He was a supervillain, brilliant and ruthless. For James Moriarty, fortune and power had become so easy, it was boring. But not for long. Now the Great Game was getting interesting.
Annabelle Watson didn't have a clue how important she was in his p...
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"This isn't happening!" John Watson pushed an agitated hand through his hair as he paced the floor. When he finally stopped and laid his eyes back on Mycroft Holmes, he could barely get the words out. "Sh-she can't be married to Moriarty! Annabelle would never do that. This has to be a mistake."
Mycroft gave a loud sigh before his eyes settled on his brooding brother sitting across from him in apartment 221B Baker Street. "And do you doubt my news, Sherlock? You were close to the girl. Did she tell you her plans?"
At the twitch of Sherlock's mouth, Mycroft raised a brow before slowly sipping his tea.
"Well, Sherlock?" John said as he set his hands on his hips, frowning as he riveted his eyes on his friend.
The Adam's apple in Sherlock's throat bobbed as the bile in his mouth started to congeal. The shock was still stewing in him. Without looking at either man, he got up from his chair, walked rigidly to the phonograph, and selected a record from the short stack. His lips tightened as he stared down at the spinning vinyl while the sounds of the symphony filled the room.
Annabelle had married James Moriarty.
"She told me she was leaving for Julliard. That is all," Sherlock said.
John let out a loud huff and continued pacing the floor while Mycroft inclined his head, his eyes unblinking as he studied Sherlock.
"Ms. Watson... Pardon me," Mycroft corrected, "Mrs. Moriarty will be carefully monitored."
John let out a choking sound and dropped into the chair, his head in his hands.
"She's currently in New York," Mycroft continued, "and remains a person of considerable interest now that she has the direct influence of everyone's favorite criminal. If not for that hit on the head, she would never be allowed out of Britain."
Sherlock raised his chin, his lips pulling into a scowl. "Have you considered that Annabelle will influence Moriarty? She gave you what you wanted, and yet that wasn't good enough, was it? Your dogs have been sniffing her trail every step of the way."
"Ah, there it is," Mycroft said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. "So you've lost your objectivity to another Watson. How romantic."
Sherlock's face changed into bland indifference. "You think I care for her?" He rolled his eyes, his hand shaking as he immediately switched off the phonograph. "You're even more of an idiot than I thought."
Mycroft clicked his tongue and set his teacup on the coffee table. "Oh, Sherlock, you get so judgemental when you're upset." He paused and shrugged. "Cancel that. You're always judgemental. But there's another reason I stopped by."
Mycroft's eyes floated between both men. "After you met with Annabelle's mother in the asylum, MI6 took the initiative and probed a little more."
John lifted his head from his hands, anger transforming his face. "You've been spying on my sister? Mycroft, that's unacceptable! My family is not your concern. I won't allow it!"
