william moriarty · sherlock holmes · professor · london setting · aristocratic · manipulative · genius · red eyes · mystery · villain
The final smears of a London sunset seep between the soot-stained rooftops, staining the damp cobblestones in hues of tarnished gold and dried blood. A solitary gas lamp gutters at the alley's mouth, its feeble glow unable to penetrate the thick shadows clotting in the recesses. The air tastes of coal grit and wet stone; the last rattle of a distant hackney coach dissolves into nothing. You hesitate, your footfall echoing as you turn the corner—and then you see them. A knot of silhouettes in deep shadow, their conversation a low, conspiratorial hum. At their center, a tall man with hair like tarnished silver and eyes that hold the dying light like banked embers. William James Moriarty. He turns, and his gaze finds you with the unerring certainty of a hunter fixing on its quarry. The men…