A few days later than the last entry, Of course it's still mid 90s!
Dear Darling,
The strangest thing has happened today, and I am rather struck by it. I met a man, a marvel. You probably know who I mean, and I finally met him. I don't yet know whether I regret it.
This morning the lecture was quite as normal. Mrs Adams spoke of theories and statistics, passing around sheets of findings to help us to later create, develop, and write about our own theories. I left the lecture in a contented mood, as always, feeling at home here. Although I was rushing slightly as I left, for I was desperate for the loo. And then I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I turned around and there he was.
"Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you formally this time, Moriarty." I eyed his right hand that he'd stuck out, like a crime-scene.
"How's it any more formal than last time?"
"I'm doing the introducing." I smirked and shaked his gloved hand.
"Well it's nice to finally meet you, Sherlock. If you're using your first name, why do you call me by my last, may I ask?"
"Because your last name is more interesting. Suits your profile better than 'Jim'."
I laughed. He was as marvellously peculiar as I'd imagined. Sherlock didn't appear to comprehend why he was humerous, and he puzzled whilst looming over me. I looked at his mouth set in a straight line, eyebrows huddled together, icy blue eyes freezing my mind in place. Then I shook out of it.
"Ugh... do you want to-" I began to ask, leanign back against a conveniant wall.
"I was wondering if I could look at your notes? I seemed to have misplaced mine on yesterdays lecture, and-"
I listened to the beginning, but I then got lost in his tangly hair. I wondered what the black locks felt like against your skin. I smiled.
"Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, an eyebrow raised precariously.
"Oh, sure. But they're in my room... I could bring them down?"
"That's fine. I'll come up to your room."
I tried to weigh up whether this was a good idea, considering all of the variables, but as I rememberred needing the toilet again, I began to twitch. It's inconveniant that you can forget needing to relieve yourself for a while, but when you remember you find yourself more desperate than before. Quite a human flaw.
"Fine." I said. Sherlock nodded, and I led him away. We went into my building, up the stairs, down the corridor to the right. If I was hurrying, it was because I was worried I might relieve myself in front fo the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen.
The towering shadow followed me into my room, which was slightly more cluttered than ithad been on first moving in. I didn't bother to lock the door, just shut it quickly. "That's my bed, make yourself comfortable. I just have to excuse myself to the lavatory, I'll be with you in a tick." I shut the bathroom door behind me on a man looking curiously at my exposed world.
I prayed to any God that might exist Sherlock couldn't have heard me in there, as I washed my hands.
And then it happened. I wil tell you this in more detail than I've told the rest - as I really need to get my head around whether this was a terrible thing, or fate. I came out of the bathroom, self-consious, to find Holmes lying on my bed, reading something.
"Why do you never write the date?" Sherlock looked at me curiously, holding the book in his hand with a careless air. His face was quite open, as if he were actually curious. He took up most of my bed. I looked at the book again. Yep, no mistake. I took a deep breath, clenching my firsts and un clenching. I felt the blood start rampaging through my veins.
"You read my diary? Sherlock. How the bloody hell did you find MY BLOODY DIARY!" I felt ready to kill-