Moriarty Manor

[Dead Is The New Sexy]

[Edward Nygma]

When the cab stopped in front of Moriarty's 'secret' manor, Sherlock threw an unknown ammount of bills to the taxi-driver and practically leaped out of the vehicle, making his way to the door.

He knocked on the door; several times in fact and impatiently, until someone opened the door. In this case it was Jim's favorite hitman; Sebastian Moran. Sherlock knew who he was perfectly well and he knew that Sebastian knew who he was; he'd done his research. The two of them had never met face to face, though, and yet Sherlock made no introductions. Instead he pushed straight past Sebastian into the manor as if it were his own home and went looking around the place frantically with Sebastian on his heels.

"Where is he? What's he planning? What game is he playing?" he fired the questions one after the other with no breaks as he searched the rooms for his consulting criminal. Until finally he could safely deduce:

"He's not here." He turned around to Sebastian finally, looking up at him expectantly. "Where is he?" he demanded.

[Zoewilliams]

Sebastian wasn't the ordinary gunman everyone always knew. He was tough, a smart ass, and he preferred to himself as a bit of cold brutal man murdering machine. He always thought so, loved to claim he was every perfect exampled bit of a killer that everyone always strived to be. So when his attention had been caught, distracted away from the sweet stinging aroma of the gruesome mess he had been in the midst of making, nothing probably could have prepared for the next horrifying events that would take place soon after the detective would burst through the door.

Sebastian appeared quite disheveled in the fairly lit light of the on flickering kitchen, red ooze stained to the fabrics of his jeans and bloodshot smudges stuck to the hair on his chin and messy bangs. He's appeared as if he'd just walked through a war zone. But of course, the secret to the sniper wasn't all that complicated, even a fool could make out that the splotches on his shirt were definitely not because he was butchering people. It was.. because...oh. Oh! Oh the horror, the agony! Such an act, a crime can't go unspoken!

A cupcake had dropped to the floor.

Sebastian sighed. He started taken up baking. A hobby while Jim was away. But of course Jim had been away for a very long time, and he did need something to take out his nerves. Nervous Sebastian. It's always the emotions! Jim was fine...he had sent out men to find him. Certainly Jim would come home and soon no longer would have anything to say about the gory gruesome insults of his God forbidden cooking!
Though as much as he'd rather die than be teased by his fellow criminals an co workers for baking sweets, because after all it wasn't a very manly thing now was it? He would much rather be complemented by Jim for his outstanding culinary skills.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Some one wasn't going to hesitate. Grumbling to himself and tearing off the cooking apron around his waist, he signed and slowly extracted a long unforgiving knife from the kitchen, creeping his way down the hall.

The door opened. But only faster before he could attack his gaze, which didn't have to lowest much thankfully since this man was about his height, fell to a very curly headed and odd appearing man. A very...feisty..was that the right word?

Sebastian stared, knife lowering, as he had no use for it at his moment. He knew exactly who his guy was. Sherlock Holmes.
They had never met face to face. Which was good. Because if Sebastian knew this was what Jim's biggest rival/archenemy/lover/occasional equal/sometimes enemies with benefits/ or whatever Jim linked to label him as...it might have made things difficult between them. Besides. Jim did sleep around. It would have made things awkward. But here he was, barging into his home, no proper introduction, no name.

"Yeah listen bud..." Sebastian, scoffing, decided to play pretend and followed him along. "I hardly know you. I hardly care to know you. Jim ain't here. I don't know where.....He ain't been here in nearly forever...." Sebastian, crossed his arms. "Ain't he at yours?"

[Edward Nygma]

Sherlock continued searching the room for a bit just to make sure there were no clues he'd missed. His gaze did stumble on the cupcake laying on the floor and he eyed it with some confusion before directing his gaze to the apron laying over the kitchen chair and then he settled his pale blue eyes on Sebastian. Flour under his nails, the smell of baking in the air and smudges of frosting in his face and over his neck. ... Jim's gunman had been making cupcakes.

"Seriously?" Sherlock demanded, looking at the cupcake and back at Sebastian. "Jim Moriarty went missing and you're here baking cupcakes? Aren't you supposed to be his bodyguard?"

Sherlock turned around and walked through the house again. Somehow he knew to locate the study right away and he began to go through the maps and stacks of paper there, looking for clues. If he realized how much he was prying into things he shouldn't, he hid it very well.

