In many ways, Jim Moriarty was contrary, in all ways, he was an enigma, even to himself. That meant that he was a meticulous planner, master manipulator, keyed in on every detail of a plan and exact to the smallest minutiae. However, he was also mercurial, changeable with the moods and at times, he made things up as he went along.
He had planned the confrontation at the pool, naturally, but he had purposefully, even in his own mind, been vague about the ending. He didn't want to script things too much when Sherlock and him were together. So, in a way, it hadn't ended quite as planned, but at the same time? Didn't matter, he was not that particular about it, and the trade with the Woman had turned out satisfactory.
That meant there was time now to focus on so much else, with Sherlock only on the periphery of his awareness, as he had an empire to run and, therefore, a lot of business to attend to. But minds wandered, especially a mind that often had to reach up to the stars to calculate the universe, because the world wasn't big enough for it.
It wandered, he thought, and without that much of a plan - for the time being - he simply got the pawn.
Not personally, of course. But his people found it easy enough to drug John Watson and then transport him, to take him to one of his places, he had plenty in and around London, and to keep him the way he had specified.
By the time John came to, it had really only been a few minutes that he'd been in handcuffs, hanging from a hook that dangled from the ceiling. Jim was going for crude, for now, he liked to have an aesthetic.
Therefore, John also had a burlap sack over his head and his ankles ziplocked together. Finesse, Jim thought, could wait, if it was necessary at all.
He walked into the room only after he could be sure that John had been awake for a good ten minutes and, more importantly, after he had ensured all the camera feeds were set up the way he wanted them. More than one camera. He might not have one definite plan, but that never meant that he didn't have many plots.
His hands were in his pocket as he approached the man, looking him over. He really didn't look like much, but then, some would say that Jim didn't either. Deceptively strong, he knew that much already. And he liked the rage issues. Of course, John was nothing, no one, compared to Sherlock. But he was also a way to get to Sherlock. And wasn't that just the shiniest little spark he'd seen in weeks?
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He had planned the confrontation at the pool, naturally, but he had purposefully, even in his own mind, been vague about the ending. He didn't want to script things too much when Sherlock and him were together. So, in a way, it hadn't ended quite as planned, but at the same time? Didn't matter, he was not that particular about it, and the trade with the Woman had turned out satisfactory.
That meant there was time now to focus on so much else, with Sherlock only on the periphery of his awareness, as he had an empire to run and, therefore, a lot of business to attend to. But minds wandered, especially a mind that often had to reach up to the stars to calculate the universe, because the world wasn't big enough for it.
It wandered, he thought, and without that much of a plan - for the time being - he simply got the pawn.
Not personally, of course. But his people found it easy enough to drug John Watson and then transport him, to take him to one of his places, he had plenty in and around London, and to keep him the way he had specified.
By the time John came to, it had really only been a few minutes that he'd been in handcuffs, hanging from a hook that dangled from the ceiling. Jim was going for crude, for now, he liked to have an aesthetic.
Therefore, John also had a burlap sack over his head and his ankles ziplocked together. Finesse, Jim thought, could wait, if it was necessary at all.
He walked into the room only after he could be sure that John had been awake for a good ten minutes and, more importantly, after he had ensured all the camera feeds were set up the way he wanted them. More than one camera. He might not have one definite plan, but that never meant that he didn't have many plots.
His hands were in his pocket as he approached the man, looking him over. He really didn't look like much, but then, some would say that Jim didn't either. Deceptively strong, he knew that much already. And he liked the rage issues. Of course, John was nothing, no one, compared to Sherlock. But he was also a way to get to Sherlock. And wasn't that just the shiniest little spark he'd seen in weeks?
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