The package itself wasn't conspicuous and the content was, if he wasn't mistaken, a bunch of letters held together with a colourful cotton ribbon as they were common in Madras from where the package had been sent. Nothing suspicious there since Moriarty knew that Moran had served in India.
It was the sender that aroused his curiosity. A Mrs. Srinivasa Ramanujan had sent the package, herself as the writing on the top was unmistakably the handwriting of a woman who wasn't used to Latin letters. Moriarty recognised the name, of course. Although their fields of study hadn't crossed directly they had met and talked several times but his impression of his late colleague hadn't been the best. A genius when it came to numbers but terribly boring when it came to everything else. And now it seemed his widow had carried on an affair with Moran on top of that. Understandable, from Moriarty's point of view, he would have preferred Moran over Ramanujan as well.
Moran, when he came back, read through the letters and threw them in the bin where the paper for the fireplace was kept.
"Displeased with your mail?" Moriarty asked. Moran scoffed.
"Sentimental bullshit, doesn't do any good. Bastard's dead either way." There was something in his tone that made Moriarty read the letters later. They were not what he had expected. The front pages contain only a single poem each in Moran's handwriting.
I want you, yet I know that never
can I embrace you to my heart's content.
you are that clear and bright sky.
I, in this corner of the cage, am a captive bird.
They weren't English poems but probably Persian ones that Moran translated himself. Ramanujan's answers were written on the back of those letters in a tiny, meticulous script, detailing his work, how much he missed Moran while alluding to things in their past in both India and England.
Apparently Moran hadn't had an affair with Ramanujan's wife after all. Moriarty was of course aware that Moran didn't discriminate when it came to the gender of his bed partner but these letters spoke of a longstanding and loving relationship. The poems spoke of a level of emotional involvement that Moriarty hadn't thought Moran capable off.
Even though Moran's private life was none of his concern it didn't sit well with Moriarty that there were important aspects of Moran that he didn't know about.
Later, he burned the letters like Moran had wanted it.
/
For the first time he cursed Moran's talent to pick up languages like fallen apples. His own German was passable enough except to follow the rapid conversation between Moran and Gauß. It had something to do with mathematics, at least on the surface because their body language certainly told of something different.
Moriarty was not surprised when Moran asked for the night off but half-tempted not to grant it to him and instead to come up with some assassination or another that needed to be done tonight. After all Moran was his…friend and he has no inclination to share him, especially not with a sleazy German that had all the wrong ideas about binominals and just because he hadn't found the proof to disgrace him yet didn't mean that he wasn't correct and Gauß wasn't wrong. Also his lecture had been mind-numbing. Apart from the obvious why would Moran want to spend any time with this man?
Or, an even better question, where the bloody hell had they met? Moran had never mentioned spending any time in Germany although he must had because of his level of fluency but Moriarty had never asked or even been interested. After all Moran spoke five or six languages fluently and four more passably enough to get by and getting behind the origin of all of them would have been tiresome.
The next morning Moran came in with the smug air and traces of fatigue of a man who had spent the night having very satisfying sex. He had already sorted through the morning letters and telegrams, putting two of them into chiffre, and acquired breakfast for both of them and a newspaper. Apparently the man hadn't slept at all if going by the amount of sugar he was spooning into his coffee (a despicable habit he had picked up in Afghanistan or maybe even earlier in his life in Persia) before moving on to pour Moriarty's much more civilized tea.
"Professor," he said when he put the tea cup on Moriarty's desk, all smug and self-satisfied, "Do you mind if I come along to the lecture, later?"
More than anything it was rhetorical question but it took a considerable effort on Moriarty's part not to snap, "No!" at Moran and leave it there. If the man wanted to make eyes at Gauß then he could do it elsewhere but not right under Moriarty's nose.
"You seem to be quite interested in the subject lately," he said instead. Moran shrugged, settling on the armchair with the newspaper and his atrociously sweet coffee.
"Can be quite…interesting," Moran winked, his smug smile becoming a tad wider.
"I didn't realize you were familiar with Dr. Gauß and his work." Moriarty was going to kill Moran if he didn't drop the post-sex attitude soon.