"Of course he's not at my place. Why would he be at my place?" Sherlock asked; in all seriousness and only half-interested as he kept reading the papers. The suggestion that clung to that sentence seemed to go completely over his head; as if he truly couldn't think of one reason why Jim would be at his place.

"He's not just gone. Something's happened to him. Something bad."

[Zoewilliams]

Sebastian leaned against the kitchen,  counter, watching Sherlock go through his and Jim's home before finally catching eye upon the mess of cake and frosting he had made from the previous rumble, having to fight with the mixing machine. There was no denying to the detective of what he had been in the mid of doing. It was a hobby. He needed to take the worry off from Jim's disappearance.

But now that Sherlock had spoken these three words, Sebastian near choked on a previous cupcake that he'd been consuming. The fuck no. To hear those words come from Sherlock?! Moriarty went missing? He had assumed, or prayed, that this was a work thing. Maybe he was even rebeling or going through a mid life Moriarty crisis phase. But no. This only rose suspicion. Moriarty was kidnapped.

"Ha. Yeah, no." The entirety of Sebastian's blood froze. "I'm his lover."

As Sherlock began to roam about the place, the sniper wiped away a splat of frosting and stretched out an arm across the counter, over to a drawer to retrieve a box of cigarettes. His hand nervously pries the carton open, shakily lighting the end of his cig as he brought it half weakly to his mouth. He took a breath. Then exhaled.
"The boss, he was out working late shifts for a while. Competition got real busy since we've been dealing with bigger fish, ones too tough to fry... "

His eyes narrowed over to Sherlock. "Sorry. I'd just assume he'd be at yours. But it appears I've been mistaken about this damn situation."

Moriarty was missing. DAMN. Why didn't anyone give him any information about this? The sniper cursed and made a mental reminder to have a good talk with his fellow co-workers later.

[Edward Nygma]

Sherlock snorted mockingly as he went about reading the papers. when Sebastian told him he was his lover. "..You and two thirds of the rest of his staff, I'm sure."

Closing a map he'd been browsing he turned to look at Sebastian. He wrinkled his nose at the sight and smell of the lit cigarette. He could use one of those himself right now.. But he was trying to quit smoking. Stupid idea. Whose idea was that anyway? John no doubt. He wasn't even here. No! Focus, Sherlock. Focus.

"Again, why the hell would he be at my place? He lives here. And we won't get very far on your apologies. Something has happened to him, but I don't know what. I know because he didn't text me back."

Apparently that was reason of concern enough for Sherlock. Not getting back a text from James Moriarty.

"What competition? What does that mean? The sooner you start getting to the point, the more chance we have of finding him back alive."

Without even waiting for an answer; simply expecting the sniper to follow after him; he marched and went into Jim's bedroom. As he walked in he sniffed quickly. "No trace of his aftershave..He hasn't been in here in at least two weeks," he deduced, before pacing on to his closet and opening it. He let his eyes scan the closet as his mind went into overdrive. "..Three suitcases. But there used to be four. He took the biggest one. Somewhere far abroad. He took his best suit so it was for business. ... But where did he go?"

He seemed to be mumbling to himself. He always told John he did that because it helped. And it did a bit, yes, but that wasn't the main reason he did it. He simply meant to impress anyone within earshot.

Sherlock suddenly moved to his desk and started up the computer standing there. It appeared to be password protected, though. Cursing under his breath he started making attempts. 'Westwood' No, that wasn't it, obviously. 'Reichenbach' .. No. No, too random. Moriarty would use something specific. Something significant to him.

Sherlock turned around and started observing the room again as if looking for an answer there. His eyes lingered on Sebastian for a moment. Sebastian Moran? .. No. He didn't even try. That wasn't it. Jim wasn't a romantic. Not in the cliché sense anyway. And his password would have a bit of humor in it.

Finally Sherlock's eyes lingered on something specific. ... A mirror. And his own reflection. He looked himself up and down thoughtfully and then his hand slowly moved to his pocket where he kept his phone. "..The woman," he whispered, truly to himself this time. Then he started to smile mischiviously and he moved back to the computer.

He typed in 'IamSherlocked' and when he hit enter; this time he was allowed into the system. "Gotcha!" he spoke with a grin, as he went about pulling up Jim's download history. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for.

