Disclaimer: slight canon divergence from the show, tension in the air, romantic interest or enmity, and fiercely proud characters. Love Triangle??? Love Square???
James Moriarty x f! Reader
a/n: If there are any errors, they are purely human. Keep in mind that this is originally written in Spanish and then translated into English using a translator.
It goes without saying how unforgettable that night turned out to be, though I wouldn't know whether to label it a wonderful coincidence or a sort of supreme justice of fate. Perhaps his words at that moment were quite accurate; maybe it was indeed in our fortune to see each other again. Nevertheless, I would have never thought it would be under these circumstances.
Throughout the entire dinner, I remained with an impassive face from the moment the newcomers crossed the door and sat down under Mr. Holmes's cordial invitation. Evidently, I was not the only one bewildered by the sudden presence of these people, and I find comfort in that idea somehow. Shortly after, the rest of the guests resumed the conversations that had been left half-finished and interrupted, but I could not stop staring intently at the plate in front of me. Mr. Sherlock, a friend of James and Mycroft's younger brother, was distractedly conversing with the latter's solicitor; meanwhile, I could sense out of the corner of my eye James looking at me skeptically, drinking the Chablis almost as if it were water.
I had not spoken another word since the polite greeting toward James. Neither of us expected to find ourselves in this situation, or at least that was how I felt on my part. Sherlock did not notice either how his friend, seated beside him, had not opened his mouth since his scandalous entrance. Or simply, he did not give it enough importance. In principle, and under the brief theoretical practice my father had given me on the way in the carriage, you cannot know someone without having had prior contact. Despite this, and thanks to his preparation regarding the Holmes family and acquaintances, I was already starting to form an idea of what Sherlock might be like or how he might think. On the other hand, Moriarty was like a blank slate.
Unable to bear the agitation I was feeling any longer, I decided to face it. I raised my eyes from my plate to look at him, and just as I was about to utter a word, I was interrupted by him.
“Have we ever met before?” James says with hesitation as he sets his glass down on the table while licking his lips. He had left me perplexed with his question; had he really asked me that? Or was it just his way of starting an informal conversation in front of all the guests?
“Pardon?” I limit myself to saying, still dumbfounded by the question he had asked me.
“Forgive me if I sound impolite, but I haven't been able to stop gazing at you since I arrived, and I could swear I had seen you somewhere before,” he declares with a smile of pleasure upon seeing me react that way. I limit myself to observing my surroundings, paying attention to whether any of the guests or my father had heard that statement, but everyone was occupied with their own matters. And after that, I face him with a firm smile.
“I appreciate the compliment, but I think I would remember a face like yours if that were the case.” I limit myself to questioning his statement cordially while taking a sip of my drink. James nods, whether understanding my words or not, and simply looks toward my father with curiosity before looking back at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Perhaps I was mistaken, and it was not you whom I thought I recognized,” Moriarty replies, staring at me intently with a serious expression. I nod while maintaining appearances in front of him, while inside I am a bundle of nerves.
“Then allow me to introduce myself; I am James Moriarty,” James hastens to introduce himself while raising his half-empty glass.
“Y/N L/N,” I introduce myself as I return his greeting, and we both take a long sip from our respective glasses. It goes without saying that right after that introduction, I barely touched my plate and just drank. Dinner continued normally; James did not hesitate to take advantage of his position as a polite guest and began to establish a conversation with me in which it felt a bit as if he were interrogating me by the way he asked certain questions.
“What is your favorite hobby? Do you usually frequent gatherings or opera evenings on weekends? Are you fond of outdoor walks, or do you prefer the solitude of the library? Have you previously met our distinguished hosts at any other event?...” These were some of the questions he asked me throughout the night, to most of which I limited myself to responding concisely while putting on my best face at the time.
Fortunately, dinner ended and made way for our paths to separate once again; Mr. Holmes led the gentlemen to the smoking room, while the few women who had accompanied these men remained in a parlor. The ladies gathered to play whist while criticizing their marriages; on the contrary, I limited myself to pacing around the room, observing every detail of it. After spending some time walking around the room, a maid approached from where she had been standing impassively, catching my attention. I tilt my head, allowing her to convey whatever she was about to say.
“Young Mr. Holmes requests your presence in his study,” she simply whispered, and once the message was delivered, she prepared to leave the room. I hesitated a bit at the information; one part of me, the voice of common sense, told me not to go, but my impulsive side begged me to leave that parlor. Ultimately, I chose to leave the room; outside in the hallway, the same maid was waiting for me, and I followed behind her up the stairs until reaching the end of the corridor. The girl knocked on the door, announcing our presence, and it was not until a voice behind the door said, “Come in," that she opened the door and stepped aside to let me pass.
