Ｗｅｌｌ, ｉｔ'ｓ ａ ｄｕｌｌ ｌｉｆｅ.

[spider]

CHARACTERS: Jim Moriarty & Sebastian Moran (HoD).
LOCATION: Jim's room omg calm down they are just talking WHAT'S NEW
WARNINGS: Sebastian's sassypants are on too tight.
SUMMARY: It's time to give Sebastian the run-down about Sherlock Holmes while enjoying some tea.
NOTES: ＪＩＭ ＷＡＳ ＨＥＲＥ! ＳＨＥＲＬＯＣＫ ＩＳ Ａ ＬＯＳＥＲ!

[ Of course Jim Moriarty would send a message inviting him over for tea.

Of course Jim Moriarty's intentions are purely on business. Not at all vicious, in any way.

Of course Jim Moriarty has forgiven Sebastian Moran on his little slip up.

Of course Jim Moriarty hasn't forgotten.

Of course Jim Moriarty appears to have forgotten, and is preparing their tea.

Of course Jim Moriarty is humming to himself.

Of course Jim Moriarty happily invites him in when he arrives, not giving a caring glance when he does, but the smile is there.

Of. Course. ]

Comments

[sebasher]

["Of course" were Moran's exact thoughts when he received the message from Jim. Jim. Having to call him by anything other than "Moriarty" even once still leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He's made every possible comparison between this man and Professor Moriarty, ultimately coming to the stunning conclusion that this man is not the Professor, but not an entirely separate entity either. Either way, the Colonel still catches a familiar chill when he enters the man's room.

After his slip-up, he'll have to check the tea for arsenic or rat poisoning. Whether he be a terrifying Professor or a small, unsuspecting Irishman, James Moriarty doesn't forget, and Moran knows it.

Of course.]

I have mentioned that I'm sorry for what happened before, haven't I?

[spider]

[ There's the clink of a tea spoon as soon as Moran's words break the silence, scraping at the air while he in turn pierces with his own: ]

Oh, that. [ A pause, as if sorting his thoughts. There would be very little sorting, as the pause apparently meant to be a little dramatic. Or silly— The tilt of his head and lips pressed into a thin line. He turns to hand over the beverage, his other hand bare and without one for himself.

Yes, he is saying "don't mind me, drink up."

He almost stuffs it into his hands before striding off to sit, brushing at his hands. Invisible dirt. ]

I suppose you did, yes.

[sebasher]

[Moran is instantly weary. He's already stepped on the tiger's tail once, and now he's just anticipating the attack. He finds it to be inevitable, and now it's three times worse. This isn't the Professor, he hasn't been working for this man for two years, and as a whole, he has absolutely no idea where he stands with him.

He attempts to outwardly set himself at ease, accepting the tea (can't afford to be rude again) with a curt nod. Jim's lack of a cup makes him suspicious, however, and doesn't drink. He just holds it, keeping his eye on Moriarty at all times.

Just in case this one has a testing process as well.]

And there was a reason you wanted to see me, of course?

[spider]

Yes, yes.

[ A wave in his general direction, batting away the question. He's in no hurry, smoothing the creases in his jumpsuit, as if it glittered with expensive fabric. No plans to be leaving anytime soon, comforting grinding a heel into the floor. His eyes flicker down at his communicator, leaving Sebastian as a ghost. Ignored presence.

The small distraction is set aside, glancing at his tea before locking gazes. ]

The name I told you once, repeat it to me.

[sebasher]

[He isn't nearly as nonchalant about this as Moriarty. He isn't used to such casual conversation around such a dangerous man. He isn't formal with the Professor, but he wouldn't call the air surrounding their conversations comfortable.

He wouldn't call this comfortable either, especially when the man locks his gaze. The creepy bastard.]

Sherlock Holmes, was it?

[He has to think about it once the name's out in the open. Yes, he's certain that's the name. He's managed to keep it in his mind by connecting it to Mycroft Holmes, the horrible fat man up at Whitehall. He has no realization that the two are actually brothers.]

You've explained, in a way, who he is. Is he someone I ought to be concerned with?

[spider]

A Consulting Detective.

[ He interrupts sharply. ]

Bright one, really. Waltzes into every little crack, little places for bugs to crawl. Baddies of London and their "murders", [ Crinkling his nose, leaving the aim hovering between his distaste or the fact his tea is still untouched. Definitely a lack of taste there. ] he's the man sniffing them out. Keeps a steady eye on those. Thrills him, not exactly the reward, but using that lovely brain of his. Mister Boast getting off with his fun. He's The Sherlock Holmes. He deduces. Observes. He's sexy and he knows it.

