Dark Moods || onlylies-havedetail
Masks were quite amazing in the anonymity they afforded the wearer. Moriarty had engineered a series of them in his rise to power, each one stronger than the last, better at covering up the true person beneath. Within a few years of his taking up a life of crime, anyone he worked with would swear there was no true Moriarty, only a thousand false faces.
Oh, how he wished they were right.
Most days, Moriarty had no trouble ignoring the human soul that writhed in pain beneath the cold surface. It had never helped him, being human, so why should he listen to the woes of his past?
But some days, days like this, something brought that person to the surface. And Moriarty had no experience in dealing with grief, in coping with the endless loss his line of work afforded.
He got angry, he got restless. Destructive in all ways, to himself and to others. He locked himself in his flat, refusing to come out or speak to anyone until the mood had passed. He had a reputation to upkeep, after all.
Moriarty sat in the window of his room, resting one leg on the window sill while the other dangled down to the floor, idly moving back and forth, unable to sit still. Dark eyes watched London bustle below, dark emotions swirling in their depths.
The sound of his door opening had his entire body tensing. Who would dare disturb him when he'd told them all to leave him be? Moran was smart enough to stay at arm's distance, as was Irene. The rest of his lackeys were too scared to dare.
A quick glance over his shoulder gave him the answer.
"Get out, Sherlock. I'm in no mood for banter, no mood for dealing with people. And I'd much rather you didn't see me when I'm not at my best." A dark chuckle escaped him as he tried to act as much like himself as possible.