"Plane tickets," he told Sebastian, pulling them up on the screen so Sebastian could see them. "..To the United States." He looked up at Sebastian. "What business does Jim have in America?"

[Zoewilliams]

"The FUCK." The sniper just about spat out his cig. Throwing away the discarded paper of nicotine, his face light up brightly, burning red like an angry Christmas tree that had been cast out and given to a bunch of homeless hippies for extra wood to keep warm. He was fuming. If he was an actual cartoon, steam was sure to be boiling out his ears.

"Your one to talk. FYI, I'm pretty fucking sure you take up just as much bloody space of that two third as I damn well do. " He scoffed, eyeing up the detective. He seemed a lot shorter in the distance, but none the less he was fragile. Perhaps light enough to be picked up and tossed around the room with one hand. If this crack ass Holmes fellow was trying pick a fight then..no. This ass hole Detective knew something about Jim. And he, admittably, could find Jim much faster than any of the jerk off criminal wannabes that he'd sent out on the hunt to look for his boo.

And probably. Those buttsmears where just lounging around all day, sitting on there gunned asses and drinking away their rotten wasted lives. He cursed to himself, scratching his forehead with frustration. "Anyways, the bloody staff don't care about my kitten as I do. I sent a bunch of dodos out to find him and I ain't got any shit worth of information. No words, no nothing." Muttering, his hands ran daintily through his hair before looking back to Sherlock.

He scoffed, eyes narrow as he walked a step over in his direction. "You said it yourself. Two thirds. Boss likes to sleep around. I wouldn't be surprised what kind of trouble he got himself into this time." He shrugged. "Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if boss is just ingoring you. He does do that you know, getting tired of things. Probably decided he had enough of what the great Sherlock Holmes had to offer."

Of course, the sniper was very much unaware. Little did he know. Oh well.

The sniper, before he could open his mouth to speak, was caught off topic. The detective had exited the room in a quick hurry. Grumbling to himself, he stood there. Not really wanting to follow or wait, but just really eager and desperate to find some damn clues. So he began to search around...but then the shadowy figure of the Holmes man heading down the hall to Jim's bedroom and..OH GOD NOT THE BEDROOM!!!

He fled, and fled fast. Heading his way down to the place where he and Jim slept every night and oh god please just don't let him find the naughty drawer, his thoughts innerly screamed.

"GOTHAM." He spoke, voice rushed and out of breath from all the running as he finally made to the door way. "He's got business with some blokes in Gotham. "

[Edward Nygma]

"Oh shut up," was his only response to Sebastian accusing him of being one of the two-thirds. The comment didn't sting him; not one bit. In either case, he was convinced that what he had with Jim was something far more significant than what he had with Sebastian. Surely the sniper was just a means to an end. He couldn't actually mean anything to Jim, could he? ... Needless to say, for all his smarts, Sherlock could be proven spectacularly wrong when it came to matters of the heart.

None of this mattered right now, though. He had to find out what happened. More important.. He had to know Jim wasn't dead. - Surely he couldn't be. He was too brilliant to let himself killed by anyone. If anyone was going to kill him, it would be himself.

What did offend Sherlock was the ridiculous idea that Jim hadn't responded because he grew bored with him. He gave Sebastian a sharp glare for that. "He isn't just bored with me. I texted him. Jim always texts back. Always. Especially if I just admitted defeat. He wouldn't let me live it down. Not unless he never got the message. And if he didn't get the message, he doesn't have acces to his phone. With Jim's career you can't afford not be available through phone. Meaning someone is deliberatly keeping him from it." ... Or he was dead. But Sherlock refused to jump to that conclusion just yet, as mentioned earlier.

"What business and with whom?"

He was surprised to find Sebastian out of breath and.. panicked over something. Afraid almost? Very suspicious behavior indeed. Sherlock moved closer, looking him straight in the eyes. "..What is it? Why the sudden panick? .. You're hiding something from me, aren't you? I don't think I need to explain to you why I'd highly advise you against it. If you know me as well as I think you know me, you know I will find out."

[Zoewilliams]

Sebastian huffed, his shoulder's stiffening. He didn't like being threatened, especially when someone else could have been threatening the man he loved, and this Holmes guy clearly knew more information than a hundred hitmen being paid to slack off would ever have. As much as he wanted to slap him upside the head, he was his only option.