I entered a cozy room filled with scientific equipment, books, and maps all around; in a corner of the study, under a window, a tea area had been set up, and in its center stood a desk somewhat cluttered with papers. Sherlock was sitting in its chair writing something on a piece of paper, while Moriarty was leaning on its edge pointing something out to him. Once I entered the room, the men stopped what they were doing to stare at me, like someone catching a thief in the act.
“Did you send for me?” I asked with my head held high, curious about what they were up to. The maid closed the door behind her and left us alone; Sherlock cast her a confused look while James smiled at him with feigned innocence. Confirming my suspicions about the motives behind the meeting.
“It must be an unfortunate mistake, but I have not requested your presence, Miss L/N,” Sherlock confesses after a moment and stands up with the intention of dismissing me from the study. To which James grabbed him by the arm to stop him.
“Unfortunate or not, since you are here, Y/N, wouldn't you like to have tea with us?” he interrupted, turning his attention to me with utter confidence, making me think it was not the first time he used his charms to get what he wanted. And I couldn't help but think about how much of his charm he had invested in courting other women; my stomach turned a little.
“If it is no trouble,” I finish as I head toward an empty chair located next to the window. If Sherlock wanted to throw me out or protest about it, James did not allow him to carry out his plan before sending him out of the room while reminding him of his role as co-host and his responsibility to personally handle the matter of the tea. Which left two complete strangers alone in a confined space from which I had no escape.
Moriarty sat beside me in the adapted area, closing the distance; he had a relaxed appearance and seemed a bit lost in thought. Unlike him, I was tense and a bundle of nerves, waiting for his next move.
“How have you been tonight, Selene? Or do you prefer I call you Y/N?” he finally asks while looking into my eyes with amusement. I cannot help but let out a nervous laugh; Moriarty was no ordinary man.
“Whatever makes you most comfortable, Moriarty,” I limit myself to saying; at this point in the story, it was useless to try to deny it or run away. So I face it the same way.
“Then I shall call you Y/N; well, will you tell me what is going on, or will I have to find out my own way?” he remarks as he leans toward me from his seat, resting on the armrest.
“Is that annoyance I perceive? Are you truly angry because I tricked you?” I did not know if it was the tone I used to annoy him or because I did not react as he expected, but he clearly looked a bit annoyed.
“Annoyed is not the word I would use to describe how I feel,” he confesses, trying not to seem annoyed. “Besides, I am no fool. I knew you were lying to me,” he declared arrogantly.
“And what were the clues that gave me away?” I questioned while brushing it off; if I showed curiosity, I was sure the man's ego would soar.
“To begin with, the name Selene is not a common name for a girl, let alone a maid,” he explained while gesturing with one hand to emphasize the obvious. “Only someone educated with access to documents about Greece would name herself after the goddess of the moon."
“Could she not perhaps be the maid of an academic and have learned by listening to him?” I say, questioning his hypothesis. James casts me a skeptical look.
“Of course, only if the maid had not been dressed in silk and wool poplin, slightly striking colors, and handmade embroidery details—then perhaps I would have believed it,” he joked while looking into my eyes. I looked into his as well, and inside them, I saw a spark different from the one I had seen before. Satisfaction.
“My... and to think I believed my plan was flawless, yet I was so predictable,” I finally acknowledged in disappointment at his explanation.
“Exactly, you were very predictable,” James nodded arrogantly. I rose from my seat and walked over to a frame containing a butterfly, hiding my face from him.
“And despite that, you approached me to help me, and we spent the whole night talking,” I ventured to say in a neutral voice while observing the details of that majestic species, while suppressing my feelings, awaiting a response.
“I may have been a bit tipsy, but I remember helping you and talking to you,” he declared, smiling, unaware of my change in attitude.
“Then you knew from the very first moment that it was me, and you didn't tell me. What you confessed to me in the street that same night—was it true? Did you want to get to know me, or did you just want to mock me once more?” I questioned him, my tone steeped in anger. I felt naively ridiculous; that night I would remember for the rest of my life that I had been ruined by believing that fleeting encounters were like those in books, when the reality is that they are not.
When Moriarty finally noticed my change in attitude, his face, which previously reflected delight, darkened, and before he could contradict my words, Sherlock interrupted into the room carrying a silver tray.
“I hope you enjoy the Young Hyson¹, Miss L/N. I prepared it myself,” Sherlock remarks as he walks toward the table by the window, ignoring the thick atmosphere of discomfort.
“Forgive the intrusion, Sherlock, but I must take my leave,” I declared as I composed myself; out of the corner of my eye, I could appreciate James frowning at my words.
“Oh… that is a pity, but I suppose if that is what you wish, I shall not insist,” Sherlock replies with sincerity in his words.
“Y/N. I…” James tries to say, but I interrupt him by taking a quick leave and walking out the door. In the entryway, I found my father and Mr. Holmes talking animatedly in the foyer. It was Mr. Holmes who first noticed my presence.
