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“Oh, grow up!”
The outburst is fierce but short lived, like excited hydrogen. “No one’s ever truly innocent, Sherlock. The only difference is that I make a profit out of being nasty. In an ethical sense… that makes me a better person.”
Jim takes another praline from the scarlet box lying across his lap and shoves the chocolate into his mouth. His suited legs hang limpy over the concrete edge, dangling aimlessly. Some distance beneath polished leather the river Thames creeps lazily in the saturated evening sun. Summer is dying, but her touch is still comforting to bare skin and open coats.
“Want one? I bought them especially for you.” The consulting criminal holds up the box of chocolates for the other to partake in his vice, but the detective shows no sign of wanting to untangle his hands from behind his back, let alone come any closer.
“Chocolate is bad for the skin…” his baritone voice simply states.
“Tha’s bull and ‘u kno’ it,” Moriarty counters, already underlining his claim with another piece. “Besides, you have to learn how to enjoy the little things, Sherlock. At least, that’s what my therapist tells me.” Dark eyes are set rolling behind heavy lids, plump lips curled to uncover sharp teeth. “Makes life a teensy bit more bearable. That’s the goal, isn’t it? Bearable...” The consulting criminal’s head bobs slowly, pondering. “Anyone claiming the opposite is a big ol’ liar.” He reaches this conclusion with a quick shrug of suited shoulders, his jaw working diligently to mow down the next praline in line. “Rise and shine! Smell the roses! Work hard! Early to bed! Repeat, repeat, repeat…”
Yet another outburst, sudden and hostile, quickly followed by a state of enervation, and the pep soon slipping from the consulting criminal’s voice.
“You feel it, too... don’t you?” Jim says, more quietly now and his eyes grow vacant. They fix upon the gold-rimmed skyline on the other side of the water, twitchin lightly in the unyielding sun, as if chasing some run-away entity only visible to him. “The-” A spasm runs through his coated body. It bounces through angular joints before reaching the hand with its fingers pinching a chocolate praline in their hold. He flicks the piece of chocolate from his grasp, sending it over the edge. It flies soundlessly through the air, momentarily draped in a golden shimmer, before being swallowed by the cream coloured river below.
“For God’s sake! Sit down.”
The detective takes his time, but finally complies. His defiant nature forbids him from acting immediately, while his nationality would never see him ignore such a polite request. He sinks down next to his adversary, long legs draping over the edge and gloved hands coming to rest in his lap.
“THANK YOU.”, the other man exclaims sharply, wearily, his raised arms falling limpy to his sides before resuming their cynical sorting of the chocolates in his lap. “How many years has it been, Sherlock? Two? Three?”, the consulting criminal asks with cutting impatience, his finger wantonly pushing around the pralines.
“Four.”, the detective corrects him, and sharp eyebrows shoot up a pale forehead.
“Oh.”
“You have been away for a long time, James.”, the detective continues, and the corner of his mouth lifts into something of a curl, something bitter. “The rules have changed.”
The consulting criminal munches on in silence for a while before lifting a single finger and proceeds to tap it against his forehead.
“TBI. Chaaaanges people, you know?”, he says casually. “Doc says I must have had a guardian angel…” He turns then, and those black orbs settle onto his companion. Intently, slightly twitching, back and forth between two blues. “Did you..?” The question drops from the curve of Moriarty’s lip, barely audible, too soft.
“Did what?” the detective asks, forcing himself to hold the gaze which is currently drilling itself into his skull, into his mind, but ultimately finds himself looking away.
“Miss me?”
He doesn’t answer this time, the detective, but instead lets a smug smirk creep up his lips as his gaze fixes onto the bustling city view across the sluggish water. A silence so uncharacteristic that it says more than any words ever could.
The consulting criminal clucks his tongue.
“Oh, come on now… What has there possibly been for you to do, huh? You need me. Just admit it already...Just say it.”, he moans with words simmering from impatience.
“Need you for what?”, the detective scoffs, amusement draping his voice. “Let me guess… To burn my heart out…”
“Noooo… No no. Don’t do that. No. That’s passé.” The consulting criminal shakes his head violently, nose scrunched up with disapprovement. “I won’t kill you. We are beyond that. It’s pointless now. Besides, who would I meet up with for chocolates?”
“Well, there’s always Mycroft…”
Both men momentarily gaze out over the water, heads tipped in thought and with an unison grimace forming over their features.
“He tells me you have a new friend.” Sherlock continues, breaking the silence, and the unsettling train of thought that had come with it.
“New-ish.”, Jim answers with a series of nods, his hand wiggling in the air. “We are very happy together.”, he states merrily. “How’s the doctor?”
“Oh, better than ever.”, the detective answers, matching the other’s cheer. “We are very happy together.”
The consulting criminal lets out an amused snort at his side, but says nothing more of the matter. Instead he munches on in silence for a while, thoughts ticking behind his skull.
“You know… I would destroy… Everyone, Sherlock. Just about anyone or anything, to stop it from hurting.” he whispers, voice soft again, like a still mirror of water blanketing a bed of sharp rocks. “You have to agree that’s fair.”
“If it comes to it I’ll be sure to return the favor.”, the detective states in return.
“Off limits?”
The box of chocolates is shoved into the detective’s lap before Moriarty shoots up onto his feet. He hastily brushes off a pale hand against the leg of his 1500£ trousers before holding it out for the detective to shake.
The detective moves slower, his eyes shifting between discarded chocolates and the extended hand, but soon joins the other man up on his feet. He lifts the box of chocolates from his lap, arranges his coat, and takes Morairty’s hand in his. “Deal.”, he says, their hands moving in slow unison. When the detective then makes an attempt at passing the box of chocolates back to its owner, the consulting criminal only shakes his head, slowly.
“Keep it. I got them for you, after all.”, he says, smiling, sharp teeth peeking out from behind full lips. “I got a card game with the boys coming up next week.”, the consulting criminal adds shortly after, grimacing at the setting sun. “If you want to plaaay... you got my number.” A quick wink is sent the detective’s way before Moriarty finally turns on his heels. A single hand shoots up into the air as he makes his exit, soon to disappear between brick walls and dull pavement, never to be found unless permitted. “So long, Sherly-locks!”
The detective stands watching the small man being swallowed by the city before he turns his gaze upon the water and the city view once more. The sun will be gone soon, he muses, as a praline finds its way in between his lips. If he hurries he should be able to make it home just in time for tea.