He was almost wavering between choices. The sniper bit his lips and eyed the floor carefully before looking up. Remembering what business just got up to what hard stuff. Jim never told him a soul expect "go kill this guy sebby" and "tiger go do this and that and I'll give you a treat." when Jim didn't want to talk he was expected not to pry.

Quickly snipers thoughts went back to the place where the secret stash was hidden away in the room, really fucking hoping Sherlock wasn't going to deduce him with one look.

But then his eyes caught glimpse over something, something blue lying limply against the corner of Jim's bed, near his dresser. A scarf, one he'd give Jim. In fact, he had given it to him, unknowingly and unaware that the detective possessed a scarf rather similar.  He had found out later on as Jim did tell him eventually, the irony of it all, but the sight! Just seeing the fragile memory of Jim made him smile. His darling little kitten, wrapped up and wearing his gift.. He remembered the day he had gotten it for him.

It was chilly. To freaking cold to be out on a mission. But non the less Jim insisted they had clients to "take out" so they were there all they way out in the middle of now where on a but cold day trying to hunt down some unlucky bloke. Jim ended up freezing his butt off so he sniper had to give him his pair of mittens but Jim refused to wear the hellish things.

Suddenly something began to stir in the sniper's head. "Cobblepot." The sniper breathed. "Jim was investigating a call from a customer...some wacko named joker...he wanted to take out man named Cobblepot. He owns a nightclub in Gotham. I don't remember what street or name it was but I could find an address..."

He took a step away from the door, heading over to the bed where the scarf lied dangling lightly off the dresser. It almost fell but he;'d managed to catch it in beaten his hands, then picking it up and wrapping the fuzzy material around his neck.

"Jim." He murmured softly to himself, admiring it's warm feel.

Suddenly loud crunching noise came from the closet causing the sniper to jump and make a grab for the nearest gun.

But before he could point and do any damage, the closet doors flung open and out popped a very small mousey looking Jim, his hair teased up and face covered in crumbs from the potato chips he had been eating. He gave a small, friendly wave to the two, smiling weakly. "Hi!" A dimpled blush shrugged across his face. Happliy, he popped in a another chip and started munching again, staring up at the two from the floor with big eyes.

[Edward Nygma]

Sherlock eyes the man carefully. His behavior was a bit off. Then again, he probably shouldn't have expected anyone different from someone who spend so many time around Jim. ... He didn't want to think about what that would make of himself though.

He watched him grab the scarf and tilted his head to the side as Sebastian started to paw at it. ... Was it a clue to something? To what exactly?

"Cobblepot?" Sherlock repeated. The name didn't ring familiar. He knew about Gotham though. He'd read stories about it being infested with crime and weird costumed vigilantes and villains. He'd considered going there once on a holiday.. seemed fun. He just never got around to it. Well, now was the time to get around to it.

He opened his mouth to ask Sebastian something else, when suddenly there was a noise from within the closet and then it poured open, a copy of Jim Moriarty himself falling out. "Jim?" Sherlock asked confused, moving closer. But it took only one look at the man's face to realize this wasn't Jim; no matter how much he looked like him.

"No, not Jim.." he mumbled, frowning to himself. "..You're the brother, aren't you?" Well, that was interesting. He had to learn that Jim even had a brother through his sister Eurus. Jim never spoke of him; and he'd never understood quite why.

"What were you doing in that closet?"

[Zoewilliams]

Richard grinned with a bright tooth smile, his face plastered with crumbs. "No silly!" He giggled, earned a low groan from Sebastian as the sniper smacked his forehead. This was the perfect timing, the assassin thought to himself.
"I'm Richard!" The man, or man child replied. Really he would more of a young boy if you based him more on his childish attitude and happy go lucky personality. He was just like his brother exept..more free spirited. Well you knew you could trust him right away not to rip of your arms and sew them back on your sleeve sockets. He was just..naturally pure.

The small Moriarty sibling scooted away from the closet, shuffling the bag of chips in his arms as he curled up in a ruffled pile on the bed, making a mess of the sheets. The closet door was left open, drops of crumbs dragging behind and what appeared to be a pillow and a pile of clothes lying on the ground. Had Richard been living in there this whole time?