“Oh! There you are, Miss L/N; we were just speaking about you,” Mycroft confesses with a smile. I put on my cheerful face and approached them; my father cast me a quick critical look before putting on his mask in front of Mr. Holmes.
“I was telling Mr. Holmes how much you enjoy playing the piano,” my father confirms in a proud tone.
“I suppose you must have also told them about the many headaches my early displays of great piano talent caused you and Mother,” I joked, remembering how much I used to hate piano lessons.
“No, he did not mention that, but he did comment on how crestfallen you look whenever you have to leave your London home to go to the countryside,” Holmes says with a genuine smile as he observes me attentively. My joke had amused him, unlike the expression on my father's face.
“In our country house, we do not have a piano due to an incident with leaks a few years ago, and since then, I haven't had time to order one with my prolific political life,” my father confesses in an embarrassed tone, as if he genuinely cared about my well-being. I have been nothing but a nuisance since I was born, and he hasn't hidden it since.
“I try to fill my time with other activities, but it isn't the same,” I commented, feeling a sense of guilt for lying so blatantly to Mycroft.
“Y/N is a good girl, but I worry about leaving her alone for so long, and I always try to have her accompany me to my social events whenever I can.” If my father were not a politician, he should take up acting, because even I almost believed his words. The one who truly believed it was Mr. Holmes, who grew thoughtful.
“I understand what you mean; I have a younger sister, Beatrice. And ever since she began traveling the world, I haven't stopped worrying about how she is. Perhaps Miss L/N might be interested in a bit of company once Beatrice returns from Rome,” Mycroft finally suggests timidly as he awaits my answer.
Behind me, I hear the sound of footsteps; I turn my head slightly and see James standing at the top of the stairs, watching us solemnly. I smile to myself.
“It would be a great pleasure to meet your sister, Mr. Holmes,” I respond enthusiastically while touching his arm, and I quickly compose myself, pretending to blush at the gesture. Mr. Holmes does not seem bothered by it and instead laughs nervously.
“Wonderful. I shall send a letter with the details,” Mycroft responds, slightly blushing.
My father said nothing regarding the matter; we hurried our goodbyes and took the carriage back home. My father did not utter a word to me, nor did he make any disparaging comments about my attitude. Which was a good thing, as I had no desire to argue right then and could only think of how quickly I would lock myself in my room. Upon reaching the house, our housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, attended to us and helped remove our coats. Father went straight to his study while muttering a few quick orders to Mrs. Smith, and I simply went upstairs to my room while wishing her a good night. Upon entering, Clara was waiting for me to help me undress. I sit at my vanity, letting my shoulders slump forward; I did not care if Clara saw me looking so ridiculous. With her, there was no need to maintain appearances.
“Good evening, Miss. How was the evening?” She asks politely as she helps undo the tight hairstyle I wore that night. It took me a moment to respond, unsure of whether to sweeten the truth or not.
“To be honest, it was interesting. Yes… interesting,” I reply briefly while playing with the hairbrush in my hands. “There were many people; Mr. Mycroft Holmes was there, his brother Sherlock, and…” I murmured until my words turned into a barely audible whisper.
“Who was there?” Clara asked curiously, arranging my loose hair and helping me out of my evening gown.
“There was…” I murmured to myself again. Clara looked at me doubtfully and paused her task of undressing me to face me directly.
“Who was at the party, Y/N?” Clara asked seriously upon seeing that I kept delaying my answer.
“James Moriarty,” I whispered with dread over how she would react to my words, awaiting her understanding.
“The young man from the Green Man?” she asked thoughtfully; after reflecting on it for a moment, her face turned to one of panic. “The young man from the Green Man!?” she shrieked in annoyance. I nod nervously, not knowing what to say. “I told you it was a bad idea, I told you the truth always comes to light, and now we are doomed,” she scolds me as she paces nervously around the room.
“If it offers you any comfort, I am more annoyed than you are about the matter,” I say as I finish changing into my nightgown and throw myself onto the bedspread. Clara stops pacing to see me sigh.
“And why is that? I thought you would be happy, at least a little, to see him again, despite the circumstances,” she confesses with concern as she sits on the edge of the bed; I look up at the canopy of the bed and cover my face with a pillow out of embarrassment, remembering everything that had happened.
“I thought the same; I thought I would never see him again after that night, and when I saw him enter the room, my heart grew restless. I thought I was going to faint,” I managed to say against the pillow. A brief pause causes Clara to gently pull it away from my face, looking concerned.
“However?” Clara asks. I sit back up and sit beside her.
“However, I cannot live off a memory, and the best thing I can do is be objective with my expectations,” I explained while trying to sound mature.
“Are you practically going to ignore what you feel?” Clara ventures to say with a frown. “Very English of you,” she confesses as she gets up from the bed and brings over the washbasin.
“Thank you,” I limit myself to ignoring Clara's sarcastic tone and wash my face.
