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If there was one thing James Moriarty prided himself on, it was his ability to read people. He could tell a lot from a few moments of studying a person. He was better at it than Sherlock was, apparently, because he'd been in the same room with Sherlock Holmes and the consulting detective had never guessed what he was about. The man had an ego the size of a small country, which was probably rightly deserved, but he really wasn't as brilliant as the world thought. If he had been he'd have spotted what he was about before he'd spoken a word.
It was time to put his plan into motion. And right now he was simply waiting for John Watson to wake up. Nabbing John had been easy. The man might have been a soldier in the past, but time away from the regimen and conditioning had dulled the senses, he supposed. A good soldier would always be wary, always be alert. Either John had gotten sloppy or John simply hadn't been a good enough soldier. Either way, it hadn't taken long to subdue him and get him to the pool.
He watched John stir and his eyes blink open. He sat up more and then looked up at Moriarty. “You,” he said quietly.
“Hello, John,” Moriarty replied with the feral smile he knew frightened most people. John didn't appear frightened, which he admitted was a bit disappointing, but he hadn't seemed to realize there was a bomb strapped to his chest yet, either. “I'm about to play a little game with Sherlock, and you're the bait I'm going to dangle in his face.”
John looked down at the bomb, then back up at Moriarty. They held each other’s gazes for quite a few minutes before John reached over for the front of the bomb. “I don't think so,” John said finally.
Moriarty blinked. This was definitely a surprise. “I have the trigger,” he said.
“Oh, you're not going to blow me up,” John said. “You're a psychopath, but you aren't stupid. You know if you kill me Sherlock will be all over you, and he'll come after you with everything he's got.” He sat up more, then pulled the bomb off and tossed it to the side. “And I've got news for you. That's not going to happen.”
This time Moriarty stared at him open-mouthed. This was not going according to plan at all. “And what makes you think you can stop me?”
John stood up and looked at Moriarty. “Let's just say you and I have quite a bit in common.”
“What could we possibly have in common?” Moriarty asked, sneering at John. “You're not special. You're just an ex-soldier who attached himself to the great Sherlock Holmes. You're an insignificant man in the grand scheme of things. One day Sherlock will tire of you and toss you aside and then you'll be nobody, a speck in the past.”
John shook his head. “I have to say, I'm actually quite disappointed. You aren't as smart as I imagined at all.”
“You don't know the first thing about me!” Moriarty snapped.
“Oh, I know more about you than you think. I knew exactly who you were when you came into the lab. I'm honestly surprised you waited so long to make yourself known.” John put his hands in his pockets and looked at Moriarty. “I've known who you are and what you've been about for a very long time. Never hurts to keep an eye on the competition, especially an upstart like you.”
Moriarty scoffed. “Competition? I have no competition. I'm the one who pulls the strings. I can control anyone, anywhere.”
“And yet there are strings you can't pull, people you can't touch,” John said, moving closer. “And that eats at you, right? I know it would eat at me. I know I'd want to do everything in my power to know who, say, killed Vincent Kemp in Rome before he took out the Mafioso who was on the run. Or which man left information on a huge heist in Washington D.C. in plain view of the police there. Or the person or persons who took all the stolen cargo from the plane in Warsaw and made it disappear.”
Moriarty's jaw was hanging down. “How did you know?” he asked, closing his mouth when he was done and narrowing his eyes.
“I imagine you were going to say something about how this was all a surprise to Sherlock. Guess I get to turn the tables on you.” He lifted his hands out of his pockets and raised one of them to wave at him. “Surprise! I'm your competition.”
“You? You're a nobody,” he said, shaking his head. “You're a washed up soldier and a cut-rate blogger.”
“I am now,” he said. “But it's all an act. See, that's the problem. You're so overwrought and ostentatious you fail to notice that there are people who get things done by staying quiet and being unobtrusive. You play the villain, James. I don't do that. I blend into the woodwork and work in the shadows. And you'll find I have more power than you.”
“Who are you? I mean, really?”
“Do you mean what's my true name? Not going to tell you that. Too much power in names. I've been John Watson for years, at least to the public at large. But you know me better by another name anyway.”
“Well, tell me!” Moriarty snapped.