Seb threw his gun aside just as the Moriarty boy gave a sigh and arranged himself under the sheets. Richard watched as he paced back in forth in frontr of the bed, frantically. "Damn it." He uttered. "Doesn't Severin know where you are? I already have to deal with one missing Jim. I can be dealing WITH TWO MISSING JIMS-"

Richard quietly cut him off, his soft innocent voice interrupting as he spoke over to Sherlock. "The other closet smelled funny. This one had funny looking magazines, but I put them away in a good place so they won't get lost." He smiled, shrugging his knees to his chest as he took another fistful of chips in hand, slowly munching on one after another as he picked them singularly from the pile. "i was house sitting about a month ago but I was told to be real real quiet and that if I moved then there would be a very bad man who would come in and take me to a very naughty place. But if I did what I was told and if I stayed in the closet I'd get candy!" He exclaimed excitedly, wiping his hands on the pillow side of Sebby's bed. Sebastian cringed.

The fuck.

"And I guess I forgot it wasn't locked..." Richard shrugged.

Sebastian's mouth dropped open. He wanted to scream. Damn. Richard you idiot! What were you thinking why were you....!!!!
Instead he rushed over to the side of the bed and picked Richard up in his arms, hugging his small gentle frame. "Oh god rich.." He closed his eyes with a sigh, stroking his head as he held him. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!"

[Edward Nygma]

"Richard.. Brooke," Sherlock muttered to himself, looking the man. ... boy.. up and down. His childish behavior didn't go unnoticed. "What's wrong with him?" he asked Sebastian, assuming it must be a mental disorder of some sorts. He wouldn't be surprised if Jim had dropped him on the head too often when they were children..

He watched Sebastian approach the younger brother and watched, with some surprise, how he fussed over him. Not what he'd expected from Jim Moriarty's favorite hitman.

"..Right. This all nice and well, but I do believe we have just concluded Jim has met with a hostile enemy in America and hasn't been back for weeks. Now I'd love to eat crisps and catch up on family stories, but I do believe we have more urgent matters to attent to, don't you?"

Sherlock took his phone from his pocket and began to search google for this 'Cobblepot' in Gotham. It was a specific name so it shouldn't be hard to get some information about the man. In the meantime he began to walk to the exit; while also still talking to Sebastian.

"Sebastian, I will meet you at the airport at 9 PM where we'll board the first plane to America. In the meantime I have some matters to attend to. Pack your bags, we might be there for quite some time. Don't take the sibling; he'll only be a liability and is very likely to get himself hurt in the process. See you tonight; don't be late."

And just like that Sherlock walked out the door without throwing a single glance back.

(OC: TO the airport)

[Zoewilliams]

Sebastian scowled over at Sherlock, softly stroking a hand through Richard's head. Richard, not seeming to mind, made a soft purr and looked over to Sherlock curiously. "Nothing is wrong with him." said the frustrated voice as the thought roamed through the sniper's head. Though he just so happened to have mentioned all this out loud. It was most certainly not a disorder, though half of the Moriarty and Brooke family had past history of violence and abuse, he may have been had a more severe handling to his father's beatings. Richard was just Richard. There was no other explanation for it.

"What's wrong is that this little fucker stayed in a closet binging off chips rather than doing what any normal human would and getting the fuck out to save his freaking skin!" Sebastian's eyes fell cold towards Richard, who unaffectedly smiled and hooped his nose at every mention of the f-bomb dropping. He never would learn would he?
Quickly, Sebastian got back to his feet and tugged Richard off the bed, ushering him out of the room."OUT."
Even though the door closed slightly behind him, little Richard's small frame was still standing outside the hallways, his shadow sweeping from out under the crack of the floor.

Of course he was protective over Richard. He was like a second brother. Well. He did already have a brother but. In a way with Jim being his lover...maybe future husband who knows if that day ever would come that he'd man up a pear to ask him...in a very strange way Richard was almost like a son. He was a Moriarty after all. But Seb and his brother didn't really...get along on good terms. So Richard was a make due over. Sherlock probably didn't care about his brother, so he wasn't one to relate.

"Right. Oswald Cobblepot." Sebastian corrected him, following him out the door before stopping in his tracks. He watched as Sherlock took leave, before turning a round and closing the door to take care of the pest infestation that was Richard Brooke. "Oswald bloody freaking Cobblepot." He utter finally under his breath with a long dramatic sigh.
Yes. One step closer to finding Jim.

((OOC: to the airport!!))

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