked back up to the man in his portico.

"I said, off with you, sir," the professor repeated and slammed the door in Kringle's face. "Go, Caesar."

Moriarty watched the dog trot off to the back of the house, its tail between its legs. He wondered how the stranger had gotten the better of the beast, but decided it was time to get a new dog. The chill of the mansion at night finally registered on the professor and he wrapped his arms around himself. He'd put on neither dressing gown nor slippers when he'd left his bedchamber and now felt it was past time to return to the warmth of his comforter. As he passed the large sitting room he jumped back in shock. Kringle was standing quietly by the fireplace smoking a large, curving pipe. Moriarty, recovering his composure, strode into the room and went to a sideboy near the doorway. Opening a drawer he withdrew a large-frame revolver and pointed it at Kringle.

"Out of my home, you blackguard!" snapped Moriarty. "Get out!"

Kirngle looked at the professor and smiled, but gave no other indication he had heard the order.

"I said I want you out of here," Moriarty said. "Out now."

"Professor, I have a few things to tell you," said Kringle.

"Enough!" Moriarty shouted. He was not used to people who didn't follow his commands. He was not used to people who were not afraid of him. Most of all, he was not used to people who made him feel afraid. He raised his revolver, taking careful aim. "I warned you."

"You did," Kringle agreed amiably.

Moriarty pulled the trigger. Instead of the loud gunshot he'd been expecting, a small, red flag popped out of the weapon's barrel unfurling to display the word BANG! in large yellow letters. Moriarty frowned at the flag and then looked up at Kringle.

"It's a little chilly in here, Professor," Kringle said and waved his hand at the fireplace. Instantly the smoldering coals that had been banked for the night burst into vivid fire, filling the room with warmth and a comforting glow. "That's better. Why don't you and I just sit down and have a talk."

Moriarty glared at the revolver in his hand once more and set it aside. He didn't know how the large man had replaced his Webley or how he'd done whatever he'd done to the fire, but it seemed the only thing to do was sit and hear what Kringle had to say. Perhaps he could find some other means to rid himself of the fellow.

Kringle filled the large wingback chair he chose while Moriarty had plenty of room in its twin on the opposite side of the fire. In the dimness, relieved only by the light of the fire, Moriarty saw the large man's eyes twinkling.

"How did you get in here?" Moriarty demanded.

"Perhaps I came down your chimney," Kringle chuckled.

"What do you want of me?" the professor asked, his temper cooling, allowing his reason to ascend.

"I think that will be enough of your questions, James," said Kringle, puffing out a great cloud of smoke. "I've come to warn you."

"Warn me?" Moriarty demanded. He didn't like people calling him by his given name, but chose to overlook it.

"I don't suppose you have any idea who I am," said Kringle gravely. From his pocket he produced a tightly rolled scroll of paper. "This is my naughty list. Or one of them, I should say."

Professor James Moriarty blinked at the man. Could he really be suggesting…?

"That's right," said Kringle. "Father Christmas, Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, Weinachtsmann, what have you. That's me."

"I'm dreaming," Moriarty said. "That explains everything. That's why the servants did not answer the door. That's why Caesar acted so strangely. It certainly explains the pistol."

Kringle laughed at that and drew upon his pipe once more.

"I am dreaming," Moriarty said a little more crisply. "You are a fiction my mind has created. I will wake and you will be gone."

"If that's the case," Kringle said with a chuckle, "I'd better get down to business."

He flicked his wrist and the scroll unrolled. There were several feet of it and the coil stopped at the professor's feet with still more not yet unrolled. In clear, plain handwriting was a list written upon the paper. Moriarty leaned down and gathered the scroll to him. He peered at it in the light from the fire. Frowning, he realized the list contained many entries, each of which was a crime he had committed or had had committed.

"As I said, I am dreaming," the professor reiterated. "No one save myself knows about all of these. And no one save myself knows I am connected to all of them. I am dreaming."

"It is that you might save yourself that I am here, James," Kringle said evenly.

"So you are standing in for Marley's ghost?" the professor snorted. "Poppycock!" He thrust himself to his feet and waving his arms in the air he cried out, "I do not believe in ghosts! I do not believe in God! I certainly do not believe in Father Christmas!"

"Very likely you do not believe in Henry Stoddard Babcock, either," Kringle said in a very mild tone. "I assure you, though, he does exist."

"Even if I accept you hypothetically," Moriarty said heatedly and turned on the larger man, "what does this prove? What does your list prove? It is no evidence."

"You see a list," Kringle said and blew out another stream of smoke. "I see links."

"Links?" demanded the professor regaining his composure. "Explain that."

"Links, as in a great chain," replied Kringle. "A chain that will drag you down in the end, James. You will drown under the weight of it."

"Will I?" Moriarty scoffed.

"You will," replied Kringle. "Unless you begin making amends."

"I told you, I don't believe in ghosts or gods."

"Or a child who will grow up to be a great athlete," Kringle shrugged. "I'm trying to help you save yourself, James. Do not ignore this warning."

"Save myself?" Moriarty shook his head and crossed the room to his port decanter. "Save myself from what?"

"Your untimely death and the punishment that comes after," said Kringle, rolling up his list.

"I don't believe in a hereafter," the professor said tiredly. "Your bogeyman holds no power over me."

"I see," said Kringle getting to his feet. "You know, I didn't want to come here in the first place. These visits never do any good with your kind."

"My kind?" Moriarty asked turning to face the large man. "What do you mean by that? I am the only one of my kind."

Kringle laughed until his whole frame shook. He slapped his knee and wiped a tear from his eye. Moriarty frowned at him the way a cat will if you pull its tail.

"That's another thing they all think," gasped Kringle. "Bonapart said the same thing. He said it in French, but the meaning was the same. James, consider this: If I am only a dream and dreams come from within, then is it possible that part of you believes you have done wrong? Is it possible that you are not as sure of yourself as you claim? Is it possible there is a part of your mind that wants to do good? Perhaps you wish to give up this horrid life you have created for yourself. Think on it, man. With your intellect you could rise high in the esteem of your fellow man. You could erase the harm you have done. You could make amends for all those who have suffered unjustly at your hands! Change your life, James!"

"Get out," Moriarty said and drained his glass.

"Know this, then," Kringle said in that voice of grinding ice. "A year hence your destruction is guaranteed. You will not see another Christmas, James Moriarty. I will not call again. There will be no ghost of past, present or future to redeem you. I tell you change. It is up to you to make the change or be dragged down by the chains you have made."

With that the fire dimmed to coals and the figure of Kringle vanished before Professor Moriarty's eyes. James felt cold once more. He set aside his glass and climbed the stairs to his room. The clock on the wall read 12:01.

"I was only dreaming," he said to himself. "Poppycock. Nonsense. Henry Stoddard Babcock. Nothing but a foolish dream."

Moriarty lay down in his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and felt a comfortless warmth spread over him. If it were no more than a dream, where had it come from? He believed in only the things he could touch and quantify. Therefore, he was relieved of mores and conventions imposed on lesser men by society. His intellect separated him from them as theirs separated them from ants. He fell asleep with that reassurance, but his sleep was restless and remained so.

AN: Henry Stoddard Babcock was an American athlete who won the gold medal for pole vault in the 1912 Summer Olympics. He was born December 15, 1890.