#richxrdbrook

Moran rarely QUESTIONED things. Despite being considered an intellect himself, he had never been one to tussle with and linger on the semantics of things. Clear, cut, && to the point. For a sniper, he was oddly IMPATIENT when it came to trifle things like small talk or sitting through the careful details of a situation. 

So, it was hardly of surprise that when Moriarty had sent him somewhere--he hadn’t batted a lash. He did not live to SERVE, but his employer had an eerie knack for never sending him away on things that did not touch on his interests somehow or another.

This, however, came into question as light was shed upon just WHAT he would be doing. Guarding, playing the intimidation card--the NORM. Only it would not be for Moriarty, but rather his t w i n. For Richard.

If he had any inclination to be bothered by it, he would have assumed Moriarty had picked up on the fact that it slightly unsettled Moran that there were two identical little devils running a muck upon the same earth. Still, he stomached any irritation he’d suddenly developed and merely regarded the man with a bland look.

                                        “Afternoon.”

Mycroft looked out of the window, obvious curiousity and confusion showing on his face. Jim was sitting beside him, telling him in his ever cyrptic way that they were going out, and it was too early for dinner and too late for lunch. So, not food then.

Before the meadow she tarries back and forth; a little worried, a little flustered. Of all the scenes they had to be doing first-- from a distance she spots him, and immediately feels a blush setting her face alight. It’s no way to act around a co-star, though she supposes it suits her purposes well enough. Method acting, if she ever knew it. Quickly, she turns away, pursing her lips, even as her hair is being fussed over and her dress adjusted. Then it begins. 

As she begins to walk, grass tickles her feet, the hem of her dress whispering against her thighs, she gazes with squinted eyes at the low lying sun, what obscures her vision suddenly comes into view, raindrops fall against the back of her neck, before it begins to pour, drenching her from head to toe, but still she perseveres.

Her expression is one of muted excitement, for more reasons than one when she finally approaches him. Their faces are so close, she can see the droplets clinging to his eyelashes, and she wonders if he can hear her breathing. Professional, Molly reminds herself, he must’ve done this hundreds of times. It wouldn’t matter to him and it shouldn’t matter to her either. After all, he was playing a blind man at this point. It was just a snog, she’d snogged people before. Loads of times. 

Her voice meekly breaks the air, she never brings herself to tear her eyes from his face; the camera captures her reticence, her anticipation. 

@richxrdbrook