"Met him at uni," And that made no sense because Moran had studied at Oxford and Gauß had publicly declared at his first lecture that this was his first time in England. "Spent a semester in Göttingen, boring as hell…mostly," There was that smug smile again and Moriarty contemplated if Moran would taste arsenic in his coffee before it was too late. Doubtful considering how sweet it was.
Moriarty could feel Moran's eyes on him but didn't look up from his breakfast. Why should he care if Moran had whored his way through two universities or not? Everyone had their little indulgences, his were feeding pigeons, boxing and Schubert and Moran's were sex, Persian poetry and languages.
When he was finished with eating he found Moran dozing in the armchair, newspaper half open on his lap. Moriarty plucked it from his unresisting fingers, deciding against waking him. Chances were good that if he let him sleep, Moran would miss Gauß' lecture.
/
He shouldn't have underestimated Moran. He might have been late to the lecture but he did come, exchanging appreciative looks with Gauß the whole time.
Moriarty gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on any mistakes Gauß had made that he could rip apart later. He was sure that other men had been arrested for the level of indecency that Moran and Gauß were displaying at the moment.
Of course, no one else noticed it.
Somehow the blatant sexual interest Moran displayed for Gauß was more bothersome than Ramanujan's love letters had been. After all Ramanujan was dead and Gauss was right here in front of him and reacting to Moran like a common whore to a gold coin.
He didn't doubt that Moran was worth it. He had enough experience with sex and looked quite handsome especially with those striking blue eyes. But Gauß, well, whatever Moran saw in him remained a mystery to Moriarty and he doubted that Gauß had enough experience in bed to make up for it.
Moriarty only listened with half an ear to the lecture. Instead he devised plan after plan to get rid of Gauß in increasingly gruesome ways. He wondered what Moran would do if he ordered a hit on Gauß – but then Moran didn't strike him as a sentimental man and Gauß was certainly not Ramanujan. No love letters this time, Moriarty had checked.
/
Moriarty had looked forward to his lecture in Paris. He had always liked the city and French was the only foreign language where he was just as fluent as Moran.
But as soon as he saw Newcomb among the attendees his day was ruined. Newcomb was a capable enough astronomer and incredibly smug about it. When he had received the gold medal from the Royal Astronomical Society he had rubbed it into Moriarty's face as if that would make any of Moriarty's own achievements void.
If there was anyone who could understand Dynamics of an Asteroid properly it would be Newcomb.
And Moran was still out on an errand when Moriarty would have appreciated him at his side.
/
From the moment their eyes met it was clear that Moran and Newcomb knew each other and more than likely in the biblical sense, too.
"Fancy meetin' ya here." Moran said and part of Moriarty was amused how fast Newcomb's body language changed from antagonistic to flirtatious.
"I feel the same. As far as I remember your interest lay in practical mathematics and not astronomy."
"Anything can be interesting as long as the right person teaches you."
"So this", Newcomb dangled Moriarty's book between his fingers, "is the right one?"
"Definitely."
The unexpected praise from Moran's mouth and Newcomb's expression lifted his spirits for a moment. Now, if only Moran could quit smiling at Newcomb that way and angling his body in a way that was definitely inviting.
"Shall we catch up later?" Newcomb asked.
"I'd like that", Moran's grin and tone certainly didn't hide anything.
Newcomb took out his card and scribbled something onto its back. "I'll stay in Paris for a few days and enjoy its many distractions."
Moran pocketed the card. "I'll see you then."
"I hope so", his eyes lingered on Moran for a moment then he turned to Moriarty. "It was nice to see you again. You certainly touched on some interesting theories in your book. It will be entertaining to go through them again on the ship back to Harvard."
With a small nod and another lingering look at Moran he left.
Moran slid a paper over the table, which Moriarty took a short look at before putting it into his notebook. "And my ticket?"
Moran gave it to him as well. Moriarty could see that he had bought one for himself as well. "Unfortunately you won't be needing yours."
"What a shame, professor. I was looking forward to Don Giovanni."
There was a faint trace of sarcasm that made Moriarty look at him but Moran's expression gave nothing away.