“I just hope none of this blows up in our faces, especially now that Moriarty knows who you are,” Clara complains as she gathers her things and stands in front of the bedroom door.
“Don't worry, it won't happen,” I reassure her as I get into bed with a book. Clara simply nods and leaves the room, leaving me alone in the dark of the night with a lamp illuminating my reading. After a while, I grew tired of reading and decided to go to sleep; unfortunately, I couldn't stop tossing and turning in bed. I couldn't drop the subject of James; that idiot had played with me. I was just another victim of his conquests, another anecdote to tell the gentlemen, and I hated how it made me feel.
Unfortunately, it took me a while to return to normal after that night.
As Mycroft promised, he sent a letter to our house inviting us to spend the afternoon at Appleton Manor to celebrate Beatrice's welcome. My father was ecstatic at the news; he sent Mrs. Smith to accompany me to buy countryside attire and spent an entire afternoon instructing me on how important it was that I did not disappoint him. Perhaps it was the first time he bothered to say more than a single word to me; unfortunately, it was only to tell me that. A part of me was excited by the idea of interacting more with Mycroft; the night of the dinner he didn't seem like a bad man at first glance, and I believe we could be good companions if we were to marry. However, a part of me, which always attempts to shine through my thoughts, couldn't stop thinking about Moriarty. Damn it! The image of his gaze that first night in the alleyway appears, and I cannot help but blush.
Why did Mycroft have to be the brother of the rebellious Sherlock Holmes? Why did Sherlock have to be the way he was and be friends with James Moriarty? Why couldn't Mr. Moriarty stop clouding my mind with his presence and vanish from my sight?
It goes without saying that until that day, I did not stop walking, walking, and taking in the fresh air in the vast garden of my home as my way of escaping the world. As for the piano, I didn't even bother looking at it; I couldn't play a single note without losing focus. And the closer the day came, along with the possibility of perhaps crossing paths with him, an idea took root inside my head. I had to be flawless, unattainable, and above all, majestic. Make him regret his actions. Perhaps I was letting myself be carried away by pride, but the moment my foot touched the grounds of Appleton Manor, I knew it was already too late to back out.
I walked alongside Clara up to the front door and knocked on the knocker several times, waiting for someone to answer. After a short wait, an elderly lady opened the door.
“Welcome to Appleton Manor, I am Mrs. Crowle. You must be Miss L/N?” the older woman asks politely as she lets us in.
“Indeed, ma'am. I hope you do not mind, but I have brought my maid, Miss Smith. I dislike traveling alone, and I hope she can assist you in any way possible while I am visiting,” I commented as I took in the grand foyer of the house; at first glance, no residents were visible nearby.
“Miss L/N, you are a darling; you didn't have to go through so much trouble,” Mrs. Crowle quickly excuses herself.
“I insist. Besides, Miss Smith is delighted to help,” I contradicted with a kind smile.
“It will be an honor, ma'am,” Clara limited herself to saying, nodding out of respect. Mrs. Crowle laughed in delight at our charm.
“In that case, I was about to prepare tea and refreshments. If you follow me, I will guide you to where the others are,” the woman explained, bowing slightly and showing us the way through the huge mansion. After walking for a bit, we stepped out into the rear garden, where everyone was gathered on the terrace.
An elderly lady was sitting on a stool painting a still life of a table set nearby. Mycroft was standing at a distance watching Sherlock and a stunningly beautiful young woman with brown hair playing chess intently. The sound of our footsteps alerted Mycroft, who looked up from the board and smiled at me upon seeing me standing in the doorway.
“Miss L/N, welcome. How was your journey?” he asked as he approached me.
“Mr. Holmes, thank you for receiving me. My journey was tolerable, but it was worth it upon seeing this beautiful scenery,” I indicated with a smile while appreciating nature.
“Please, call me Mycroft. I feel uncomfortable being called Mr. Holmes,” Mycroft apologizes, smiling kindly.
“In that case, you may call me Y/N,” I respond in kind.
“Mycroft, dear. What kind of manners are those?” says the woman, having risen from her stool. Her dress for spending time in the garden was stained with oil paint spots from her artistic activity.
“Mother, forgive my manners. This young lady is Y/N L/N, daughter of MP L/N. Y/N, this is my mother, Cordelia Holmes,” Mycroft introduces us kindly. I attempt to shake her hand, but Cordelia interrupts me.
“My dear, it is better if we leave greetings for another time,” showing me her hands, which were also stained. I nod, and she takes her leave to wash her hands.
“Since when does Mycroft have friends, Sherlock?” asks the girl who was playing with Sherlock as she approaches us alongside him.
“Since never, but we could certainly find out, sister,” Sherlock replies in the same mocking manner.
