not a mascot

Moriarty: You know very well I'm not going to give up easily.

Watson: Why text me? Why not just continue to write and leave me oblivious?

Watson: I don't want to know that.

Moriarty: We've had this conversation before. You know how to avoid my target list.

Watson: Keep talking to you.

Moriarty: Oh, I'm hardly a threat; Threat implies you could stop me again. Our conversations won't have any effect on our respective careers.

Moriarty: We've done this before in between your little cases, I can't see why this is any different.

Moriarty: London, on the moment, but not for long. It's busy the life of a criminal mastermind.

Moriarty: Why? Are you in the mood for another lunch together? Perhaps we could get to the eating part of it this time.

Watson: We can't be doing this. I have

Moriarty: Like I told Sherlock, this world is far more corrupt than you can imagine.

Moriarty: Is that why you've been exchanging letters with me for the past six months?

Moriarty: I'm sure you can figure out for yourself how I am texting you, miss Watson.

Moriarty: I thought you be flattered that, out of all people, you are the one that intrigues Sherlock and I. Is it that horrible to be subject of interest?

Watson: I can, but I would rather know for sure.

Moriarty: We discuss your love life because it's the only one we have inside knowledge of. Not to mention you are far more interesting than any other person we could find.

Watson: Moriarty?

Watson: How are you texting me?

            Moriarty,

                        Right. My kidnapping. That definitely was not in the newspapers.

            You should be already able to tell how much I believe in the human connection and how necessary I deem it, if you already know so much about my repeated endeavors, combined with the topic of our current conversation.

                        I don’t know how to answer the last question. I don’t really think I can in a way that would make sense to you. And if I’m imagining your tone of voice correctly, I already know what answer you’re expecting from it.

                        In my perspective, I’m not a very good one. Out of everything we’ve talked about so far and what Sherlock’s told you about me, I find myself curious. Why exactly would you two talk about my love life of all things? There are much more interesting things about a person than who they’re dating.

            Moriarty,

                        Tell me, then. If you are able to keep yourself updated, I can only imagine that some of the information you’ve gotten pertains to both Sherlock and I. What have you learned about us? Superficially.

                        Consciously not seeking companionship and unconsciously longing for it practically proves my point. You’ve just admitted that I’m right in so many words. You want it, but you don’t.

                        Be that as it may, I’ve found that I like gaining the upper hand with you and placing you on the defensive. It’s a change of pace that I think I could grow accustomed to.

                        If you want to learn more, we do have an agreement of sorts, but I have every right to deny answering your questions. Though.. I am curious as to how that exchange has enabled you to learn more from me. My beliefs about companionship?

                        I will let you have one tidbit willingly.

                        I find myself wanting to learn more about you over these past few months. I see why Sherlock was so drawn to you now. I didn’t understand it before.

                        You’re a black hole.

            Moriarty,

                        Though I don’t want to, I am inclined to agree with you. I don’t claim to know what you have planned or what you’re doing with the time in your cell, however comfortable it may be, but I can only imagine it’s something. Forgive me if I’m cautious when speaking to you. Which is something I don’t think I should be doing in the first place. You’re still very much a criminal, and I’m still very much a consulting detective.

                        If the difference is that he has me and you do not, are you not trying to accomplish the same thing he has? A change. If Sherlock was the same as you before he met me, but on the other side of the law, would it not stand to reason that the same could happen to you? That just leads me to believe there is an ulterior motive you’re keeping from me. I won’t stop being suspicious, I hope you’re aware.

                        Learn it all you like, you’re still a human being. You still need the release. The hormones that are secreted from that companionship is still needed. I may not have the sort of intellect you and Sherlock do, but I do know how human bodies work.

                        You may not have a soul, but you do have a working endocrine system.

                        The more I talk to you, the more I am realizing that fact. You are still my enemy, but not in this case. You need me to give you something, therefore you’re under my thumb.

            Moriarty,

                        Though, is that not to say you wouldn’t if you were given the chance? You and I both know that you would. Physically, mentally, emotionally. If I were able to give myself in to you in some way, and you saw the chance, would you not take it? You’re malicious, manipulative, and, dare I say, an embodiment of evil. I highly doubt you misunderstand my reasons for wishing to protect myself.

                        As I stated in my previous letter, I find that hard to believe. Even Sherlock, though he doesn’t desire companionship in the romantic sense, desires to keep me around and ‘relieves’ himself when he needs to. You and he both have said that you’re two sides of the same coin. I find it hard to believe that you don’t crave it. You may be a genius and a criminal mastermind, but you are still human. Humans have basic needs. Companionship, in whichever way you want to take that, is one of those.

                        I don’t take you as a cliche. I take you as a threat to my safety.

            Moriarty,

                        Wouldn’t you find it odd if someone were to paint something that large of your face? I can almost guarantee that I’m not the only one who would think that if they found something like that in the possession of someone she didn’t like very much.

                        I don’t doubt that you don’t understand the basic human emotions of love and compassion, but I do find it hard to believe that you don’t seek companionship. If I were to hazard a guess, aren’t you doing that very thing right now by writing to me? You say it’s to solve me, to unravel the mystery you seem to think I’m shrouded in, but I believe otherwise.

                        You grew bored of talking to Sherlock because he wasn’t able to stimulate you anymore. You’re too alike, and you need something to excite you.

                        It sounds almost exactly like a sort of break up you’d hear in high school. Girl becomes tired of boy, moves on to the next. It’s a formula I’ve seen too often and done myself in some cases. I’m aware you’ll try to deny it, shrug it off as wrong, but you won’t change my mind, in fact, I’m quite certain that’s what you’re looking for in me, you just don’t want to admit it.

