.・゜゜・｡･:*˚:✧｡ james moriarty
A new life. A new city. And a hell of a lot of trouble.
Renzo, otherwise known as Rens Drake, is a Scottish boy, recently moved to London for a fresh start. However, with a criminal lifestyle, will pickpocketing informat...
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THE ROOM I WAKE IN IS COMFORTABLE IN COMPARISON TO THE LEATHER TAXI I WAS EXPECTING. A welcome surprise. By the decor and also the faint scent of crisp fabric and what I assume to be the equivalent of freshly fallen snow, I decipher that I had been placed in James' room rather than one of his many guest rooms.
I sigh contentedly, willingly intoxicated by the scent I know as his. His scent only having one word to describe it; crisp. The smell of a new suit mixed with a certain coldness that carries a soft undertone, but by no means reflects his personality, more so his style. Modern but comfortable.
Sitting up against the cream sheets on the queen sized bed, my attention is immediately taken by the freshly ironed clothes at the foot of the bed. A sleek black, bordering navy blue suit with a black button down, no tie. Also a pair of black dress shoes next to the bed, near the outfit.
Not really my style, but nothing that won't look good on me.
Leaving the comfort of the bed I make to change into the outfit provided, looking over myself once on. The suit hugs my figure tightly, emphasising certain areas. The button down shirt left open at the top showing off some chest, however the overall look is sophisticated rather than slutty. I rather like his taste, the colour going nicely with ginger hair and many freckles.
Finally I took a proper look around the room, the walls and ceiling indicating that the house itself is of Victorian heritage, the walls and ceiling made of a dark wood with intricate details, however the overall style of the room is brought together by the modern style furniture which doesn't vary much from the shades of black and white.
With the final glance over my shoulder, the last brush through my hair, I leave the room, strong strides down the hallways, every inch of the house having the same consistent decor.
"Mr Drake, I believe you will find Mr Moriarty in his living room, down the hall and at the bottom of the stairs, it's hard to miss." A maid pausing from her cleaning to inform me of the supposed meeting. I nod in thanks, following her directions.
Once at the end of the hallway I gasp at the breath taking sight. The hallway opens up to a small balcony that presents the stairs down to the open floored living room, a large chandelier hanging proudly in the centre, down below a large marble fireplace sits attention of the circular room, a curved black leather couch taking up the most space facing the the fireplace, accompanied by a glass coffee table as well as a white fur rug.
Making my way down the stoned wooden staircase, the actual staircase being made out of wood however with stone slabs as the steps. The male sat respectively at the coffee table, coffee in hand, to be alert to my presence.
"You came here for a reason, or did you just miss me that much~?" He mused, gesturing for myself to have a seat next him as well as to help myself to the coffee pot left on a tray with an assortment of other brew items.
"You needed to talk to me, remember?" I answer, the usual flirt lost in my still tired state, not completely motivated for the day ahead.
"Ah, yes, I did. You froze up back there, what happened?" He leans back sipping his black coffee, already dressed in his usual smart attire.
"So you were watching."
"I threw you off?" He raises an eyebrow from over his mug, slightly amused by this. "Don't tell me I have that kind of effect on you~"
"Don't be absurd James. I've known Sherlock for awhile but I have never known him to be so openly sadistic, it worries me." I inquire, barely catching the annoyance on his face at the mention of our current toy.
"Remember the game, don't be getting too attached my darling~"
"I'm not." I snap, clearly offended by the mere suggestion, pouring myself a coffee, being sure to add two sugar cubes. My silence whilst drinking the caffeinated drink an evident signal for him to change the subject, which thankfully, he does.
"I couldn't help but notice, you are no where near as violent as some make you out be, as your job description 'with a side of hitman' I believe it was?" He quotes, closing his chocolaty brown eyes and taking a quiet sip of the bitter drink.
"I have my reasons." I answer, looking ahead of me to the elegantly carved fireplace on the curve of the room.
"Them being?"
"Them being known by only a few people and staying that way." I counter my answer, uncanny aggression edging into my voice, though him chuckling away at my sass only seems to fuel me more.
"Feisty today I see? Guess it's to be expected, you are Scottish born and bred." He clicks his tongue in his own amusement, humming a little tune to himself like the happiest bugger alive. Though his eyes soon snap open, as though just remembering something important. "Why don't you speak with your Scottish accent more often?"
A little taken aback by the sudden childishness and random questions. "Well little to no one around London can understand me with the accent, so I use a more British accent instead."
"Say something with your accent."
"Erm... yer a long time deid." I say, relaxing a little at not having to strain my voice from using an unnatural accent.
"You're a long time dead?" He asks, shifting slightly in his seat on the black leather couch to face me more, our knees knocking together.
"It basically means 'enjoy life, cause once you're dead you're going to be that way for a very long time.'" I recite, a chuckle escaping my lips upon remembering the sayings my mother used to say, wrinkling my freckle covered nose at the memory. "It's not very uplifting, but it's truth." After having my stormy grey eyes on the floor, I look back to him, catching his own orbs in an instant.