“Y/N, surely you remember my dear brother. He was at the dinner that James and he abruptly interrupted,” Mycroft replies, slightly annoyed by his siblings' teasing; I laughed. So this is what having siblings feels like…
“It is a pleasure to see you again; I hope my brother's monologues do not bore you enough to prevent you from staying awake until dinner,” Sherlock replies, picking on his elder brother once more.
“And this right here is the guest of honor, my sister Beatrice Holmes,” Mycroft announces, ignoring his brother's words.
“Delighted to meet you, Miss Holmes. I have heard a great deal about you,” I greeted cordially.
“And yet, I know nothing about you. We must catch up if I want to make you my ally in annoying these two,” Beatrice replies politely with a wink. I laugh before her words and nod. “Now that we are all here, we can play croquet, right?” she asks, looking at her brothers.
“I agree, but we must wait a moment,” Sherlock interrupts, looking inside the house impatiently.
“Who are we waiting for?” I asked, curious and a bit nervous.
“Forgive my lateness, but I took the wrong path and got delayed a few minutes,” announced a voice behind me. I turn around to face him, and standing with his casual air at the doorway is James Moriarty. He stares at me with an arrogant smile.
“Y/N,” James simply let out. I look at him with confidence.
“Moriarty.”
The game has begun.
¹ Young Hyson: Early-harvest green tea, valued for its freshness.
a/n²: Can we talk about me being such a people-pleaser and single-handedly trapping myself into writing a fanfic that’s clearly not going to be just 2 parts but a whole series? Also, why do I love writing dramatic characters so much?
I hope you like it, and please be patient with Y/N!
Summary: Reader is the only daughter of a Conservative MP who has pinned all his hopes on marrying her off to a gentleman to elevate the family's social standing. Tired of so many restrictions, she decides to sneak out of the house to live a one-night adventure and ends up drinking with a charming stranger.
a/n: This is intended as a one-shot; it’s around 3.6k words, and I had to translate it from Spanish to English. It’s going to have a lot of errors, so please forgive me, and I hope I was able to convey the concept well.
Just another day in her glass cage that she used to call home. The day started very early, being woken up by Hill, her valet/lady's maid, who moves in the darkness of the room to illuminate it. The sun was barely showing in the sky.
"Good morning, Miss L/n," Hill said with a smile while blinding me with her morning good humor. "I see you stayed up late reading last night," she said as she picked up the books scattered across the bedroom floor. "Again."
"Yes, I finished Mr. Charles Dickens's last novel and got nostalgic thinking that he is no longer with us, so I reread his repertoire all over again," I said tiredly as I stretched.
"Miss, you shouldn't stay up so late reading." She reprimands me: "You already know what your father thinks about you not getting your sleep," she said while preparing the washbasin.
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," I said as I washed my face.
"Your dark circles will prove otherwise," she teased as she walked toward my wardrobe. "Well... What is your schedule for the day?" she asked while checking inside it.
"I don't know, what plans do you have today, Miss Hill?" I ask as I approach her curiously.
"Not much, working and those maid things. And you, Miss L/n? Do you have anything planned for today?" she said, facing me directly with her arms crossed.
"Interesting... Maid things... Um... I hope it isn't too laborious for you and that you can rest once you finish," I comment in my most casual voice, pretending to look for something in the closet. "If I were in your shoes, I would ask my lady to give me the day off early and, as a token of gratitude, I would take her out with me for a drink... Like to one of those pubs I always hear you talk about," I continue, pulling out a dress in my favorite color and looking at myself in the mirror. I raise my eyes to look at her through the mirror with a dazzling smile: "What's the name of that pub you mentioned last time?"
"Nice try, but that will never happen. It's more likely that I get fired than that they let you come with me to a pub," she said as she snatched the dress from my hands and helped me get dressed.
"That's the problem, Miss Hill. I'm one of those people who prefer to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. Besides, that's not a no, so will you take me with you?" I answer cheerfully, trying to look over my shoulder; Hill had a hesitant look. "Come on, I know you want to," I insist. Hill sighs: "Alright, but you're paying. If I'm going to lose my job, at least let it be worth it."
"Thank you!" I express my gratitude once I finish dressing and hug her tightly. "YOU ARE THE BEST MAID A LADY COULD EVER HAVE."
"I'm glad, Y/n. But we have to do something about this," she said, pointing to my clothes. "A young maid in a pub dressed like that would draw too much attention, and that is not what we're looking for."
"I understand, for that I have something in my possession that will serve us," I confess while picking up the stool from my vanity and bringing it closer to the closet. "Help me get up," I ask Hill as I step onto the seat with her help and rummage around on top of it for a box. Hill looked at me curiously as I stepped down.
"What is it?" she asked, taking the box into my hands and resting it on the bed; she opens it and looks at me in surprise. "Where did you get this outfit from, Miss?"
