James Moriarty (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hatesdeerstalkers) wrote2019-08-11 11:21 pm
hatesdeerstalkers) wrote2019-08-11 11:21 pm
IC INBOX FOR DAYBREAK
James MoriartyUN: 128nemesis
STATUS: Mathematics Professor
ACCOLADES: PhD In Mathematics, Bachelors in Astronomy, Criminal Mastermind
BIO: Tutoring is available, though I do ask that you set it up with me to make sure that there will be no schedule conflicts for the both of us.
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[He furrows his eyebrows, trying to think back...but god, it's useless. His memories before the Falls are hazy and fragmented as it is - trying to remember his childhood beyond the happy, fuzzy memories of mostly emotion and snippets of places and voices is a fool's errand.]
How - was I just...assumed dead? Was it a switch with an unhealthy baby at birth? Or...perhaps some sort of supernatural meddling?
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I... I suppose child theft was not that rare? There are too many unknowns.
[The man wracked his brains, his memory had sharpened thanks to his vampirism, but even things from early childhood were hard to pin down exactly]
Why would they make no mention?
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[Something...something is wrong? None of this makes sense, and -
Cold tired hungry scared so scared
- what was that snippet of memory? Nothing in it was distinct - only the emotions - and yet...?
Britain. There was plenty of nature in their day, and -
-Was...was that it?]
...Holmes? Was there - ever a forest around your childhood home?
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[He leans back, lifting his head up, his voice still very soft, drawn out as he searches his mind]
I got in trouble many times for going into them.
[It was what let him to his lifelong dislike of serpents among other things]
...I. I remembered having an imaginary friend when I was quite young - my father telling me I was.
[He stops, making a low noise of disbelief]
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An imaginary friend.
That was - all his existence had come up to. A fake being, a fantasy Sherlock made when he was a child, all because -
God. They hadn't wanted to talk about a son of their dying at all, had they? Or, at least, if they had been young when it happened...not wanting to get into death with their surviving son and go through the grieving process.
He had been swept under the rug - and his eyes go wide as he realizes it, hands shaking where they're still on his face.]
...I...see.
That's - Ah.
[He doesn't have words for any of this. How could he?]
....
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All this time.... all this time.
[The words were muffled and strained, then he falls into silence, how does he even focus? What can he even do with this? His mind kept racing, replaying the what-ifs, if he had known]
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[It's a soft echo of his words, but he's not reacting as viscerally - while it's a shock, it's...
...perhaps he's so shocked that it hasn't yet sunk in. Perhaps it's due to that he and Sherlock are twins, but -
No. There's a reason - and it's because just like most of his life, he was rejected and then forgotten.
It's almost hilarious that this was the center of it all - he feels like chuckling, if it wouldn't make him start laughing hysterically.
So he just - sits, in silence, letting Sherlock work through his shock and horror.]
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...So very quiet - a strange thought seized him as he jerks his head up, looking - just to make sure he was still there, wondering for a moment why the thought he'd vanish just popped into his head]
What now?
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...I have no bloody idea, Holmes.
[He leans back, listlessly staring at the ceiling.]
But I know that I can't think of your family as my own. Though I don't remember them well anymore...my adoptive family took me in and loved me for many years. They...are what come to mind when I think of 'family.'
But for the immediate future? I want a damned drink.
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I can barely think of them as mine after finding this out... and damn, being able to get drunk would be damned good right now.
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[He mutters, but then just...sighs.]
...I suppose that's why we're even both alive now, hm? Identical twins, unknowing, from the opposite paths in life - facing each other down on top of a waterfall and determined to kill each other.
It's a miracle nothing else happened, with that much raw magic that must have resulted from it.
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[His fingers steepled together, lips pursing]
If he found you - you would not be in your unusual state but -
[he didn't trail off rather he snapped his mouth closed, refusing to finish whatever it was that came to his mind]
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[Sadly, Moriarty is smart enough to pick up what Sherlock is trying to say - and he doesn't mind.
He was just unlucky, like most of his life.]
I suppose if I had been able to speak, your sire would have seen me. Before I broke...well. I did see his back and he left with you slung over his shoulder.
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It's still disconcerting to hear Moriarty speak of his 'break' so easily, but again the man had over a century to mull and analyze over it, while it's new to him.]
Which was about what I recalled - he was a brute, and I was in poor shape.