pitofthependulum:

tea-milk-and-jam:

londonsniper:

“Good boy,” Sebastian teethed before jamming the butt of his rifle up Edmund’s nose. A sickening crack and the spurt of blood was quick, spilling from the boy’s nose like a faucet. “That’s for kicking me in the face, fucking cunt. Now get the fuck up.”

Kneeling down to grab fist-fulls of the boy’s hair, Sebastian knotted his grip to the roots of his scalp, dragging the boy behind him with pulsing tugs. Yanking the boy with sickening thumps down the stairs never felt quite so satisfying; the hunter locking it’s jaw on fresh meat. 

Sebastian reached the bottom step and tossed Edmund forward, delivering a momentous kick to his ribs to roll him into the basement. With a foot pressed heavy on the boy’s hollowed stomach, the sniper leaned forward to claim his prize, gaze locking onto Jim with a roguish smirk.

“Boss,” he nodded, lifting the rifle to his shoulder, cuffs crisp and white against the dark of the rifle. “Need help?” 

John grit his teeth when Sebastian broke the kid’s nose. Edmund deserved it, definitely; but there was no point to it. Still, he had to let the sniper have something. There wasn’t much he could do to keep him from roughing Edmund around a little bit. Dragging him down the stairs by his hair, however, kicking him in the ribs - that was way over the line.

John followed quickly and shoved Sebastian’s shoulder to get him away from Byron. “That’s enough,” he said sharply. No matter how much he wanted the boy taken down a few hundred pegs, this wasn’t okay. “He’s not a threat anymore, so cut it out.”

He turned and ran over to Sherlock. “Are you alright?” He asked quickly, checking the detective over for any possible injuries, moving his head manually to make sure there were no head injuries, pulling him forward slightly so he could check the side that was facing the wall. Sherlock seemed fine, of course, but John couldn’t help from checking. He ignored Moriarty resolutely, and looked briefly at the cuffs that was still restraining the both of them.

He looked back at Sebastian. “Still have that lock pick set?” 

The rifle hit him and pain spread through his face as blood began to pour from his nose. Edmund groaned as dizziness claimed his mind and he felt slightly sick. A hand went to his nose and he moaned, sending waves of pain to his brain again. Blood dripped into his mouth and the sharp taste of iron caught him off guard.

A hand slid into his hair and grabbed it violently, dragging him towards the steps letting his ass hit each one as he winced each time. Thrown forward with an added forceful kick to his side, the brunette laid on the ground rolling over in pain. A boot fell onto his stomach exhaling air from his lungs and kept him pinned to the floor.

His head rolled to the side. The party had arrived, and, ding ding! Everyone was there, as promised.

Jim’s eyes rolled up to his sniper. He loathed having to rely on anyone’s help, but the answer was fairly obvious. Nonetheless, Moriarty chose to deviate to a different route, and he murmured, vague annoyance showing through rather than the true irritation he was feeling. “You’re late, Colonel.”

His eyes slowly tracked across the floor, and over to the crumpled pile below Sebastian’s foot that was Edmund. Yes. This little fucker first. Sebastian would pay dearly later, but Mr. Byron was going to be certain that he didn’t forget James Moriarty…not that anyone did.

Through the burning, hissing coils of anger that boiled beneath his cool exterior, a soothing flow of utter pleasure came from the font of sickness that was forever embedded in his twisted mind. A smile creased over his lips. Perhaps every game hadn’t been given up after all…he’d have to derive his satisfaction from scarring an imp—a whimpering, puny little excuse for a would-be accomplice. One that had run away, rather than face his darkness. He would be taught. By no means would the lesson be what the boy expected.

What Sebastian Moran dealt in violence he would season with fear.

Game back on.

Jim’s head rolled, as per his nature, and he gave John Watson a warm, winning smile, at last paying him any heed. “Well, aren’t you a sweet little spaniel.”

consultingdetectivesherlock:

dialmformoriarty:

pitofthependulum:

The laughter was sudden and loud, making the student jump. His eyes widened and moved quickly to the criminal while the horrible noise made him step back. A sudden unsettling feeling washed over Edmund and all he wanted to do was leave, but the criminal finally stopped, now speaking to the brunette.

