the_story_teller | For Jim Moriarty

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For Jim Moriarty

Richard's found himself in the bar again, which is something he seems to be doing more and more these days. It throws him off his guard a bit less each time it happens, and takes him less time to adjust to suddenly not being where he's meant to be.

And at least this time, he's himself, so the risk of getting sucker-punched and getting a second black eye to match the first is, in theory, smaller.

Today, he was on his way home from a rehearsal for a small show he's in when the bar found him. Once over the initial brief shock at walking into his flat and finding not his flat, Richard makes his way up to the Bar and orders a coffee before settling down to read one of the books he'd recently picked up. He's already finished the first one and is about halfway through the second, determined to find the story where his name comes up.

He's starting to think it's going to prove Mr Moriarty right and never come up at all.

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Richard can't exactly imagine what some master criminal might actually do. Somehow forging paintings or massive jewel heists doesn't exactly seem like the sort of thing people actually do in real life.

"Forget it," Richard says. "I guess it's not important."

It only takes Jim a few seconds to replace the bands, but when he comes back and resumes his seat, he's entirely composed once more.

"That's something else for your notebook," he says. "What's obvious to us isn't to ordinary people. It can be difficult to compensate for."

Difficult, and frustrating.

"OK. Thank you," Richard says automatically as he writes that down.

He's still on edge, and ready to bolt if Jim jumps at him again.

Deliberately, Jim relaxes into his chair, the very picture of someone with no intention of jumping anywhere any time soon.

"If you try to drive your motorcycle slowly enough for someone using a cane to keep up, your engine will stall."

Which is a vast oversimplification, but useful for metaphorical purposes.

"My engine just stalled."

"I'll work on that," Richard says.

Whether he means in the terms of the character, or in trying to actually keep up with Jim remains unsaid.

"Good," Jim murmurs.

It could be in reply to either one.

Or both.

Or something Richard doesn't even realize he might have said with that.

Richard spends a long time looking at his notes.

"I'm not a criminal," he points out. "I don't know how to think like one. I wouldn't even begin to know what to do. If I had a script, this would be different, but I don't. It's all improv. Which I can do, but I have to have the right motivation or the whole thing falls apart."

Jim appears to consider this.

"You'd be amazed how often my job looks like that of any other business owner. Cocaine or cars, it doesn't always make a difference. There's paperwork, business relationship to maintain, employees to keep happy, other employees to - motivate . . . I can delegate most of the tedious tasks and the dirty work, but some of it requires a more personal touch."

A very small part of Richard is almost curious enough to ask what 'personal touch' that might be. The rest of him is sane enough to ignore that question completely.

"Doesn't that leave a trail?" he asks instead. "Back to you, I mean. The paperwork?"

He does have to put in an appearance every now and then. There are people who are important enough to broker deals with face-to-face, and they get so difficult when they think he's being disrespectful.

And yes, of course, there are the other "personal touch" obligations, too. Those are usually a little more fun.

"Most of it's obfuscation," he says. "A little web of legal businesses to keep the boring parts of the government happy. The rest of it's the kind of paperwork that doesn't go on paper and doesn't stick around for very long."

Richard nods. He still doesn't quite follow what he means, but it is a bit more clear now. Less James Bond and more shady pawn broker, by the sounds of it. He even writes this down.

"OK. Thank you. I think that helps."

"Good," Jim says again. It's a slow, lazy drawl this time. His gaze is wandering around the room in a way that might look casual but really, really isn't. He's thinking ahead to later, categorizing which items in the room he wants to look at first, estimating which he can break down and put back together, which he can break down and improve, and which he will merely break.

Jim seems calmed down again, which helps Richard slowly begin to unwind. Jim terrifies him, and he can't help the feeling that making Jim happy will be the only way he gets out of this alive. Especially after the sheer amount of information Jim's given him.

"Is there anything else I might need to know?" he asks. "That maths stuff isn't important, is it?"

Because he knows that no amount of preparation will make him be able to do that.

Jim throws him an amused glance.

"Aside from being the foundation most realities stand on? No, not at all. Just make Sherlock aware of your limitations in that area and you should be fine." He doesn't emphasize the word 'limitations' per se, but he does linger over it, drawing out the L and the A in particular.

"Right. OK," says Richard. "I think... I think, yeah. This helps."

He looks over his notes one more time and nods. "Thank you. Again. I'll just, uhm, you've probably got things you want to do."

That, and he's afraid that if he sticks around any longer, he'll say something else to annoy Jim and actually get himself hit next time.

"Mm? Oh, yes."

Jim favors him with a smile.

Rich is more than free to go any time he likes.

Richard nods and quickly does just that. He doesn't want to make it look like he's running away, but... OK, he is a bit.

And now, finally, Jim gets to play.

It's going to be some while before anyone sees him again.

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For Jim Moriarty

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