WARNING: WILL CONTAIN SMUT, BAD LANGUAGE, SMOKING OF CIGS AND WEED PROBS, DEATH AND NUDITY.
Jim Moriarty, criminal master mind, consulting criminal, the man who could kill with a snap of his fingers.
That one man makes one pressure point, that one weak point that Sherlock will find and threaten, just to make Moriarty give up, and retreat. It all began in Paris, France in 2010.
It was around noon, everyones lunch break, just Morian's luck. She was certain that she had stood in line for 30 minutes, at minimum. Just as she reached the cashier and reached for her pockets, a face of shock reached her face, someone had stolen her wallet. In a second of thinking, all that came out of her mouth were:
'pardon me, eh, I'm sorry, eh, never mind, my wallet, nothing'
The barista looked at her weirdly, and just shook her head. Morian, in all shock and embarrassment, walked quickly out of there, tears begun to form. A stranger stopped her, and looked into her eyes.
"I'll pay you for that coffee. But if you don't want me to, it's fine. But just tell me if you need to talk" He said, his voice sounded Irish.
'What is an Irishman doing in France? And in such a fancy-'
A hand waved in front of her.
"Hello?" He repeated, his voice patient. In a split second, Morian hugged him, this stranger, and cried on his shoulder.
"You're a student?" He asked calmly.