With his heart in his throat, Edmund was wishing he was somewhere other than in the basement of a factory with Moriarty. The addition of Holmes’ comment didn’t help his urge to run away. He had gotten a taste of the ‘pet’ of Moriarty and really didn’t wish to experience it again on a deeper level.

Edmund spun around on his heels and ran up the stairs. He needed to get away from both of them. At the top of the stairs, he paused and took a few deep breaths, calming himself. He leaned against a side of the doorway, leaning his head against it.

He hadn’t expected for them both to turn him down. Edmund had expected the two to be impressed enough, but he clearly hadn’t done enough.

Byron’s sudden exit had him crossing his legs at the ankle, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. A wistful sigh left him. “Isn’t he just too precious?” The waft of poison behind his words was unmistakable. “Me oh my. Maybe there will be tears.”

He could only hope.

One of Jim’s hands lifted and reached into his suit jacket…the one attached to Sherlock’s wrist. It was a natural, trained response, and he gave a disgruntled moan as his fingertips met air. Oh. Right. “If only I had a cigarette right now.” The smoke would numb his throbbing head for thirty seconds, and always provided an attractive haze around his skull.

In the meantime, he turned his head. “Enjoying your holiday as much as I am, Sherly, or should we shake things up a little? I think we should play for the boy. You don’t want me to sic my little sniper on him. Defend him, Sherlock. Keep the big bad wolf at bay, and maybe he’ll get out of this with his…” Moriarty reached their attached hands behind them both now, and his fingers tapped low on the detective’s back, where he was certain his initials still remained— “…spine intact.”

This was only partway serious, of course. But it could be fun.

Sherlock grumbled something about the boy as he sped up the stairs. He really just wanted to get out of this situation, mainly because Moriarty was making it unbearable.

His hand was pulled back as the criminal searched for something within his pockets, but his search ended with a disappointed groan. Sherlock already knew it was cigarette’s he was looking for and if Jim had some he would probably ask for one as well. It would help him relax and push away most of his irritation over the young amateur.

Moriarty’s offer was considerably good and when his fingers tapped at the base of his back, it sent him frigid waves of chills, making him stiffen up straight. He quickly relaxed again and took a moment running over a plan in his head. He could take the boy on as an ‘apprentice’ so to speak for maybe a month and then let him go on him own. He wasn’t going to keep him around.

A muffled series of noises cut his thought process as they slide down the stairs to the two men.

Moran must be here.

His eyes narrowed just slightly, and with a bored listing of his muddled head, he glanced to the side. “Late to the party, and already ending it. Oh, Sebby.” Moriarty huffed out a sigh. Caught in captivity, bound to his obsession…he had just thought of a beautiful game to play, and here was his pet sniper to ruin it.

What a bloody disappointment.

Mockingly, his shoulders slumped, and he gave the most beautiful caricature of sulking as he rattled his right hand’s chains loudly against the pipe it was connected to. The metaphorical ringing of the dinner bell, perhaps? Might as well be an American spaghetti western at this point.

First his plans for a beautiful fireworks display for the day were ruined. And then Jim had been promised mummies. Mummies! Mummies could have been good fun. Moriarty could have had an opportunity to play with those antique-looking surgical instruments he had accidentally stolen in their visit to the medical supply shop…And then he had woken chained to the one and only Sherlock Holmes, and now that game was being cut short.

It was a rare event indeed, but the consulting criminal had grown well and truly irritated.

pitofthependulum:

consultingdetectivesherlock:

He watched the boy become unsettled over the sniper’s laughing, also getting the feeling as the criminal giggled on. He glanced over his shoulder at the man leaned against him and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jim’s head thrown back, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

The smirk on Sherlock’s lips had now faded, his face plain and stoic. He was done with this game now. It was fun teasing and insulting the boy for the moment, but now he only wanted to return to his other casework. “This was fun, but I have more important things to do. You got your answers from both of us, now I suggest giving up and letting me go.” He didn’t care if he let Moriarty go, it would slow the man’s plans against him, but…He was sure he didn’t want the kid to meet Sebastian Moran.

