Two Months Earlier. Early Spring. 2013.
It had been nearly three months since The Fall. Jim Moriarty, (Or Timothy Bennett, as he refered to himself now.) could hardly believe how fast time seemed to pass. After The Reichenbach incident, and his simulated death, he arrived in America to avoid the attention of The British Government. He started work at a small auto repair shop right off the highway, next to the woods. Today was his fifth day working there.
It's not exactly the job he wanted, but he was out of sight out of mind for most people, with exception to the men he worked with, of course. A friendly, overweight, middle-aged man named Jerry, and his young son. They may have thought he was a bit odd, but they were no concern of Jims. The son tended to keep to himself, and his father was, not to sound rude, but not very bright.
Although the work itself bored him, the location gave him a good look into the woods. The mystery of the forest offered endless scope for his dark imagination. A father could be teaching his sons how to hunt. Two teens could be getting drunk off cheap beer they stole. A middle-aged man living off anti-depressants might be searching for meaning in his life, or maybe someone is burying a body they'd killed only moments before.
"Tim! Quit starrin' at the trees and help me clean up!" Jerry shouted playfully as he wiped grease off a wrench. Jim grinned slightly before walking to the workbench to help his boss.
"Alright old man, I'm coming." Jim teased.
"Watch your mouth while you still got a job," Jerry tossed an old rag at Jim for him to start cleaning tools. "So, how are you liking Quantico so far?"
Jim dreaded the old mans small talk, but went along anyway. "It's good, the weather is a lot nicer than where I'm from."
"You never told me where you're from," Said Jerry. "Or why you moved here."
Jim chuckled faintly enough for only himself to hear. What could he say? That he was an consulting criminal hiding from the British Government for a few years?
"I'm on the run from the Irish mob."
Jerry's belly jiggled with laughter. "That humor of yours is the only reason I keep you 'round." He giggled on for a few moments before continuing. "But I still don't know why you'd choose here of all places, with all the awful shit that happened here. People are still pretty torn up about it."
Jim's brows nit in confusion. "What awful shit?"
"You're kiddin' me, you really don't know about all the murders?"
"Other things have had my attention."
"But you must to have been livin' under a rock not to know."
"More like out of a suitcase," Jim remarked. "So, what exactly happened?"
"Well, from what I remember, some batshit shrink killed people that got under his skin and feed them to his houseguests."
"Holy shit." Jim said, but all he could think was how he wished he'd came to the states sooner to see it first hand.
"Damn right. My boy was pretty interested in it at the time. He still got a book about it, if you want to barrow it." Jerry offered. "Though it'd probably make me sleep better if you didn't, knowing there's at least one sane person I see every work day." He added.
"Don't say that after you made me interested," Jim replied with a shake of his head. "I'll take the book."
"Fine, but you're buyin' my sleeping pills."
"That you mean you paid me a decent amount."
"What did I say about watchin' your damn mouth?"
---
At the end of that day, Jerry sent Jim home with the book he offered. Hannibal The Cannibal by Fredrick Chilton. If the poor old man only knew what he started when he placed that hardcover into Jims cold hands. He was up well into the night reading it, wondering how much of it was true. Thinking about the wonderfully demonical arrangements the killer made with his victims. Questioning the self-destructive methods of the lead investigator, Will Graham; But Jim was above all interested in the organs he always ripped from his victims, mostly lungs and kidneys.
'Not my personal choice, but who am I to judge?" He thought as he read in his bed.
One line in the biography seemed highlighted on the page. It read as follows:
'If you wanted a description of Doctor Lecter, not a psychoanalysis, but a Gods honest personal description of the man from someone who knew him. I'd tell you he was unlike anyone I'd met before him, and likely anyone who comes after. While everyone else wore their lives on their sleeves, either not realizing they are, or expecting nobody to notice, Lecter was different. He knew someone might have eyes on him, and dressed accordingly. He didn't disguise himself, no, that would be to easy to see through. Instead, he mirrored what he believed himself to be if he were honest, and that's what he showed the world.
He was the best kind of lier, the kind that never told a lie that he himself wouldn't believe. Which, you must admit, is quite humble for a psychopath.' Wrote Fredrick Chilton.
Old familiar thoughts started to race through Jims brain. Thoughts of his past antics that, no matter how dearly he missed them, knew better than to act on right away. He needed to think if he wanted Lector and Graham to be the next ones caught in his web.
---
Morning light gleamed through the thin curtains onto the brown walls of Jims small flat. (Or apartment, as he became accustom to saying.)
He nearly finished the book when the noise of his neighbors started to fill the halls, disrupting the peace that came with night. Some getting ready for work, others yelling at their kids to get to school, and one watching the early morning news. The last one he could only assume was a hearing impaired elderly person, due to the volume of their damn TV.
Jim sighed and placed his book to the side. 'Perhaps I did die on that rooftop, and this is just punishment for my sins.' He thought as he rose from his bed to ready for work. Oh how Jim dreaded work today, not do to lack of sleep, but more so because the information he gathered left him with more interesting things in mind.
He had done more research on Will Graham, since the author wrote very little about him. Jim discovered that after Hannibal, Will returned to work at the FBI Academy in Quantico. A devil smirk spread across Jims lips. 'Perhaps I should pay dear friend Will a visit.'
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Don't Burn The Heart, Lightly Grill It With Some Fava Beans.
Fanfiction"For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light." Hannibal (NBC)\Moriarty (Sherlock) Crossover. *All characters belong to lawful owners. Some scenes and\or dialog may be derived directly from books and\or shows that depict these characters...
