James Moriarty (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
awesome_binomial_theorems) wrote2012-12-21 01:32 am
awesome_binomial_theorems) wrote2012-12-21 01:32 am
The Adventure of the Burning Bishop, epilogue.
It has been two weeks since the case that I have titled ‘The Adventure of the Burning Bishop’, much to Moriarty’s barely restrained disdain. Of that time, I have spent much of it playing nursemaid, which is to say that I have been in charge of making sure that Moriarty does not fling himself from his bed and exacerbate his injuries.
Lestrade has been some help. Once Moriarty was strong enough, after those first few days, we funnelled cases to him – easy things that would not require he leave the flat. He seemed grateful enough for the distraction, although I cannot say it did much for his manner.
It was a week and half hence from the scene at the Queen’s University, just as the first Brumalia snows were beginning to fall, that Lestrade visited us in our lodgings to give us the final word on Abernathy. His would-be assassin, found guilty of two murders, arson, assault and attempted murder, would hang. Abernathy himself had been relinquished into the care of He Who Presides, who would oversee his punishment personally.
Moriarty was very quiet. I could discern why with ease: He had indeed intended Abernathy to face retribution for his crimes, and most likely to hang for them, but the punishment of an angry royal was more cruel, and more horrifying than anything a human mind could invent. Abernathy’s punishment would be as long as it was vicious, and while I would not call the professor a man brimming with compassion and human good will, especially for one as low and vile as Abernathy, I do not think he would wish such a thing on anyone.
His mood was dark from then on, dark and quiet, and at the start of the third week, he insisted on leaving the flat.
“You would have me spend the rest of my days here. I am of suitable health, I think, to enjoy the snow, surely,” he said.
“Will you be enjoying the snow?” I returned. “Or is it the opium dens, or the fighting houses you were wishing to go to? If you return here tomorrow morning with more injuries than when you left, I will have no sympathy for you.”
“I would expect nothing less,” he said, and left without another word.
- Major S. Moran.
Lestrade has been some help. Once Moriarty was strong enough, after those first few days, we funnelled cases to him – easy things that would not require he leave the flat. He seemed grateful enough for the distraction, although I cannot say it did much for his manner.
It was a week and half hence from the scene at the Queen’s University, just as the first Brumalia snows were beginning to fall, that Lestrade visited us in our lodgings to give us the final word on Abernathy. His would-be assassin, found guilty of two murders, arson, assault and attempted murder, would hang. Abernathy himself had been relinquished into the care of He Who Presides, who would oversee his punishment personally.
Moriarty was very quiet. I could discern why with ease: He had indeed intended Abernathy to face retribution for his crimes, and most likely to hang for them, but the punishment of an angry royal was more cruel, and more horrifying than anything a human mind could invent. Abernathy’s punishment would be as long as it was vicious, and while I would not call the professor a man brimming with compassion and human good will, especially for one as low and vile as Abernathy, I do not think he would wish such a thing on anyone.
His mood was dark from then on, dark and quiet, and at the start of the third week, he insisted on leaving the flat.
“You would have me spend the rest of my days here. I am of suitable health, I think, to enjoy the snow, surely,” he said.
“Will you be enjoying the snow?” I returned. “Or is it the opium dens, or the fighting houses you were wishing to go to? If you return here tomorrow morning with more injuries than when you left, I will have no sympathy for you.”
“I would expect nothing less,” he said, and left without another word.
- Major S. Moran.