so anyway this fic I’m working on has infested my grey matter plz have some
“Lord Moran was your agent?”
“He’s a friend,” she says. “Well, it’s more – what’s that thing Adler says? ah – I know what he likes.”
“He was tried and executed for treason,” Sherlock points out. Though he has little sympathy for the man, it seems important to make her note that Moran is yet another casualty of her machinations.
Whatever shred of skepticism Sherlock has left evaporates. This is the Moriarty he first came to know through borrowed voices before he had a – borrowed – face to put to the name. Moriarty smirks as if she’s reading his thoughts off his face, shoulders twitching with ill-concealed amusement.
She reclines a little further and takes a final drag, tossing the butt of the cigarette into the cold fireplace. “Don’t feel bad you didn’t notice,” Moriarty says. “Even little Holmes never caught on. I had to tell her. We-” she stops to giggle. “We had such fun. Me playing terrorist, and Eurus pretending to catch me.”
A singular – terrifying – fury thunders through her, darkening her smile into a scowl in the scant space between two seconds. “Until you went and ruined her.”
Sherlock shuts his eyes, swallowing back saliva and clamping down on the bile at the back of his throat. He can’t think about Eurus right now, shut up in Sherrinford, still mute, unresponsive to anything but the violin. Possibly the best they can hope for, the doctors say.
Moriarty breathes in sharply through her nose and blows it out through her mouth, pasting on a false smile. “Emotional context,” she says, with a little 'tsk, tsk’, “the Holmes family weakness.”
It destroys you every time.
“Where is Molly Hooper?” There’s a split second where Sherlock doesn’t realize the question came from his own mouth – he hardly recognizes the cracked syllables as his own voice. He hadn’t meant to ask, really; he doesn’t know if he’s prepared for the answer. “What have you done with her?”
Moriarty’s eyebrows lift up in real surprise. “You really don’t see, do you?”
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