The response to her question both shocked and discomforted her. It was one thing for Moriarty to be intrigued by her, and another to call her beautiful, however she meant it. It had been a few days since Marcus’ party, and the winding down gave her time to collect her thoughts before writing back to her.

It was difficult to staunch the anger pulsing through her veins.

            Moriarty,

                        I thought the painting odd. I appreciate the talent that went into it, but odd nonetheless.

                        I also don’t quite get what you mean. I don’t think there’s anything inherently special about me in regards to you and Sherlock. There is a difference between seducing, or solving, someone and befriending them.

                        I’m uncertain what you mean by ‘seducing’ you and him. I’ve just done my job as both a sober companion and a partner.

                        What do you find so special about me, Moriarty? There must be something.

Much more time had passed between her last response and the one she was writing out now. The letter had arrived promptly on time, and she was able to get a hold of it before Sherlock had a chance to open it, or see it. She read it immediately, just before going out for her daily jog. Though it didn’t necessarily seem as though Moriarty was threatening her, Joan knew just how creative she could be.

That was something she couldn’t let happen, regardless of her conflicting emotions about whether or not to reply.

She sat down to write it often, but couldn’t seem to put her thoughts onto paper. She’d write a few lines, preachy lines about this correspondence shouldn’t even be thought of, then she’d throw it away, balling it up until it resembled the confusion rumbling inside of her.

It took a month. A month before she finally was able to realize what she wanted to say, and that she actually did want to use this as a way to get to know Moriarty, the same way she wanted to get to know her. It was all a mess.

Sherlock couldn’t know of this. Not of her agreeing, not of the letters. Joan’s mind was already clouded, her thoughts muddled with cases, with lack of sleep, due to her partner’s odd experiments in the middle of the night.

Her life lately just seemed to be one thing that threw her after the other. Since the letters began arriving, she found that she couldn’t stop thinking about what had brought them together yet again. She looked over her latest letter, written in a way that practically begged Moriarty to stop writing her. It wouldn’t work, she knew that much. Moriarty would have her way no matter what it took. So, she crumbled that paper up, swiped it away into the trash can and wrote what she was actually planning on sending.

            Moriarty,

                        There’s only so much I can say before this becomes redundant. The last month I have come to the conclusion that I will continue to write you only if you answer my questions truthfully.

                        I understand that you won’t answer some, those pertaining to your past and your crimes.

                        Explain the painting of me and I will continue to write you without grievances or asking you to stop.

Of course what she had expected to happen, did. Another letter arrived in the mail, another confusing clash of emotions on Sherlock’s face. Though, she suspected he would bury them in another woman. Seeing the ‘coitus in progress’ sign on his door seemed a more frequent occurrence these days. No doubt it would increase with the arrival of these letters.

The letter went ignored again, until they made the arrest of Iris Lanzer’s lawyer. Between that case and her finding the homeless man, she hadn’t had the time to even think of reading Moriarty’s letter.

Not that she wanted to.

The elegant handwriting seemed to have more of pull to it than the previous letter, as if Joan’s curiosity was getting the better of her.

It was. It most definitely was.

She wrote quicker this time, writing as she read, and her handwriting came out sloppier, angrier.

            Moriarty,

                        If this is your way of saying that you’ll go about setting up an elaborate string of murders to capture our attention, you’re not quite as intelligent as you think you are.

                        Threatening anything is the absolute worst way to go about trying to get me to cooperate with you.

                        Complimenting me, however backhanded, won’t work either.

                        As you’re probably aware by now, Sherlock has been reading your letters. He did not know I replied, but thanks to you, he does now.

                        I assume this was part of your plan? To hurt him, of course. To drive us apart.

                        I’m aware you give off an air of not caring about any person, but you and I, and Sherlock, all know the truth. Otherwise our last meeting would have never happened. Consider his feelings in this.

                        Refrain from contacting me again.

The letter had arrived weeks ago. Weeks.

She had been going over files and various other documents for the mob family case she and Sherlock were working diligently on. He had his ways, and she had hers. Albeit, slicing a ham hock downstairs wasn’t really conducive to anything in Joan’s eyes, it worked for him.

The way he brought it in to her, silently and face twisted into an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Jealously? Worry? Whatever it was, Joan didn’t have the time to study it.

It was placed on her end table, already opened. He must have thought it was for him, though he did have quite the habit of opening her mail without a second thought. This must have been one of those cases.

Her fingers touched the paper and her eyes narrowed at the way she was addressed before scanning the letter. Breath hitching at the name at the bottom, she pulled open the end table drawer, threw it in, and slammed it shut.

Weeks. She’d forgotten about it until she found herself searching for her book light, ready to settle in and relax after solving the case. Hesitating, Joan found herself staring at the paper for a few beats of her heart (it was beating rapid rhythm in her chest just at the sight of it). Moriarty. Her mind wrapped around the mind and her lips curled in a mixture of anger and disgust. The return address was the one of the prison she’d been sent back to. If she didn’t write back, there was a chance Moriarty would send more. If she did, there was that same chance, but she could explicitly demand her to stop. Though, that would most likely backfire.

The cogs in her mind churned. All she wanted to do was sleep.

Snatching the letter up from the drawer, she grabbed her glasses, pen and a few sheets of paper.

            Moriarty,

                        In short, your answer is no.

                        I will not subject myself to being an experiment of yours, nor would I be willing to do you any sort of favors.

                        You are a criminal and

She cut herself off. This would get too preachy if she continued on. Crossing out the line heavily, she continued to write.

            Moriarty,

                        In short, your answer is no.

                        I will not subject myself to being an experiment of yours, nor would I be willing to do you any sort of favors. I value myself too highly to be thought of as something you can pass the time with. You are where you belong and serving the time you deserve.

                        I find it absolutely insane that you think I would even entertain the thought to begin with.

                        Do not continue to write me.