“Moriarty, if he releases you now, you aren’t allowed to sick your pet on him. Is that understood?”

The laughter was sudden and loud, making the student jump. His eyes widened and moved quickly to the criminal while the horrible noise made him step back. A sudden unsettling feeling washed over Edmund and all he wanted to do was leave, but the criminal finally stopped, now speaking to the brunette.

With his heart in his throat, Edmund was wishing he was somewhere other than in the basement of a factory with Moriarty. The addition of Holmes’ comment didn’t help his urge to run away. He had gotten a taste of the ‘pet’ of Moriarty and really didn’t wish to experience it again on a deeper level.

Edmund spun around on his heels and ran up the stairs. He needed to get away from both of them. At the top of the stairs, he paused and took a few deep breaths, calming himself. He leaned against a side of the doorway, leaning his head against it.

He hadn’t expected for them both to turn him down. Edmund had expected the two to be impressed enough, but he clearly hadn’t done enough.

Byron’s sudden exit had him crossing his legs at the ankle, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. A wistful sigh left him. “Isn’t he just too precious?” The waft of poison behind his words was unmistakable. “Me oh my. Maybe there will be tears.”

He could only hope.

One of Jim’s hands lifted and reached into his suit jacket…the one attached to Sherlock’s wrist. It was a natural, trained response, and he gave a disgruntled moan as his fingertips met air. Oh. Right. “If only I had a cigarette right now.” The smoke would numb his throbbing head for thirty seconds, and always provided an attractive haze around his skull.

In the meantime, he turned his head. “Enjoying your holiday as much as I am, Sherly, or should we shake things up a little? I think we should play for the boy. You don’t want me to sic my little sniper on him. Defend him, Sherlock. Keep the big bad wolf at bay, and maybe he’ll get out of this with his…” Moriarty reached their attached hands behind them both now, and his fingers tapped low on the detective’s back, where he was certain his initials still remained— “…spine intact.”

This was only partway serious, of course. But it could be fun.

(Source: dialmformoriarty)

pitofthependulum:

consultingdetectivesherlock:

Sherlock wasn’t too thrilled over the boy heading to him instead. Blue eyes rolled up, blatantly showing his irritation and he let out a held breath, anticipating the buttering up he was about to receive from the young man.

The words slipped from Edmund’s lips like smooth silk, woven with sickening excitement and desperation. His expression was of a 5 year old asking for candy, hopeful for the answer he was craving.

“You do realise I am the only Consulting Detective in the world and pride myself in the title far too much to ever hand it off to a little twat like you.” He smirked. “Oh and sharing the title is out of the question.” Sherlock attempted not to smile more when the face of the young man fell and realised he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from either of them.

“Yes, your work was impressive, but it isn’t enough to convince us and divine words won’t be changing our minds any sooner. You expect everything to be handed to you and that’s the worst part and one of the main reasons I would never help you sharpen your mind in the art of Deduction.”

The boy’s arms were crossed and a hand was raised, covering his mouth. Cerulean eyes were locked on the detective, narrowed in his disappointment. He tried to speak, but none of his retorts were good enough to send the right amount of spite.

He had built this grand plan and executed it with only a few minor bumps. It was something he was proud of and here were the too men he ever looked up to ripping him apart.

His hand dropped, folding into the other across his chest. He stepped to the side of them again, addressing the both of them. “Have you ever had someone you looked up to when you were young. Someone you might want to be just as good as, or maybe even better?” He frowned, “Because that is what you two are to me and I don’t appreciate you tearing me down like this. Why not respect how far I’ve come? Why not think about how if neither of you let me join you that this great mind would go to waste.”

He might have given some pithy response. Jim Moriarty might have spat more acid, made a strange face, and unleashed his wit upon the world. He might have verbally laid a blade flat into Edmund Byron’s flesh.

He might have.

Were he not already laughing.

