We Are Not So Very Different, You and I...
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC 2010) [S2]
Rating: Gen
Characters: Jim Moriarty
Warning: Speculation for The Reichenbach Fall.
A/N: Believe me when I say that I wrote this pre-episode. I'm just as shocked as you are at how much of this is now canon.
The name rattled around inside his head, eating him, consuming him. He saw it waking, sleeping. It whispered to him in his own voice (and his voice) and he laughed and cried and raged with it. He wrote it on his wrist, and on the wall, and only part of this madness was feigned.
They let him go. They had to. He had designed it this way, designed everything so that it went perfectly. He stepped out onto the street, adjusted his sleeve (the sleeve that covered the name so hated so loved so wanted) and whistled. The game was it, was everything, like a swirling top, bringing them closer and closer together. He would be there, there was no doubt. But before that, before everything, there was something to be done. The best way to defeat your enemy (enemy enigma same difference) was to know him, know everything about him. Friends close (he had no friends) enemies closer. So he gets close. (One of them had turned their outsider status into his trademark. The other still broke with it.)
All his games were all distraction. Everything was to get his attention. Not from the beginning, no, but from the start of the game. He did not care who and what he used to draw him closer, spinning his web tighter and tighter around them. Money was no object. He could always get that. Clients? No matter how many he burned, there would be more. There were always more, hungry for whatever they wanted (and he could provide that). It was what he wanted, however...
He can’t help himself. He holds the strings, he makes the rules, so he can break them. He knows that was part of the plan, part of what he’s still clinging to, but now there’s an urgency, a feeling of lust, bloodlust. He’d said he was changeable, changeling, but now his purpose burns like fire beyond his eyesight. So he wrote the name, the burning name, and with it imbued a purpose...
Rating: Gen
Characters: Jim Moriarty
Warning: Speculation for The Reichenbach Fall.
A/N: Believe me when I say that I wrote this pre-episode. I'm just as shocked as you are at how much of this is now canon.
The name rattled around inside his head, eating him, consuming him. He saw it waking, sleeping. It whispered to him in his own voice (and his voice) and he laughed and cried and raged with it. He wrote it on his wrist, and on the wall, and only part of this madness was feigned.
They let him go. They had to. He had designed it this way, designed everything so that it went perfectly. He stepped out onto the street, adjusted his sleeve (the sleeve that covered the name so hated so loved so wanted) and whistled. The game was it, was everything, like a swirling top, bringing them closer and closer together. He would be there, there was no doubt. But before that, before everything, there was something to be done. The best way to defeat your enemy (enemy enigma same difference) was to know him, know everything about him. Friends close (he had no friends) enemies closer. So he gets close. (One of them had turned their outsider status into his trademark. The other still broke with it.)
All his games were all distraction. Everything was to get his attention. Not from the beginning, no, but from the start of the game. He did not care who and what he used to draw him closer, spinning his web tighter and tighter around them. Money was no object. He could always get that. Clients? No matter how many he burned, there would be more. There were always more, hungry for whatever they wanted (and he could provide that). It was what he wanted, however...
He can’t help himself. He holds the strings, he makes the rules, so he can break them. He knows that was part of the plan, part of what he’s still clinging to, but now there’s an urgency, a feeling of lust, bloodlust. He’d said he was changeable, changeling, but now his purpose burns like fire beyond his eyesight. So he wrote the name, the burning name, and with it imbued a purpose...