[ A pause. ]

Found his way to me. I run a business, you see. I set up the little places for people to do their work, to get down and dirty. Helping along the natural order of things and heads roll. Of course he would find his way to me, the spider and his web. He likes that. We bump heads, it's fun. It's a distraction, but of course... a distraction is a distraction, Colonel Moran, it's only a distraction. One tends to get bored when it loops. Skips. Splutters.

[ Twirling a finger in the air, he hums a small tune. Ring a Ring o' Roses. The stream of information fills the air, met with the satisfied feel of a smile. It lingers there. ] Sherlock Holmes is a very nice concern for you.

[sebasher]

[He stands there for a moment, jaw slack as he lets that sink in. That...what was that? An entire run-down on Sherlock Holmes' character and he still doesn't understand.

So he's a bloodhound. There are plenty of other self-described bloodhounds out there who are trying to sniff out London's finest. The point is that the criminals who get caught are the ones who probably shouldn't be doing the job in the first place. Moriarty (even this Moriarty) is an expert at covering his tracks, and you can be damn certain that those who work with him had better be experts too.

So, what is this? Is it just a personal situation like the Professor's loathing of Nevil Stent? Why waste time on one minor nuisance when there are more exciting things out there? And good God, what has he gotten himself into?

His tea is still untouched, and he has only one response:]

Sounds like an annoying bastard, if you ask me.

[spider]

[ Barely a moment until there's a huff of laughter. A good sign, it seems. Or maybe a trick? His mood is a see-saw, one could say. Dipping one way when the weight
s
  l
   i
    d
     e
      s
down and slams. A rush of emotion that snaps apart. Changeable.

But there is some balance, lazily content in his expression once the humor has passed. A bit of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. ]

Very much, and I'm enjoying all this room with two. [ He holds up two fingers, bending one slightly. Apparently his amusement for one is lingering. The weight on the see-saw. ] Or three, but he's the oddball rolling around the bunch. As I am different from your... professor, [ A drip of irritation. ] he is to me. Different times and universes crawling in bed together, it's an anorak's wet dream.

[ He sniffs. The irritation continues to drip. ]

Away from my toys and pretty web, I'm being awfully distracted.

[sebasher]

[Moran doesn't take the laughter as a good sign. It's a terrible sound, really. Blood-freezing, grating, a bit like nails on a chalkboard. He suppresses a wince and waits for what seems like an eternity for it to stop.

He's surprised when it does.]

You have no interest in the third?

[He knows he needs to limit his questions, so he doesn't ask why. Jim is a short fuse, irritated by...well, everything, Moran assumes. A bit like the Professor, who takes off to be with his wasps and sees no one when he's in a foul mood.]

[spider]

Different. [ A brief answer, as Moran might be correct about that assumption. When you bundle up all the troubles ( to the point he might need to sit somewhere and pinch the bridge of his nose in silence; something. anything ), it's a very smart assumption. ] He's different.

[ But of course the brief reply can be interpreted. It's laid out on the table. ]

Can be just as nosy, but my interest starts to linger at a certain point. He has a different feel, Moran, as you are to mine. There's that similarity, but I would only entitle the attention if he truthfully wanted it. Truthfully. The Sherlock Holmes I know seems very keen about that, so who knows? He might just jump out for it, out in the blue. I suppose it's in their nature. Comes with the name.

Now drink.

[ The fuse is getting smaller and smaller. ]

[sebasher]

[Moran can practically see that fuse getting shorter, so he really doesn't allow himself a chance to argue. He only hesitates slightly before finally taking a sip of that goddamn tea. If it kills him...well, he always figured he'd die a more noble death, but that's just tough, isn't it?

He contemplates Jim's words (and the tea: not nearly strong enough) for a moment, and then, with all this talk of doubles and alternates, he remembers his own.]

There's another one. [It's an awkwardly quick statement. Jim's fuse is still dangerously short and Moran almost wishes he hadn't mentioned it at all, but it's already out. Too late to take it back now, so he doesn't try. Instead, he elaborates.] Another Sebastian Moran. He's got about two years on me, give or take. There are a couple minor differences in our histories. The tiger story's still the same. He has a beard. [The beard is important.] Have you spoken with him as well?

[spider]

Oh, we've spoken once before.

[ If there would be an odd time for a pause, it would be now. ]

It's easy to see loyalty in some. Now, that is a tiger. [ Some amusement, sneering with pearly white teeth. ] Loyal like a Doctor John Watson. Claws out only for their tamer.

Drink all of it. [ --Like an afterthought. ]

[sebasher]

[Moran bristles visibly. By no means does he consider his alternate to be a lesser man than himself, but the implication that he's any better? Oh no, that does not settle well with Sebastian Moran. He's just as skilled, capable of being just as loyal. He may dislike the man, but two years in and he hasn't attempted murder on the Professor yet, has he?