The consulting criminal’s full, genuine laugh was something not heard by many. Perhaps it was better that way. The giggles stirred from him bounced from wall to wall, only becoming more insane with each vain repetition. His cheeks dimpled as his teeth were bared wide and vicious to the world, unable to stop the heaps of chuckles, of derisive little snorts and caws from bounding forward to mock his captor.

After he finally regained the ability to breathe, Moriarty drew a large sigh and released it in a gush of breath. “That’s absolutely adorable! Do you keep our news clippings on the wall? Do you want an autograph? I’ll sign your forehead with my penknife, little boy.” Chipper.

There was a glint in his eyes now. Ah, what a splendid day…his sole obsession and his biggest fan (apparently) in the room at once, and they were all mouthing it up. Jim was only vaguely, microscopically interested in the boy’s intentions…the happenings of the day were so much more enthralling, and so he focused on them instead.

(Source: dialmformoriarty)

(via londonsniper)

pitofthependulum:

consultingdetectivesherlock:

While every word Moriarty dropped was harsh and cruel, it didn’t prevent Sherlock from smirking, borderline cracking a smile. He was overall frustrated and irritated. He didn’t have to speak up to express his agreement with everything Moriarty said. He didn’t even mind that the consulting criminal was speaking for him, it just left him to listen and enjoy the show.

He watched the boy, examining every twitch and flinched at the words being tossed at him. He was young and naive, thinking he could have the world and rule it too, but he wouldn’t ever be capable of both. Even Jim and Sherlock struggled with it. Fighting over their territories like squabbling animals.

With lips pursed in a pissy way, Edmund stood tall and still, head tilted. His cerulean eyes glanced to Jim, catching the black in the eyes there. They made him quickly glance away, unable to look at them for very long. It wasn’t just Jim’s eyes that bothered the student. The voice rolling up to meet his ears made the young man shudder and left a feeling deep in him, not fear, but a building dread.

He waited until the criminal was finished with his little speech. “I believe you’re reading into my words a little too deeply,” his eyes narrowed. “You know what I meant so how about instead of trying to thwart my attempts at joining your leagues, you listen and consider what I’m offering you.”

He spun on his heel, clearly done with Moriarty, moving his sights to Sherlock. He stepped in front of the detective. He leaned down towards the curly haired man and spoke, “Just think Mr. Holmes. You could train me to follow in your footsteps. Branch off of you in the same career. It would be exciting!”

“If you don’t expect your words to be read, Eddie, best to cut your tongue out and put it in the bin right now.” Moriarty slowly relaxed back, looking mildly satisfied. Byron knew precisely who he was trying to tango with right now. If he didn’t expect an ounce of analysis, or any spittle or poison, the boy was barking up quite the wrong tree.

He rested his venom for now, though, and instead turned his head to Sherlock. Oh, and it had been too long. His reflection, his antithesis, caught up close in arms again. A little literal this time, but nonetheless. Moriarty idly thought and pondered, wondering if the scars he had given the detective still burned in his back.

This was the mindset, the headspace of the psychopath as Edmund the Elusive Pendulum made his play at trying to woo Sherlock Holmes, and it was there he remained whilst he idly waited and bided his time.

Sebby had best get him back to the flat before the glue finished setting on his new…art pieces.

(Source: dialmformoriarty)

pitofthependulum:

consultingdetectivesherlock:

The sounds of footsteps on stairs echoed on the walls of the dark basement. Sherlock turned his vision to the student standing to the side of the two on the floor, eyes mapping over him and making quick observations.

He was clearly strong enough to drag them from the living room to a basement and it was obvious with the way he held himself in that prideful way, that the young man was working alone. Maybe that’s the way he liked it, but clearly he was making an impression on them both for good reason.

And that reason was something Sherlock wasn’t interested in.

“I can almost guarantee Moriarty’s answer is a no and mine would mirror his,” His voice followed after Edmund’s instantly, tone holding no interest. His bright blue eyes followed the boy’s movements, looking for the reaction. This was a moment he could enjoy. Crushing the boy’s dreams after he put Sherlock through all this trouble.

