(22)1, Before the Investigation (There Must be the Crime)
Moriarty could do nothing but stare at the person above him, eyes wide in a fear he had never experienced before as the needle was plunged into the vein again. The syringe was filled with nothing but air, but that was what worried him. It wouldn’t be long now. He could already feel death’s cool embrace sneaking up on him. The needle pierced his skin for the third time.
“Isn’t it funny how easy it is to break trust?” Asked the man above him. He was short, three feet at the most, and his features were covered in shadows due to the dark night. His prey was tied to the chair in his study, except for one arm, but there was little Moriarty could do with it because of the muscle relaxant injected earlier.
“I mean, you trusted me, they trust me. Hell, I could get anyone to trust me just by acting like brainless lap dog! It worked with you.” Another insert. Shouldn’t he have been dead by now?
The man cackled as he got up, staring with an icy gaze at his work. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice smoother than velvet. “You’ll be dead soon. Actually, you should be by now…” He drifted off thoughtfully, crossing his arms. His expression was quizzical with a tinge of worry. He really should have been slumping over in his chair by then. After a moment he shrugged, deciding it was nothing to worry about.
Moriarty glared at his former accomplice with as much hate as a dying man could. It was over. After so long, the puppeteer was falling, leaving his strings to fall to the ground for someone else to pick up. And he knew who that someone would be. What other reason did this man have for murdering him?
His eyes glazed over and his head slumped. The man quickly got rid of the ropes, tossing them out the window quickly along with the syringe, leaving the corpse slumped on the desk.