"Once I had to go with the dressmaker to order some new dresses for my father's busy week of social events, and I ordered her to make two outfits for my maid." I clear up her doubts while pulling out a brown plaid wool walking suit and holding it up against her clothes. "For your good work."
"Someday you will get caught, and I won't be there to cover for you, Miss," she says as she ran in front and looked at the garment with a smile.
"Someday," I comment, smiling proudly as I look at my work.
After a busy day, I had managed to convince my father that I was feeling unwell to accompany him tonight to the ball at the Smiths' house. The man's lack of knowledge about the female body is so limited that he didn't bother to ask further about my monthly ailment and left me resting in my bedroom.
With Miss Hill's help, we sneaked out through the servants' door without anyone from the staff seeing us.
We walked a long way through the streets and alleys, arm in arm, until we reached "The Green Man," an Irish pub located in the working-class neighborhood. Its humble appearance encouraged one to enter.
Unlike the balls I had attended so far, entering this establishment meant a huge culture shock for me; a warm atmosphere, the smell of stout beer, and tobacco welcome us once we enter the place. A dozen voices speak at the same time; they are not afraid to break decorum and laugh boisterously. A group of performers plays music in a corner that I don't recognize at first, but that I don't dislike. Hill grabs my arm as we go deeper into the pub and sit at an unoccupied table.
"I'm going to get our drink," she warned, pointing toward the bar, and I nodded with a smile. As soon as she leaves, I decide to take a look at the scene: inside the tavern was every kind of class, from journalists and lawyers to students and local workers. All of them sharing a space, without condescending looks or false pleasantries. And in the middle of that world that amazed me so much, a handsome young man stands out, with curly hair and a mocking smile, who seems to be watching me. I get nervous; searching my memory, I could swear I've never seen him in my life (and had I done so, I would remember that face). I think he recognized me. Shit! Maybe this was a mistake.
I don't have time to think of a plan when Hill comes back with the drinks, two glasses of whiskey.
"Here is your drink, Miss..."
"Selene. Tonight I will only be Selene, Miss Hill," I say, thanking her for the drink she had set in front of me.
"Then call me Clara," she replied with a smile as we clinked our glasses.
I didn't dare look toward the young man; but I cannot dispel this curiosity emanating from me, and I look out of the corner of my eye to where he is. He is accompanied by another man, equally handsome, in a grey three-piece suit and a white cap; he was dressed similarly to his companion, but in an earthy brown windowpane outfit and tie. Which fits him quite well; I blush just thinking about it and shake my head, trying to dispel that foolish thought.
After chatting with Clara for a while, she spots some of her friends in the distance and asks if she can go over to say hello. I allow Clara to go talk to them, while I get up to head to the bar to order another drink for myself.
On the way through the crowd, I try to look for him, but I can't find him. I didn't know where the hell he had gone; my field of vision was limited, and I couldn't see him among the sea of people. Upon reaching the bar, I tried to get the bartender's attention, but without success, so I leaned on it while waiting to be noticed and looked over the room once more.
Shit, he was on the other side of the bar, looking at me, and coming straight toward me.
"Looking for someone?" he asks as he stands beside me; the closeness of our bodies allows me to observe his features better. That smile was going to be his downfall.
"Yes, the tavern keeper. I've been wanting to order a whiskey for a while, but it seems it's not my night," I say, trying to hide my nerves. The boy smiles and nods. He proceeds to lean over the bar and whistles loudly to catch the man's attention. The man looks at him and frowns, walking toward us while wiping a glass with a rag.
"What do you want now, Moriarty?" he says, setting the glass aside and draping the rag over his shoulder.
"The lady here present and I wanted to try that Irish whiskey you were hiding so well under the bar," he says politely with a tone of mock innocence. The tavern keeper sighs and serves us what was requested.
"My treat," I quickly say, placing the coins on the bar. The tavern keeper collects them and moves away to serve someone else, leaving me alone with Gentleman Moriarty.
"A woman of initiative, I like it. However, next time allow me to buy the drinks," he says, taking a sip from his glass. I nod. There can't be a next time.
"Sorry, but we haven't introduced ourselves, what's your name?" I ask, curious, as I fix my eyes on his.
"James Moriarty, but call me James." He proceeds to make a polite bow.
"Selene. It's a pleasure, Mr. Moriarty." I accept his greeting and offer my hand to shake it; despite this, instead of shaking it, he leans over my hand and kisses it. The contact of his lips against my skin causes a warmth that consumes me. As he steps back from me, I begin to catch my breath.
"Likewise, Selene. And what brings a lady like you to a place as modest as this?" he asks as he stares at me. "I came tonight with a companion, who is..." I try to point Clara out among the crowd. "Shit, I don't know where this girl went now," I blurt out without realizing, as I look for Clara, who had disappeared from my line of sight.
"I'm sure she won't be far; if I were her, I wouldn't take my eyes off you for a single moment," he says in a flirtatious voice and winks at me. I limit myself to taking a sip of that amber liquid, trying in vain to hide my blush.