He tilted his head to the side in curiosity, like some little puppy new to the world. In a respect, that was very correct. While Edmund had known of his superior intelligence above others around him, he had never truly interacted with someone with the same sort of mind like himself. It was new and it was most certainly exciting, so brimming with joy, he ignored Sherlock and continued. He paced as wordS trickled from his brain.

“You haven’t heard my offer. You may be more interested than you think,” he smiled. “Obviously this little charade is only just the tip of the iceberg. There is much more I’m capable of and my knowledge exceeds the average by miles. I am very much like you two, but maybe not as good. That’s why I am willing to adapt to whoever wished to take me on as a sort of,” He hummed as he attempted to conjure a word from his mind. “…Apprentice. A pupil, if you will.

“Again, that’s the offer standing now,” His legs paused and he ceased to move, flashing a toothy grin to the two men. “Any takers?”

Jim listened. His head listed this way and that, oscillating as was his habit, and after the final question, he gave an exaggerated sigh.

At long last, the poet wove a web.

“The tip of the iceberg? Are you looking to sink something? Scared of melting away, of being ignored, as it were? Oooooh, little scholar boy, you haven’t thought your metaphor through.” Jim shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue once or twice.

“You’ve made this reach, this impossible surge forward—” And Moriarty surged forward as well, tugging just slightly against his bonds, as well as Sherlock. It was more for imagery than an actual attempt at freedom. “—to try and and lay yourself out as an equal to two opposing forces. But no, Eddie, you haven’t thought your words through. You haven’t scripted this well enough for our palate.” It was eerie, the way he referred to the detective as well as himself, as one being, sneering the whole while with a mouth full of too many teeth.

“You haven’t seasoned it yet, you insolent little twat.” Said in that lilting Irish with a perfectly polite smile. “All icebergs retract and retreat and dissolve. It’s why they go on about global warming on the telly all fucking day. So why should we care about a droplet in the ocean?”

(Source: dialmformoriarty)

Whichever one bores me less.

Who do you deduce that is?

pitofthependulum:

consultingdetectivesherlock:

“Oh yes, so trendy.” He frowned, eyes rolling to the side. “I almost convinced John to keep them.”

He wasn’t interested in the petty conversation anymore. Sherlock was more concerned about creating an escape plan, whether it included Moriarty or not would be a decision for later. There was a certain moral to upkeep.
He was doing the same as Moriarty, giving the dark room another over look. He made note of all doors for a plausible escape and objects laying around that could be possible weapons. With the hand attached to Jim, he checked the pockets in his thick coat for the usual items and discovered that everything was removed.
How disappointing and surprising. The young man behind everything was much more thorough than he expected.

“Do you have any lock picking items on you?” He asked his enemy. It was worth a shot and he was sure the criminal wouldn’t want to stay handcuffed.

The steps to the basement creaked with weight, casual sneakers clunked down each wooden plank. “I’m afraid he doesn’t have anything on him. I cleared both your pockets out.” He gave them a cheeky grin as he stepped in front of them. Edmund Byron bowed to the two. “Welcome! I wish I could have given you better accommodations, but I had to get rid of your pets so we could speak privately. “If you like a drink or something to eat, I’d be more than happy to help.”

The brunette too a moment to drink in the fact that he had the two most brilliant men in London in his basement. He adjusted his glasses over his cerulean eyes before speaking again, “You both must feel at least a little embarrassed being beaten by me.”

There was a lull, and Moriarty languished in it before finally answering, his feet crossing at the ankles. “Alas, Poor Sherlock, I had a few, and had them well, but my picks have been taken from me. I’m supposing that we’re to speak with the litt—”

His head rolled on his shoulders, swam from one side to the other, never at a perfectly upright angle. A presentation at last. Jim gave a low whistle, but no word, not yet.

No, no, no…that had to be earned. And though this trap and scheme that had been devised by the scholar was amusing—and even a little bit impressive—Moriarty was more annoyed with things than thrilled at the moment. But to deny his intrigue was to deny himself, and he dare not do such a thing, considering the esteem he held for his being.

Bright blue reflected in near-black, and his lips set firmly. The criminal neither smiled nor frowned, only watching for the moment.

(Source: dialmformoriarty)