It had been exactly three days since James Moriarty had pulled his little stunt. The organisation required had been immense; it was no small feat to screen ones face simultaneously on every screen in Britain. If there was one thing that he was skilled with, it was biding his time - and he'd done spectacularly this time, if he did say so himself. He'd waited for Sherly to rise from the dead. He'd waited, and waited. And he'd waited some more. And only when the detective had dared to think that things were finally coming to a close did he decide to surface once again.
Moriarty had always had an affinity for theatrics. If he was going to make his return to the game, there was no way he was going to do it quietly. As a result, every newspaper in the country had his face and his name on the front cover, telling the world that the King of the Underworld had indeed made his return to his throne. It sent a pointed message to Sherlock Holmes, too - but that was just a bonus, he supposed.
He absently twirled a glass of scotch around, the single ice cube tingling against the glass melodically. Taking a small sip, he reclined gradually into the plush leather armchair he had selected, and refocused himself on the screen of the sleek laptop on the table in front of him. On it was a single female, speaking animatedly about something or other - high fashion, perhaps, though her words were not his focus. He knew this girl to be exactly twenty years old. His sources had told him that she was now a postgraduate with a degree in architecture - he'd been interested to hear that she'd followed in his own footsteps and chosen Cambridge.
Her name was Hayley Moriarty. And she was his sister.
His main project since his supposed 'death' on the rooftops of St Barts all those years ago had obviously been his return. Now that this had been accomplished, he had slightly more time on his hands. Hence Hayley. The siblings had not seen one another for many years - not since he'd taken off when he had turned 18. He'd left his family, including her, in the dust, and he'd never looked back. Now, however, his interest had been piqued. What Jim Moriarty wanted, Jim Moriarty got. And he wanted Hayley.
It was because he wanted Hayley that he'd devised this latest scheme of his. It was beautiful in its simplicity - and if Hayley was anything like him, she would lap it up. Simple introductions were boring, but leaving an unsigned letter on the coffee table of the girls London apartment was just vague enough to be enticing. Inside the envelope was a top-of-the-range smartphone and a small piece of notepaper. It read:
'Hello, Hayley. It's been a while. I've set up a little game for you - a treasure hunt, if you will. The only number in this phone is to someone with the next puzzle piece. Will you play with me? I'll be watching.
Did you miss me?'
