Unwritten Plans (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)
Hello all. I was just contemplating the fact that the only Moriarty fanfics out there is some stupid Sheriarty rubbish that isn't even written by decent writers. So here you are! Original character, and Moriarty. Strange, eh? I'mma have a go at it, and if it fails, what is there to lose? ^-^
It's quite obviously before the Fall, as a reminder to all dunderheads. :P
I'll alternate POVs every chapter, first Moriarty's, then hers, should be interesting.
Comments and Rates most Appreciated.
Much to my disappointment, she arrives, breathless, not a second past eleven, glancing furtively around as if she was... nervous.
"What are you doing?" I ask snidely. She jumps and turns around.
"Just... looking for you." she says quietly, coming closer. "Must you always hide?"
"I don't..." My voice drops to a deadly whisper. "...hide."
"Of course you don't." Her voice is light, airy, and I get the distinct impression that she is not frightened of me at all. Then why was she nervous?
"Well." I say bluntly, thudding through the empty hall, not bothering to conceal my footsteps. She flinches at the thunk each step brings, but follows me easily. "Have you got the plans?"
"I believe you took them from me yesterday." she replies coolly.
"OF COURSE I DID!" I thunder. "Have you got them?"
She looks plainly toward the ceiling, as if she is trying not to laugh, and withdraws a folded packet of paper from her coat, handing them to me from behind.
I snatch them and riffle through them. "Very good, very good." I mutter, inspecting them. I turn a page so hastily that it rips out, and flutters to the ground. But that is no matter. The ripped pages in life are always the worst parts of the story.
She watches me from a distance, not moving - blinking - nothing. There is a serene look on her face that I cannot read. This is new to me. Why can't I read her?
Perhaps it is merely the reason why I have kept her around. Why I haven't killed her already.
I don't know the reason.
I speak abruptly, and loudly, so her head jerks up and she is on end like a cornered cat. "I have a mission for you."
"What is it?" she asks indifferently.
"I want you to spy on Sherlock Holmes."
There is a silence, and then she begins laughing. "Oh, you have got to be kidding."
"I am not kidding, Stella." I inhale sharply.
She looks at me, quite obviously struggling to hold back an eye-roll. "It's not your style, and you know it."
"I have got to try new things sometimes!" I snap.
She stops laughing then and looks at me suspiciously. "That isn't like you."
"Perhaps I've changed." I shrug, and throw the papers on the ground, causing a fountain of yellowy, crackling pages erupts from a focal point. "Same time tomorrow, Stella Endell. Two-two-one-bee. Baker Street."
I stalk out of the room, leaving her to gather the plans, which I'm sure she's noticed, are blank.
But Stella's clever enough. She'll figure it out eventually.
I like playing with her. She reminds me of Sherlock.