Have you ever heard of the term? Because I sure haven't.
Those were the thoughts that crossed my mind the first time he needed my help. Or perhaps it was I, who needed his help.
The most dangerous criminal in the world.
Frankly, that was all he was, and all he needed to be. With a mind as great as his, and a world, as boring as this one, it's inevitable.
I was informed on the fact that no one ever got directly to him, so I was kind of curious when he summoned me. We met in what was possibly one of the most dingiest churches of all time. It was only a brief encounter, but the words he spoke back then still linger on my mind this very day. I addressed him in a formal manner, while he acted like he'd known me for years. His way of gliding, almost dancing through the sacred place, combined with his almost childish manner of speech made him seem like a joke. Only I knew he wasn't. He was a menace. Meeting James Moriarty had my theory come true: This man was a maniac.
The maniac insisted in me becoming his right hand. He told me how my sniping skills were extraordinary and how he thought I'd look better in a suit. James Moriarty left the church as promptly as he entered.
"Oh and please, call me Jim."
Jim was my friend. If you define friends in that way. In which case I've got no friends besides Jim. Almost all of my assignments were now given to me in person, however inconvenient. If I happened to be in Portugal at the very moment, he would suddenly be standing behind me in line for a cup of coffee. He'd pay for me and we'd discuss the business matter.
Employer and employee
I was loyal to him. Just like an employee should be to his employer. There are occasions, on which the thin line of employer and employee would tremble ever so slightly. If by tremble you would mean bounce and if by 'ever so slightly' you would mean 'tremendously ', that is.
This one night, he was escorting me personally to my place of duty. He was telling me about this curious case he couldn't get his mind off. I said I'd help him do research on that. I can clearly remember our conversation.
I got injured that night.
I woke up in Jim's house. Or mansion, if you'd please.
I know he was a wealthy man, but this looked like one of those hollywood places that you'd only see on tv. Everything in it looked just as steady and clean as his criminal record. Sparkling and white.
The moment Jim entered the room in his nightgown with muffled hair, every possible bond of formality was broken like thin air. He hold a mug of coffee in his hand and turned his attention to me as soon as he saw that I'd woken up.
"Had a good rest?"
He was kneeling besides me. This couldn't have been the most dangerous man in the world by any means. Not at that moment.
"Yes, thanks Jim. I could have died there."
"No no no my dear, I've got people out there specifically set out to keep you alive."
I actually laughed at that. He tried to sound like he was joking, but I know he wasn't.
I'd seen them. The people, his people, who follow me around everywhere.
"Well, I'd better be off, I bet my landlady can't wait for me to return."
I got up from where I sat, but immediatly regretted my decision.
A strain of white light hit my head like a bullet. Migraine. Great.
"You can stay here as long as you want to."
His face was emotionless.
"You could live here. I can take care of everything"
He added one of his rare, genuine smiles to that last statement.
I kindly rejected the proposal and started to make my way out there, despite my migraine.
I brushed off my clothes, God I must have stained his sofa with all of this dirt and dried blood.
Perhaps, today wasn't a good day for me to make decisions,
because this one was considerably worse than the previous one.
Okay, given, the decision itself wasn't that bad, but the outcome was.
He had shot me in my leg.
I heard him laughing.
This might sound like a callous, apathetic punishment, but I know it wasn't.
It was his way of begging, without words, for me to stay.
His manner of assuring me he could take care of everything.
Boyfriend. Wait, Wha-?
The next time I came to his house, was to confirm my answer.
Before I had a chance to ring the bell, he opened the door and eyed me in a way a predator would eye its prey.
How did he..? Last time I checked, he didn't have any security camera's installed anywhere. Even though he probably should have them.
"I was expecting you. I could smell your indecisiveness through the WALLS, dear."
I shouldn't have doubted his mind. He was extraordinary after all.
For a second time that morning, I couldn't finish my thought or even talk process because he cut me off again.
"So I told my housekeeper my boyfriend's going to live with me now."
My eyes widened at that phrase. At that word, what?
The housekeeper was just passing by Jim, nodding in a fashion of I know more.
"Wait, I'm not his boyfriend!"
"It's allright dear, she knows."
And with that he led me into his house. Our house.
The curious case of Sherlock Holmes. That was his downfall.
Someone with a mind just as brilliant as his, only using it to an extent far less than himself.
He told me he would make the man dance. He told me this would be different.
His eyes were radiant when he talked about it.
"If this Sherlock is as compliant as I believe him to be, I will make him dance. If he's interesting, and clever enough, maybe he'll dance with me."
I remember insulting him for his idiotic use of idioms, because this may very well be his last case. I remember him explaining his plan. I remember it being executed perfectly.
I also remember the aftermath.
The consulting criminal, the most dangerous man in the world, James Moriarty, Jim, my employer, my housemate. In a pool of blood.
"No no no seb" he coughed up blood as he spoke.
"The plan did not go awry, it was perfectly executed in every way"
I took his head in my arms.
"He danced with me, seb. It was beautiful"
I slapped him across the face. For God's sake, stay with us! Keep talking! He'd been fixating on some point in the distance. I slapped him again.
"Kiss me seb"
I was taken back by his words. But the fact that there were words at all lightened the weight of their meaning. I genuinly thought all the boyfriend-gay-sexual innuendo had been for fun. I thought we joked about it because we really did sound gay. But this, I would have never expected anything like this. I was confused. Was this delirium?
"It's your last assignment, Sebastian, kiss me."
His eyes stayed fixated on me.
My body was moving on its own, not following my brain's reasonings.
I leaned down, and apparantly, he still had energy left to cup my face.
This supposedly cold-blooded, heartless man cupped my face in the most human and caring way. I kissed him. His fingers shifted slowly and I could feel him smile into the kiss.
That's when it ended.
Not the kiss. Not the dance. Not the most dangerous man in the world.
But that's when Jim ceased to exist.
His head fell over backwards on my arm.
I could still feel the iron taste of his blood on my lips.
I could still feel his people watching me.
Over and out
I don't think Jim's people were informed on what to do if I were to purposely die.
Pity though, knowing their only purpose in life was to protect me from dying, and they had failed. Or will fail, in a few minutes.
Even just a little brown flask of jewellery cleaner had it's purpose. To kill me. Potassium cyanide. It's purpose had been furfilled, as was mine.
To serve for James Moriarty. My best and only friend.