"And your companion, sir?" I try to change the subject.
"Were you spying on me, darling?" Moriarty asks with a curious tone. Shit.
"How could you think that? I was just taking in the view," I expressed nonchalantly with a smile. James smiles back and leans a bit closer to me, our arms nearly touching. I should establish a polite boundary between James and me, I think, but I don't move from where I am.
"And was the view nice?" His interest only grew. Tonight Mr. Moriarty intended to make my heart race.
"It depends, where is your friend?" I reply to him, wounding his ego while pretending to search for the boy. James sets his whiskey glass on the bar and clutches his chest, as if I had stabbed him.
"«When you despise me to the point of making me believe I deserve your oblivion and your total disdain, I will take your side against myself to lose and justify the blow that wounds my good. For by blaming myself to save your honor, I gain in defeat by losing my own love.»" James recites, "pained."
"Shakespeare?" I let out upon recognizing the recited sonnet. James looks at me in astonishment; his facial lines deepen and highlight his features.
"Impressive," James utters.
"«A little learning is a dangerous thing; drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.»" I declaim Alexander Pope, clinking my glass against his and taking my last sip. If I wanted to maintain my composure, two glasses were enough.
"You have me amazed tonight, Selene. Are you a student?" James narrows his eyes while a faint smile appears on his face.
"Yes," I limit myself to saying, playing with the glass in my hands. The less I say, the firmer my alibi will be tonight, and this encounter will only be a fond memory.
"Do you study or do you just use poetry to captivate ladies?" I question him as I place my glass on the bar without taking my eyes off him. Surprised, his smile turns into a nervous one as he looks off somewhere; his eyes scan the room searching for something, an answer. Finally, after a moment in which I could appreciate doubt in his gaze, he looks at me intently.
"I studied at Oxford," he says in a soft voice, so soft that, were it not for how close our bodies were, I was sure I wouldn't have heard it over the voices of the people and the noise of the music.
"A graduate?" I ask curiously. His brow furrows slightly as the corners of his lips arch, giving him a daring expression. He is amused: "Expelled."
"Uhhhh... A bad boy in the pub. What mischief did you commit to get expelled from the city of pedants?" I don't know if it was me speaking or the alcohol, but something inside me urged me to want to know him a little better. He laughs; he was not offended by my question. Charming.
"For associating with the wrong crowd."
"Should I be worried?" I feign a bit of concern, yet something in my gut was screaming in excitement. My survival instinct was impaired.
"Only if you wouldn't like to seem impertinent," he says for the first time tonight in the most captivating tone I have ever heard in my life, and for just a moment, I think I saw him cast a fleeting glance at my lips.
"Selene!"
Before I could answer or do something I wasn't sure I wouldn't regret, Clara appeared among the crowd looking for me. The proximity in which we found ourselves was almost ridiculous, but enough to make me frightened by the comfort I was taking with James. Realizing this, I regain a polite distance between James and myself.
"Selene! I finally found you," Clara approaches us at the bar; she seemed nervous in James's presence. Clara's attitude toward James bothered me a little, but I decided to set those feelings aside.
"Mr. Moriarty, let me introduce you to my companion, Clara Hills," I announce as I compose myself and put on my best smile.
"James Moriarty, my lady," he introduces himself with a charming smile; his words elicit a nervous laugh from Clara, and he shakes her hand as he had done with me earlier. The previous feeling returns; it is a bit stronger than before. Disappointment? However, instead of kissing her hand as he had done with mine, he simply shook it without further ado. Clara bowed her head respectfully, and I tried to hide my glee at that.
"Forgive me for interrupting, but Selene and I must leave immediately," Clara communicates once the introductions are made. I look at her bewildered; I didn't want this to end.
"Then allow me to accompany you. I could not consider myself a gentleman if I let two ladies walk on their own at night through these streets," James offers kindly before we can, looking at Clara.
"Don't worry, sir. We are used to it, and having you accompany us would only slow us down. I thank you enormously for the gesture nonetheless." Clara answers firmly, bringing the conversation to an end and forcing me to leave the pub arm in arm.
The London air greeted us once outside the establishment; I hadn't realized how pleasant the place was until a gust of wind struck my flushed cheeks and the mist of my breath mixed with the city's smoke.
"Miss, that was very risky. What if he recognizes you?" Clara said, somewhat distressed, as soon as we began walking toward home.
"Life is very short, and tonight I've decided not to think about the consequences"; I look at her and smile. Our bodies were still intertwined, but the lies had been left behind and we were servant and mistress once more. I'm not sure if my answer was convincing enough or if she noticed how my smile didn't reach my eyes, because Clara merely nodded and stayed silent.
It wasn't long before we started hearing footsteps behind us, and we grew alarmed and worried. We picked up our pace a bit, hoping to leave them behind, but they were still stalking us. We were on the verge of running had I not heard my name being called.
