InsaneJournal

River Tam had the right of it. Changes were happening. Sending Gaia out to grab Helena's kid, sending people out to follow the various people he wanted followed, changes were brewing and it was the most beautiful symphony he was creating. This world was fast becoming his canvas and he was going to have such fun with it before it was all done. And it would of course lead him to Sherlock. The Final Problem between them would be solved one way or another but before that he had some business to take care of. He'd spent the night before with Emma, his dear fairytale, and it had been wonderful, It truly had. But it wasn't him. He loved her, god help him, he actually loved her. And being with her was sometimes the only time he didn't plan The only times he didn't have scenarios and various outcomes running around in his head, pulling all the strings together. It was always there, always in his mind but she had managed to infiltrate it and somehow he'd wound up letting her keep her blessed neutrality.

He'd kill her friend of course, went without saying really.. Harvelle and the Lane girl maybe. They were getting to close and she couldn't have friends like that. Keeping her stuck to that world that she had no place in anymore. She'd suspect him, she'd complain, she'd sulk, but she'd get over it. Because she loved him. She would need him to be there for her, and she would love him. And Wells would die of course, and probably the Tam girl. She was too good at what she did, the things she saw. Damn her, she saw the strings, and he'd seen how that had brought down the Master. Oh she didn't see it all, no one could see it all and he'd turn her to ribbons if she ever got too close. But he'd seen the danger of the psychics and this one just didn't know when to shut up. She'd need to learn. Thank god for witches and their shields.

The Master had been felled by his own stupidity, by his own weakness and his own need to have his woman by his side. Jim couldn't deny the idea was appealing. But Emma Swan was not Romana. She was not broken by war and guilt and self loathing. He couldn't just walk her into darkness the same way.

A glass shattered against the wall as the famed calm of Jim Moriarty shattered for just a moment before he focused again. Love or no love. This would happen. He would pull his strings, do what he had planned to do and Emma would allow it to happen because of her love for him. "Reichenbach" he muttered, remembering the painting of the place. Their fictional history told him it had to happen like that, but was that too obvious. He couldn't be obvious. ..."One great fall, one final...final fall, he'll slip, he'll fall and he'll die...he will die and then she can have me. Then she..." Could she? He said it, he thought it but could she really have him. Could he settle into anonymity, could he drag her away from this. Oh no. No no no... He didn't need to did he...he had it...It didn't need to be Sherlock just yet. All it needed to be was...He definitely finally...

The phone call interrupted a thought process.

The caller would die if they didn't have something good, and Jim told him so. The word entrails being used at least four times in the first ramble of annoyance. But to the caller's credit....he truly did have something. "Take her in. Alive. Drugged if you can manage it. And don't fail me. You really don't want to fail me." Times like this he missed Seb. Seb wouldn't have even needed to phone, he'd just have done it. And The Woman would have arrived giftwrapped for him. Ready to be the first victim in what was to be a tapestry of blood woven for Sherlock Holmes and the people in this city that dared to stand in Jim's way of getting to him.

Oh Irene. How the mighty would fall.

It had been hours. He'd lost track of time unsurprisingly, but he knew it was at the very least hours. Hours with just Jim and The Woman. In that one room. The room he didn't even let Emma see. The room that required his fingerprint to get inside. Though he didn't think Emma had ever wanted to see it, if she'd ever questioned she hadn't shared it with him. This was the room where Jim Moriarty did his very best work. And he was using it all, every bit of it on Irene Adler. And she had screamed, and begged, and pleaded but never once had she given up her friends. Her precious Helena. In the end of course she knew it was over for her. And she'd managed to mutter, before he took her tongue, that Sherlock would find him and that Sherlock would win. Sherlock couldn't even crawl out of his obsessions long enough to play Jim's games. But that too would come back on him.

It was who knows how many hours later when he finally let her die. Hands bloody, instruments bloody. But the suit still impeccable. Just the way he liked it. She'd been brave at the very end. Very very her. He might have been impressed if she hadn't failed him so many times, the whore with her whore ways. The one he'd thought could maybe break the Virgin. But oh no, she'd had to fall for him instead. And then even in this world, even with revenge clouding her, she'd needed him too. She'd not let him die. Irene Adler had sided with him once again and expected to live. It gave him a lot of pleasure to know she'd been living in fear, not knowing when or where the hit would come. He imagined it, the retelling of her fall not enough. One of his men had found her, tracked her down, asked about her business, and just as she'd been about to turn the Mistress talk on, they'd slammed her to the ground, sending her into sleep with a blow to the head and she'd woken up strapped to a table, utterly helpless, with himself above her holding a knife. She hadn't screamed but the hope had gone out of her eyes, all her nightmares come at once.

Oh how the mighty had fallen, he thought, looking at the body, once so beautiful. once so full of power and grace and now just a husk. It was all people were in the end, husks of meat. And he'd sent her back to that, Now of course he wondered how to play it. How to let it come to light. He didn't know where Helena Wells was of course, a fact that bothered him more than he let on.. Gods and Jedi and Superheroes and Demons polluted the world he'd once been able to run with the touch of a button. How could he lie when they'd know? How could he have them killed when there was bloody Superman breathing down his neck saying he'd stop him. It was an abomination is what it was! But at the same time. Jim knew it was just another obstacle. Just more ways to keep him from Sherlock. But they couldn't be everywhere, looking at everyone. Tonight was proof of that.

The strings. The web that he stayed happily in the centre of would have to be what he held to. Everyone around him moved at his command, puppets was right. Everyone around him he would wrap around him like a cloak, hiding his ultimate actions from the view of those who would stop him. And he'd need to make sure Emma was both secured in her safety and not going to betray him. He could not allow that. He could not allow weakness to destroy him before this all came to light.

The weaknesses of the heart. He thought, as he got to his feet, knife in his hand and moving to cut the heart from Irene Adler.

He'd send it to them. Sherlock and Watson and Helena and all of them. And he'd dispose of the rest easy enough. Telltale heart and all that. It would be the first of many, he decided. Until everything around his enemies was dust. But for now he'd clean himself up, he'd find his Fairytale and he'd pull her to him. He'd whisper sweet words in her ear until she was his to do what he wanted with.

He rather thought he felt in the mood for what he wanted.