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No One Ever...

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No one ever gets to me…
And no one ever will.

Although everyone could hear the certainty in Moriarty’s provoking voice, the Irish criminal doubted if anyone thought about considering the true meaning of those words. Full of pride, but truly more painful than daring. The only challenge that Moriarty had in mind was a silent request for attention; one that would not be motivated by fear, anger or a will of revenge. No; Jim Moriarty knew about these way too much than he had anticipated before he decided to stay alive; to find a way to escape the daily tortures controlled by his mind.

No one ever gets to me.

Can you hear that?

I’m disappointed, Sherlock…

Once, Jim Moriarty thought that Sherlock was the one who would understand. Nevertheless, as much as Moriarty hated himself for that, he was wrong. Sherlock Holmes, the only one person who seemed worth the criminal’s attention, had his mind preoccupied with his poorly amusing pet, John Watson. And as much as Jim would love to deny it, sometimes he felt he was worth less than a dirt under the carpet. Sometimes, though, he felt he was more precious than anyone; he and his lonely genius. He and his damned, stubborn mind that could never find peace.

No one ever gets to me, Tiger.

He said once again looking at Sebastian. He has never ignored him; not even once. In fact, that should be obvious. No one could ignore Jim Moriarty; people who did were already dead. These ones who stayed alive were aware of the simple but undisputed consequences. Sebastian has never had any difficulties with understanding that straightforward rule. In fact, he seemed not to have a problem with any rules, orders and demands of Jim Moriarty. The Irishman was not sure if “appreciation” was the right word to describe his feeling but was certainly sure that Sebastian Moran was more than a good assassin. Strong, reliable and patient, he has never let James down. That was why he decided to make him his right hand. His right hand, exactly. Although Moriarty would never admit that, Sebastian was not just the one that was responsible for protecting his precious life not only in the most dangerous situations, but in every single second of his life; regardless of his will or plans. He should not even have any other plans, should he? And as much as Sebastian knew about his duties, that much he stayed unaware of how much he really meant for his boss.


No one ever gets to me.

And James knew that he wouldn’t be able to stand that for very long. He was tired. He was sick of the continuous observation of feelings he could not feel, emotions he could not understand, the intimacy he lacked so much. Staying alive has never been enough. He couldn’t even pretend it has. Of course, people would believe his lies… But they were ordinary. They were leading their unassuming, boring lives full of empty faith and meaningless hope in lies of the world. Maybe that’s why they were so annoying. Blindly believing in their dumb delusions, they were living as fools and as fools they were dying. But they were also killing Jim Moriarty. Their unjustified happiness could be worse than an enemy’s bullet and although he would never admit that, Jim was more afraid of loneliness and eternal silence than prison, pain or even death itself.

“Yes, boss?”
“Why, do you think, are people so boring?”

Sebastian looked at him, moving uneasily. James hardly ever wanted to talk to him about anything else than work, music or astronomy. Sebastian got used to that as well as to being alone as the truth was, his dedication to Jim Moriarty was a silent declaration of forgetting about other people. He had to choose who he wanted to leave behind him and, although he wasn’t sure why, he didn’t hesitate. He knew he could never resign from seeing, hearing, experiencing Jim Moriarty; even being just one of his uncountable employees.
“I assume that’s just you being extraordinary rather than people being boring”. Moran answered silently.
Moriarty stayed silent. He didn’t look as much thoughtful as confused, and that was one of the rare moments he forgot about the porcelain mask covering his face of humanity. Apparently, although he didn’t find that helpful, some remarks of his feelings couldn’t be removed neither by his madness nor the most stubborn contradictions of having a soul. As much as James loathed not being in charge, that much there was nothing he could do about it. And there he was.

No one ever gets to me.
Will you ever get?