/
"Your pattern is showing. I would have thought a talented sniper like you knew how to avoid that", Moriarty said when Moran returned to their hotel room.
"My pattern?" Moran asked and threw his coat over the nearest chair. "How was Don Giovanni?"
"To my satisfaction."
"Maybe I can see it some other time."
"A pattern, Sebastian, is a dangerous thing. It's predictable."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Moran fell down on the sofa and got his tobacco out.
"Newcomb, Gauß, Ramanujan, and a few lesser known ones as well I suppose."
For a moment there was something like betrayal showing on Moran's face but the expression vanished within the blink of an eye.
"You're wondering why I never put the moves on you." And Moran tilted his head as if he had just found a new and particularly dangerous prey, a hunt he wasn't sure he was going to win which made it only more exciting.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You're jealous." The look Moran gave him showed clearly how much he loved this game. "Never suspected you were so…human."
"You're forgetting your place."
"Maybe I want a new one. Should I be on my knees? Or bent over your desk? Or maybe you'd rather – "
Moriarty cut him off with a slap to the face that split his lip. Moran licked at the wound and grinned at him with bloody teeth.
"Before you speak remember that you are replaceable", Moriarty said coldly.
"No loose ends. I know that. But if you're going to kill me anyway I might as well enjoy myself." Moran spread his legs. "Come on, Professor. Fuck me and kill me. Or aren't you going to grant a dead man his last request?"
Moriarty grabbed him by the throat and tilted his head up. Moran's pupils were blown with lust and it was tempting to lean down and lick the blood from his lips. But Moriarty hadn't gotten where he was by gave in to temptation easily.
"This will happen on my terms, not on yours."
"As long as you promise me it will happen."
Moriarty traced Moran's bottom lip with his thumb, watching him wince when he pressed down on the split, and licked the blood from his finger. "It will." He said and left.
/
From that night on he could feel Moran's eyes on him. Well, more than usually in any case. Moran was a man of passion, true, but he was also a man of near infinite patience once he had his sight on a target. It was what made him a great marksman and hunter.
The closer the peace conference came the nearer the end of the game between him and Holmes was. The incident in Heilbronn had only been an appetizer of what was yet to come.
Reichenbach certainly had the right scenery for such a finale: built between majestic mountains over a waterfall so deep it seemed endless.
They spent the night before the conference in a lodge in the valley. Moran still held his body stiffly from the shot wound and Moriarty could feel the bruises inflicted by falling building.
"Is there anything else you need, Professor?" Moran asked.
Usually Moriarty would have told him to go but the game was nearing its end and he could allow himself a little indulgence. He rested his hand over Moran's on his shoulder.
Today, Moriarty decided, he would reward that patience and his own as well. He had seen the needs of the flesh as little more as distraction for most of his life but Sebastian was…different. Moriarty wanted him. The idea of Moran spread out naked on his bed sent an unfamiliar heat through his body and made his heart race in his chest.
"Professor?" Moran asked, uncertainty colouring his voice. Moriarty knew that Moran thought that this was fulfilling a dead man's last wish, that after tomorrow night Moriarty would get rid of him.
No loose ends while Moriarty saw it as a reward and an incentive. He had no desire to kill Moran unless he absolutely had to.
He stood up and turned around, still holding on to Moran's hand. "You have waited long enough, Sebastian."
/
In that last second, as Holmes locked his arms around him and pushed them both into the abyss, Moriarty realised one thing: He did not want to die.
The game with Holmes had been as challenging as he had hoped for. And yes, he had lost, had been destroyed and it seemed a worthy end but he did not want to die. There was so much he had left unfinished, research that was unpublished, a letter to his older brother stationed in India that lay half written on his desk at the university, a visit to his younger brother he had always put off for one reason or another.
Moran, fierce, loyal, dependable Moran who was waiting for him at the lodge in the valley. He suddenly found that he wished he could have kissed him or at least seen him one last time. Moriarty held on to the memory of Sebastian's face this morning when they had woken up in bed together, winter sunlight filtering through the curtains. He had been happy this morning, Moriarty realised and he held onto that feeling until there was only darkness and then nothing at all.