“Aren't you pushy,” John said as he stepped closer. Moriarty realized that the John Watson he was dealing with now was vastly different from what he had been dealing with before. He saw the tightly coiled power in his step, the air of subtle power in his stance and the overwhelming disdain directed at him. It was as though the facade had dropped and the John Watson he thought he'd known had disappeared. This man was different. Moriarty took a step backward each time John stepped forward. If he was going to be truthful, this new John was downright scary. Soon Moriarty's back was pressed again the wall and John was mere centimeters in front of him. Then he leaned in, placing his lips near Moriarty's ear. “I'm Nightshade,” he said quietly.
“No,” Moriarty said, shaking his head. “Nightshade is dead.”
“That's just what I wanted people to think,” John said as he pulled back. “I had someone who had a death wish pretend to be me when people started getting suspicious and had him killed. The legend of Nightshade died with him, only it didn't. Now I could work in absolute secrecy. But then I saw you start to make moves here, and I figured out your game. I'd been John Watson long enough that I had history, had friends. I could set myself up in your game and throw up a giant roadblock.”
“So all of this, the bumbling doctor, the loyal best friend, the dedicated blogger...it's all an act?” Moriarty asked incredulously.
“Well, some of it. I really am a good doctor, and Sherlock is my best friend. And I think I'm an above average blogger. But the levels of normal that I dumb myself down to, those are the lies I keep to play the games I play.” He shrugged at that point. “And I find my games vastly more entertaining than yours.”
“You have no clue what my game with Sherlock is!” he replied, beginning to get angry. “So you let yourself go to war where you could have died--”
“And purposefully got injured so I could leave,” John replied.
“After you spent all those years training as a doctor--”
“I like to think that was a worthwhile education, yes,” John said.
“So you could stop me in playing my game with Sherlock Holmes?”
“Yes, more or less,” John said with a nod as he crossed his arms. “Whatever it is you've been hinting at, whatever breadcrumbs you've laid down to get Sherlock to do whatever you want is going to stop. Tonight, actually. And you're going to forget you have any history with him. I'm fairly sure he's figured out you're the one who murdered Carl Powers years ago. A bit sloppy on your part, keeping the shoes. And I bet he's coming here to make some sort of deal with you. But you aren't going to be here. You're going to disappear from London because as of now Sherlock Holmes is off limits. You can't harm him or play games with him. And if I catch you doing it I know exactly how to deal with you.”
“What can you possibly do to me?” Moriarty asked, crossing his arms and glaring at John.
“I can pull your strings.” He paused. “In fact, I think I might do it anyway. You work for me now, James. Your criminal empire is now my criminal empire. I'll keep you on as a figurehead, tell you exactly what to do and say. And if you step out of line I won't hesitate to off you in a heartbeat. Messily, too, and in a way that never leads back to me. It will be my gift to Sherlock, a messy murder with so many questions for him to solve.” John tilted his head slightly. “Or we can put that bomb on you and then have you try and convince me not to push the trigger. I think that could be a fun game, too.”
Moriarty stared at him. There were very few things that scared him at all, but right now he was terrified of John Watson. He had never misjudged a man so badly before in his life. “I'll leave Sherlock alone,” he said quietly.
“Forever,” John said, rather insistently.
“Fine, fine,” Moriarty said with a sigh. “And what are you going to do?”
“Keep on with the life I have now, though I will pay more attention to other affairs. Make sure you do exactly what I want you to do when I want you to do it and exactly how I plan. And I swear, if any harm comes to Sherlock or anyone in his circle of friends and acquaintances because you think you can get away with it I'll prove to you exactly how wrong you were.” He turned around at that point. “I'll be contacting you soon, James. You had best take my call.” And with that he walked away, leaving Moriarty in the pool with just the bomb and the threats hanging in the air.
Moriarty watched where he had gone for a long time before he hung his head. Sherlock Holmes thought he was brilliant, and he had thought he was smarter than Sherlock, but John Watson far outstripped both of them. This was going to turn into a royal headache if he wasn't careful. But for now, he needed to toe the line and wait for the moment when he could get his revenge for this humiliation. He was patient. He could do it. He would have his revenge if it was the very last thing he did.