Jaw clenched, fingers curled tightly around his mug of rapidly cooling tea, it takes an awful lot of self-control for Moran not to go off completely. He doesn't want to drink another sip of that godawful tea, but he does, begrudgingly. As long as he has that cup in his hands, he isn't likely to reach out and strike Moriarty. He can't seem to help it when his voice comes out in a growl.]

Why isn't he here in my place?

[spider]

[ He takes note of that. Not so much deducing as noticing the obvious ( deducing... ) , even framed with a tightness and incredible restraint. Getting a wind out of him seemed to be the purpose. Testing the pressure point with a small push.

He knows the vulnerability, but he plays with it. It's been a long, long time since he crawled on his own grounds. Where anonymity had a big part, Jim Moriarty was just a creeping whisper. Drawn out into the open by someone getting too close—that's Sherlock Holmes. Threw his arms across the game board and demanded a turn.

But he chooses to feed that information in crumbs. He knows these are two completely different Sebastian Morans, but holding their similarities. Specifically, with a good shot. He's someone he would very much like to put to use, not there is much for him to offer in return, but loyalty. He wants to see that. He toys with the word, hanging it to see if Sebastian Moran decides to bite.

"Loyalty" is a silly thing ( John Watson is Sherlock Holmes' "friend," he reminded. Another silly thing ).

So, he shrugs. The irritability is contrasting, pleased to see the man obey. Wasting his efforts, shame on you. ]

Would you like that?

[sebasher]

[Sebastian Moran isn't John Watson. He doesn't want to be friends with Moriarty. Not with this one or with the Professor. At this point, it isn't even the pay he's after (what would he even be paid in? Cold cups of too-milky tea? How pointless.)

Moran wants a purpose. Not a cause, mind you, but something to keep his eye sharp and his aim on point and his blood at an acceptable simmer rather than a raging boil. He wants a hunt, but wild game is seriously lacking here. Could Moran go out and shoot as many people as he pleased right now? Of course, but what would be there to make it exciting? Irish Moriarty and whatever schemes may be up his sleeve are all he has.

Doesn't stop him from wanting to pummel him, though. He's still on edge when he answers between clenched teeth.]

That isn't up to me, is it?

[spider]

[ Not that he can exactly sure of that word. The word seems to blur between friend, acquaintance, and so on. Definitions with distinct differences he doesn't seem to care for. So, just Colonel Sebastian Moran it is. Another eye. ( Oh, be grateful, he put actual effort into that. )

He shrugs. ]

I don't own you. I told you to come over and you did. Could have added "please," but eh— [ How was he going to end that statement? ]

You could leave, I just prefer the extra punch. With your name, I know you're sharp with a bullet. Names aren't coincidences around here, you may have learned. You have some history. You walked into this room and I made ab-so-lutely sure I gathered what I needed to know, Sebastian Moran. I don't invite anyone for tea without a reason. That's not how I work. As you have been pulled from where you are meant to be, so have I. But that doesn't mean I'm unwilling to stir some trouble, no, no, no. Take my web, I just make a new one. I work and I'm pleased.

[ He's smiling back at that edge. Tilting. ]

You're not here for me to pour out my soul and grief, I'm here to catch you up. Despite my displeasure, I am known on this ship. Not the way I would like to be known, but I'll be changing that. Soon. Now, you must r e a l l y be aching to shoot something, aren't you?

[sebasher]

[Moran just barely manages to fight back a scowl. Moriarty's got him there and he can hardly stand knowing it. He hasn't been forced into coming here by anyone other than himself. He was invited, and any ordinary invitation is just as easy to decline as it is to accept.

But anything signed with the initials J.M. will never be an ordinary invitation, and Moran felt nothing but required to accept. Taking up a job in the Moriarty Firm really is something that follows you, literally, to the very ends of the earth and beyond. For all Moran knows, it tracks your ectoplasm right into the afterlife as well. He accepted the Irishman's invitation because of the old mathematics Professor in London. He has literally sold his soul for excitement, and he's about to sell it all over again for more.]

Aching more than you know.

[Though the familiarity of the entire situation (he makes a mental note not to suggest that Moriarty has deduced rather than researched) put him back on edge, he manages to relax. He can work through this. It's just a distorted mirror of the goings-on in the rooms above Conduit Street, and Jim is just an incredibly distorted mirror of the Professor. Moran just needs to be sure not to get slapped this time.]

Unfortunately, I'm without my rifle. Just a revolver, which only gets the job done in short-range jobs.