A Desperate, Painful Kind of Love

14

But something was wrong. Sitting up immediately, his eyes went to a console on his right, looking at the monitor and seeing his guards still dutifully at their stations. He turned away, satisfied that nothing was the matter, until a movement caught his eye. Unfolding on the screen of his console, was a fight. Well, more accurately a slaughter.

He watched as John Watson single handedly took out each and every one of his heavily armed men, armed with nothing but his gun.

And like a domino effect, every monitor shut off, the sounds of his machines stopping abruptly. The lights went out. The power line had been cut.

He rose from his seat, stance betraying nothing but mild curiosity. But under the facade, inside his level head, James Moriarty was laughing.

He observed the man leisurely walking to him from across the room. The man stopped, and there was silence.

"Quite the show," Jim said gleefully, "very theatrical."

The man said nothing, just stood there silently, watching him.

"So, how are you, Doctor? Feeling a bit down? Bored? No cases right now, are there? How terribly depressing." His eyes gleamed and he waited for a reaction.

Still, nothing.

"That's why I messaged you; decided to put you out of your misery. Wanted to see if you were smart enough to stay away, or brave enough to come. And here you are. But you always were incredibly stupid. I'm not sure how Sherlock put up with you." Moriarty smirked before continuing. "I am impressed you made it this far, my men are the best. But he kept you well trained, didn't he? His faithful guard dog. His little pet. Always there to save him, always coming to his defence. And what did he do for you? Why, he went and got himself killed anyways! Twice. And nearly a third. Tsk tsk. What a naughty boy."