William James Moriarty: The Man Who Set Himself on Fire to Keep Others Warm
William James Moriarty has been followed by fire since chapter one. It is one of his most recurring motifs, it’s used in a ridiculous number of ways, and, Theatre Kid to Rule All Theatre Kids that he is, even he knows it.
This makes him a very good study to see what a motif can do in a story.
When I was making notes for this meta, I made a list of common things fire symbolizes in fiction. It started at 18 items, ended at 22, and I see William in all of them, so this will be a long, hopefully fun adventure!
Hit “J” if you don’t want to read about how William is the fictional human personification of the very concept of fire. We’re getting very obnoxiously figurative with language today.
The first image we get of William—the first image we get of anything in the series—is actually him hanging off a waterfall. But Sherlock is there, and we know water is connected to Sherlock much like William is to fire—and besides, that entire panel is functionally a trick and has him surrounded by water, desperate and losing a fight. When we see that scene again later, the mist rising around them is actually flame and ash, though there is nonetheless water below waiting for them.
But the first time we see fire in the series is the candles William and Louis use to set the entire manor alight. The first time William is wreathed in fire is as he’s reborn like a phoenix from the ashes of his former self and his former identity, by his hatred of abuse finally bursting into flame. The first time he comes alongside fire is when he is reborn as William James Moriarty, Lord of Crime.
Fire, then, is not who William always was. It’s who he becomes.
We don’t see fire in the series for a while after that. It doesn’t feature heavily in any of the Pre-Sherlock stories, and it doesn’t really feature heavily in The Noahtic, either. And I wonder if that’s just convenience for the narrative, or, because as we see several times later, that when William met Sherlock, Sherlock ignited a cold fireplace in his heart and brought him back to life.
William was reborn in fire, but he stayed cold ash, removed from himself and anything but his plan for many years after that. But Sherlock brought excitement back, life, passion, inspiration. All things strongly associated with…well, fire.
Okay, perhaps William wasn’t ash. But a banked hearth with hot coals waiting to be sparked back into life. Coals are dangerous as fuck. You can’t leave them unattended because they might grow uncontrollable at any time. But they also provide really very little of the same comfort and utility of a properly lit hearth. Coals are dangerous, they’re hot, but they seem quite unassuming and don’t warm a room the same way. You can’t navigate by their light. Really, I think a lot about that layers over William before Sherlock and after The Fire quite well.
I think it’s also interesting to note that William’s first play when beginning his “Plan” and drawing back the curtains was when Sherlock arrived and reignited his fire. Of course, he’d made that decision before he’d met Sherlock, but those two things lay over each almost so fully it becomes difficult to distinguish how he proceeds with his plan from how he reacts to Sherlock.
So. Along with Sherlock and the beginning of his plan, William’s fire was restoked, and with it his passion, his hope, his life, his determination were all reborn. But William doesn’t see these things as positives. He sees the flame Sherlock lit in him like the hellfire he feels he was destined for. That he felt like he might as well already be one with. Even hope makes him hurt even more.
Most of the revelation of fire doesn’t actually happen on the Noahtic. It does to William, but it’s not seen with the reader. The reader sees fire again when the Moriartys (will I ever consistently pluralize their name? Look, no one’s paying me for this) are alone without Sherlock on the case, in Baskervilles.
Interestingly, in this case, William didn’t cover the evidence with fire like he so often does. He left the evidence out in the open for the nobles to find. Because he knew the horrors left behind were so extreme that it did not matter if those who committed it were obviously murdered: those involved would cover up their own sins and know that someone knew what they were doing. Someone that didn’t like it. There was no purification to be had there. No putting to rest the innocent.
In fact, William didn’t use fire at all: Louis did.
Now, Louis’s motif is not fire. Louis is more like steel: refined and molded with the heat of fire, strengthened by its heat, but really much stronger, colder, more unyielding in some ways. Predictable, tamable, controlled in a way that fire is not and cannot be. Calmer. Still with that same underlying hint of danger, somewhere, still flexible when absolutely needed—but, well, we’re not here to talk Louis because this post is long enough when it’s just about William.
Louis isn’t fire, and when it relates to him, it’s mostly splash from his brother, but I think that makes his relationship to fire so reflective of his relationship to his brother. Louis uses fire to kill a monstrous noble, to destroy, to burn rot from the world…and as he does so, he gushes over how much he loves his brother and would do anything for him. When he was just a kid, he burned himself not for himself, but for his brother’s plan and their safety. He has a permanent reminder of what his brother means to him branded into his face, and he did it with fire.
And you know what I mentioned up there about steel becoming stronger, more flexible, purer, shaped by fire? Fire has a long history of being associated with change and rebirth. Not just because of its use in forging, but because it is so inherently a catalyst for change. A forest fire will be raze through trees, and in its wake new ones will find room to grow. Food is cooked and becomes more palatable, easier to eat. New materials will be made, things will be reshaped, strengthened, born from fire.
