Post by jimmoriarty on Oct 5, 2012 0:43:34 GMT -5
Forging an identification card and a passport was like taking candy from a baby for the mastermind, Moriarty. That and he had the cash and the connections to have such things made. To the public, he'd keep James Moriarty dead, but of course, not to Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock to know he was alive, which the detective already did.
Jim knew that if Sherlock tried to run to any of his police friends, they could assume he was insane for saying Moriarty was still alive. Well maybe Sherlock's brother and Lestrade would believe him, and John, if Sherlock even spoke to him.
For now, Moriarty sought fun elsewhere, while Sherlock busied himself with cases. Some created by Moriarty himself to keep the Detective even busier. He'd managed to board a plane, spending the long traveling time playing Cut-The-Rope on his iPhone--but tortured the animated creature by not allowing it to have the candy.
He didn't each much on the flight, only a small bag of chips, and a small glass of fine wine. He splurged the cash he'd collected from some past clients every now and then. Perhaps he'd buy himself an expensive dinner after his plane landed.
He'd landed in New York, as it turns out. He'd chosen a city at random to venture to, and it was the big apple that won the Moriarty lottery. Perhaps he could find intelligent beings here to toy with. Someone that would solve his games faster than Sherlock.
He'd managed to get a cab and find his way to a luxurious hotel. He'd told his cab driver that he didn't care which one, he let the driver choose. He'd tipped the driver more than anyone would have before entering the lobby of the hotel. He enjoyed being treated like a king, especially when he'd entered the hotel, wearing his best suit, and employees came to take his bags and treated him like royalty. He'd asked for the best suite at the hotel, figuring he could afford to spend a bit of cash on himself. Why shouldn't a king be able to live like one?
After he was guided to his room, and his bags were delivered, he went to the hotel's restaurant and had a proper meal. It tasted and filled him up more than airplane food. He caught the eyes of several young ladies watching him. Good, his plan was working already--pretend to be a wealthy, single, bachelor that was here on business.
The villain took his time finishing lunch, amused by all of the females--both staff and others staying at the hotel. Too bad the only "love" in his life was Sherlock, who was too busy to even reply to text messages.
He picked up a tourist's pamphlet before he went to his room. He'd returned to his room after eating and now sat in a chair facing the window--which gave him an amazing view of the city. He studied the sights and sounds beyond the glass panes, noting which areas look popular, and which areas could be good for serial killings. Well, trouble for the city, amusement for him.
Tomorrow, he'd decided, he'd go out into the city and start investigating areas. He'd start plotting what kind of people lurked in the dark holes of the city. Who was a hired hand, and if anyone wanted someone murdered. In another word, he was looking for clients.
For now, he simply enjoyed the view, smiling to himself.
"The Big Apple," Moriarty mumbled to himself before raising a glass of wine to his lips that he'd gotten from room service, "Let's see how difficult it is to rule you."
Jim knew that if Sherlock tried to run to any of his police friends, they could assume he was insane for saying Moriarty was still alive. Well maybe Sherlock's brother and Lestrade would believe him, and John, if Sherlock even spoke to him.
For now, Moriarty sought fun elsewhere, while Sherlock busied himself with cases. Some created by Moriarty himself to keep the Detective even busier. He'd managed to board a plane, spending the long traveling time playing Cut-The-Rope on his iPhone--but tortured the animated creature by not allowing it to have the candy.
He didn't each much on the flight, only a small bag of chips, and a small glass of fine wine. He splurged the cash he'd collected from some past clients every now and then. Perhaps he'd buy himself an expensive dinner after his plane landed.
He'd landed in New York, as it turns out. He'd chosen a city at random to venture to, and it was the big apple that won the Moriarty lottery. Perhaps he could find intelligent beings here to toy with. Someone that would solve his games faster than Sherlock.
He'd managed to get a cab and find his way to a luxurious hotel. He'd told his cab driver that he didn't care which one, he let the driver choose. He'd tipped the driver more than anyone would have before entering the lobby of the hotel. He enjoyed being treated like a king, especially when he'd entered the hotel, wearing his best suit, and employees came to take his bags and treated him like royalty. He'd asked for the best suite at the hotel, figuring he could afford to spend a bit of cash on himself. Why shouldn't a king be able to live like one?
After he was guided to his room, and his bags were delivered, he went to the hotel's restaurant and had a proper meal. It tasted and filled him up more than airplane food. He caught the eyes of several young ladies watching him. Good, his plan was working already--pretend to be a wealthy, single, bachelor that was here on business.
The villain took his time finishing lunch, amused by all of the females--both staff and others staying at the hotel. Too bad the only "love" in his life was Sherlock, who was too busy to even reply to text messages.
He picked up a tourist's pamphlet before he went to his room. He'd returned to his room after eating and now sat in a chair facing the window--which gave him an amazing view of the city. He studied the sights and sounds beyond the glass panes, noting which areas look popular, and which areas could be good for serial killings. Well, trouble for the city, amusement for him.
Tomorrow, he'd decided, he'd go out into the city and start investigating areas. He'd start plotting what kind of people lurked in the dark holes of the city. Who was a hired hand, and if anyone wanted someone murdered. In another word, he was looking for clients.
For now, he simply enjoyed the view, smiling to himself.
"The Big Apple," Moriarty mumbled to himself before raising a glass of wine to his lips that he'd gotten from room service, "Let's see how difficult it is to rule you."