"Selene!"
We turned around in surprise, and in the middle of the street, enveloped in a faint dimness, stood James Moriarty. He looked as though he had run to catch up with us; his heavy breathing was proof of it.
"Moriarty? What are you doing here?" I ask curiously; I was glad to see him again, unlike Clara, who didn't seem to share the same feeling.
"I needed to tell you something before our paths separated forever and I lived in regret for not having done everything possible to prevent it," he confesses once he manages to catch his breath; he appears serious about his words, and I can't help feeling anxious about whatever he is about to say. I look at Clara, and without needing to say a word to her, she steps away. With that gesture, she grants us enough space to have some privacy without losing sight of each other.
"I don't know how much time I can buy from Clara, so be direct with whatever you have to tell me before she regrets her decision." I try to convince myself by using Clara as an excuse. In reality, I know very well what could happen if this were to drag on for too long.
"Selene, I would be a fool not to tell you that I had a wonderful time with you tonight and that I would like to see you again." His voice was serious; his nose had turned a bit red from the breeze. "I want to know you, and for you to know my story. Only if you allow me, Selene." I couldn't distinguish much under the dim light, but that didn't stop me from noticing his bewilderment as he smiled nervously. His declaration had been sweet, I admit, and it broke my heart to have to be the realistic person in this relationship.
"I too would be a fool not to tell you that I also had a good time with you," I begin to say, maintaining the facade of self-conviction that this was best for us. "However, I would be being dishonest with myself if I gave you hopes of another meeting." And as if it were the seasons changing, James's face was painted with evident confusion.
"I don't understand, I thought we were on the same page..."
"And we were..."
"Then why?"
"«We arrived too late to be happy, too early to forget.»" I finally say. James understands, looks into my eyes hopefully, and replies: «For fickle and vain fortune does not give triumph to the one who waits for the morning, but to the one who seeks it and shapes it.»
I smile and step closer to James, asking him to lean down. He doesn't take long to do so, and immediately after, I kiss him on the cheek before pulling away, somewhat pained.
"«We say goodbye today without knowing the hour, but if fate holds any tomorrow, it will cross our paths once more. Until then, peace be with you.»" I hear him proclaim in the distance as Clara and I walk away into the dark streets.
After that night, I never saw him again; nobody ever knew about my escape, and Clara and I never spoke about the topic again once the sun rose. I still remember him as I browse through the poetry books in my library, but I tell myself it is much better this way, for he fell in love with a facade.
A week had passed since then, and Father was taking me tonight to a social dinner at the home of an important official. Needless to say how crystal-clear his intentions were about how presentable and perfect I had to be to impress this potential suitor. Accepting my fate, I went to my bedroom and finished getting ready. The coachman drove us through the streets until finally arriving at Baker Street, stopping right in front of a Victorian terraced house.
"Behave yourself, and don't make a fool out of me," my father simply said as he accompanied me inside the building. A housekeeper opened the door for us; the reception area consisted of a long hallway with several doors along it, though it was from the back of it where people could be heard talking. It isn't until we reach the main drawing room that we encounter the group. Upon our appearance, a man of good posture and a mustache approaches to receive us.
"It's a pleasure to have you with us tonight, Mr. L/n," the man greets my father, giving him a handshake followed by a slight bow of his head.
"The honor is entirely mine, Mr. Holmes. It is a genuine delight to join you tonight," my father replies with a laugh. "Allow me to introduce my daughter, Miss Y/n L/n."
Mr. Holmes couldn't be many years older than me; he had a kind appearance, and perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to be by his side. I think.
"It is a true honor to meet you, Miss Y/n," he returns the greeting, bowing his head. I spent the rest of the evening smiling falsely while talking to the guests; most were people from Mr. Holmes's circle and a few acquaintances. We were waiting for Mr. Holmes's brother to arrive so we could start dinner, but he seemed to be running late, so we simply sat down, ready to begin upon seeing he wasn't arriving.
Midway through dinner, a commotion of footsteps graces the outside of the room, and as soon as they begin to be heard, two young men burst in who, to my luck, I already knew.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I beg you to forgive this brief interruption. It seems business and London clocks have decided to conspire against us tonight," expresses the first young man/man, approaching Mr. Holmes as he moves along the table until sitting in one of the two empty, available seats right in front of me. Shit...
"Please, gentlemen, take a seat," the host limited himself to saying, with a brief embarrassment he tries to hide given the intruders' attitude, failing much to his regret.
It isn't until they sit down that they scan all the people around them, part of this event, that James notices me and is surprised.
"Good evening," I limit myself to saying, with my heart racing in a panic. James was unable to comprehend what was happening; he only smiled at me curiously. Damn, so handsome...
And what I expected even less was that the night would then take an unexpected turn...
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