I think on some level, William knows this: he is turning himself into a catalyst for change for the entire British Empire, after all, burning through the monstrous nobles to make room for new lives to flourish better than they could have with toxic, towering trees poisoning the ground on which they were planted.
But I think he sometimes forgets that it’s not only potential that his flames leave behind. Things around him are changed for the better. People around him. Because of who he is, not just what he does.
Baskervilles is at its core about the Moriartys and their relationship. Yes, it’s one of the goriest acts of the series, but it’s about brotherly love. It’s Louis using fire against people torturing street kids they way he did all those years back when those street kids were himself and William. It’s about Fred coming to terms with William and being newly inspired and devoted to him. There’s a hilarious line in there from Moran about how the Hound of Baskervilles must have run off in to the woods now that his master is gone that is entirely possibly foreshadowing for The Adventure of the Empty Hearts.
All of that is because of the warm heart that William’s fiery soul brings. It brings into light that his goal is not just destruction but salvation and healing.
William’s fiery motif returns in The Man with the Golden Army. William’s not incredibly present in that arc, but when Moran is actually fulfilling William’s part of the plan, he returns to fire. His own revenge is taken with a gun, just as he thinks of himself but the plan? No, that goes to fire and covering evidence, just the way he always faithfully follows William and rededicates himself to William with that act.
And then there is that incredible panel right at the end with William, receiving the information about how Moran’s mission went and burning it while claiming ownership of Moran just as Moran wanted. This is typical for William burning evidence, but it’s also a sign of the renewal of their bond, and the dangerous, devoted hellfire they’re both spiraling toward.
We’re going to skip a bit here, because frankly most of A Scandal in the British Empire isn’t super relevant to this post. But I would like to note that when Adler first lays eyes on William, he’s illuminated in a dark tunnel waiting for her, and she can recognize him for who he is…immediately. William is often haloed in light, which is both religious imagery and fire imagery, and turns him into a light that moths flock to. He is the light in the darkness to her. She is his inspiration for a new life, and her rebirth as Bond and the catalyst for it to happen. He is safety and home.
No matter what he thinks.
In Phantom of Whitechapel, William is back to using fire to kill and destroy with his explosion he carefully set up—the same way he carefully set up the fire that would engulf the Moriarty manor all those years before. But he’s not actually using it to hide evidence of his crimes. If anything, he uses it as a calling card he knows Sherlock will recognize. And there’s probably even something to say about the way the murderers fled for water, for the river, for safety from the raging fire, but the water (and Sherlock) held no safe harbor for them.
He tends not to favor fire much for the next few arcs—perhaps he feels as though his flame is dimming, at least in all the good ways. Perhaps it’s just that the motif has really been well established. And perhaps it’s also because several of the next arcs focus more on other characters than him.
But Sherlock, ever Sherlock, brings him back to an inferno with The Two Criminals, just in time to twist and change everything William ever predicted and expected. A fire that sets William back in motion, with more determination than ever and new inspiration with a change of plans. The doubtful, uncertain William is gone and back is the raging fire.
As ever, Sherlock stoked his fire.
In The Final Problem, the loss of William comes the loss of the Moriarty manor: their home, their safe place. The family bonds that held them together. They all go to ash when William “dies” and leaves their side, and they plan to be rid of it all with him. Because in so many ways, he is those things.
And then William sets everything on fire with him, to change and blaze a new course, knowing that Sherlock will put it all out and save what needs to be saved.
In The Valley of Fellows, William finally acknowledges this symbol that’s followed him the entire time. He’s been aware of it and thought of himself that way even if the reader wasn’t aware, although I don’t think in all the ways it truly manifested. He didn’t see fire as something adaptable, changeable. As something with a thousand forms and meanings.
But Sherlock knew. And while they’re separated in that arc, the transition between their two stories comes wreathed in fire—homey, warm fires that they both look at fondly. A campfire to keep Sherlock warm and safe. A fireplace in a cozy apartment where William finds his footing once again.
And I think that fire is not just a symbol of William at that point, but their relationship. Their relationship is safe comfort and warm affection. It’s love and excitement without the edge of danger it used to have. It’s light and guidance for both of them. It is the destruction of both their roles and their renewal and rebirth as better, healthier, stronger people. It is unpredictable, uncontrollable, unmanageable, but so incredibly inspiring for them both to reach their fullest potential. So full of determination, frustration.
And when William finally runs to save Sherlock, what else is there to be seen but himself dousing his flame in Sherlock’s water to calm and temper himself?
So it’s fitting, then, that Sherlock will keep the fire, life, passion, inspiration, and every other thing fire could ever represent stoked in William. He will keep William as his best self. And in exchange, he benefits from that fire in all the ways fire can heal and help.
And so does everyone else.
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