[ His attention is elsewhere for a moment, dark gaze directed towards the direction behind Sherlock, taking a deep, slow breath as he attempts to calculate. He stares up at the sky, as if mapping out astrological locations, stars not in any understandable pattern that he can discern. He could possibly calculate the position from Polaris, if he could only make sense of them, seemingly fewer of them than before. His brows furrow, and he downright scowls as Sherlock prattles on, you're distracting him and he finally drops his gaze back to the consulting detective, jaw set, teeth gritting. He can't.
Jim Moriarty could write a book, entirely from his own head, pen it out on paper on the dynamics of an asteroid, on an object hurtling through space and how to calculate it's rate of speed and it's mass and velocity and calculated momentum, but he couldn't determine where they were on Earth. Things were familiar but not familiar enough, and he paces away, hands folded behind his back, expression downcast as he watched the ground dirty the shine on his shoes. He's at a loss, he's at a downfall, because Sherlock knows something he doesn't. He's a controlling man, Jim is, he's the one who pulls the strings, who fabricates places in which they meet. He controls when he allows Sherlock to see him.
So he stares, thoughtfully, those shadowed eyes cast towards Sherlock, teeth pressed tight together as he waits, as he stares, and waits for Sherlock to do his little magic trick.
He's disappointed that he knows just as much as himself, disappointed that he's as much at a loss. Fitting, he supposes, that Sherlock knows only as much as he does. He seems to consider the reasons Sherlock gives with an exaggerated, flamboyant display of pursing his lips in a frown, jutting his lower lip out and hunching his shoulders before returning his gaze to the detective. ] Entertainment, or blackmail. [ He echoes, then follows it with a short, succinct laugh. ]
Tell me you're not that dull, dear. [ Those flint black eyes roll to the back of his head, his head tilting with it, neck exposed as he rolls his head to turn to Sherlock again. ]
It's obvious. Obvious what the motive is. Though I doubt you can see it, you're so blind towards these sorts of things, dear, you're so sweet, acting all innocent. Please tell me you actually realise what is going on.
[ He glances towards the left, and towards the right, the shift of his gaze matching the shift of his expression, teeth exposed as he grins. ]
Whomever decided to bring us here is a smart man, Sherlock; [ He lets the name roll off his lips, letting the guttural ending of his name hang in the air for a moment before continuing. ] He…she. They know how to control people.
[ He taps out the side of his temple. ] Basic instinct. They're appealing to the pleasure center of the human cortex. Keeping them - us - docile, sated, complacent. [ His eyes fall closed, and he shakes his head, laughing. ] Could just as easily be something different other than sexual pleasure. could be food, could be anything that increases endorphins. If you keep your people happy, they don't question.
[ Jim stretches his lips wide, dark lashes falling over his cheeks. ]
But it won't work for you.
[ Or maybe it would. Jim felt like playing a bit of a game with the detective's ego for a while perhaps - let him think he could be above it all. A world driven by sex with a very nonsexual being placed in the heart of it - no one could really say if Sherlock would be at a disadvantage, but Jim was willing to bet on it. ]
thank you! your sherly is brill
Jim Moriarty could write a book, entirely from his own head, pen it out on paper on the dynamics of an asteroid, on an object hurtling through space and how to calculate it's rate of speed and it's mass and velocity and calculated momentum, but he couldn't determine where they were on Earth. Things were familiar but not familiar enough, and he paces away, hands folded behind his back, expression downcast as he watched the ground dirty the shine on his shoes. He's at a loss, he's at a downfall, because Sherlock knows something he doesn't. He's a controlling man, Jim is, he's the one who pulls the strings, who fabricates places in which they meet. He controls when he allows Sherlock to see him.
So he stares, thoughtfully, those shadowed eyes cast towards Sherlock, teeth pressed tight together as he waits, as he stares, and waits for Sherlock to do his little magic trick.
He's disappointed that he knows just as much as himself, disappointed that he's as much at a loss. Fitting, he supposes, that Sherlock knows only as much as he does. He seems to consider the reasons Sherlock gives with an exaggerated, flamboyant display of pursing his lips in a frown, jutting his lower lip out and hunching his shoulders before returning his gaze to the detective. ] Entertainment, or blackmail. [ He echoes, then follows it with a short, succinct laugh. ]
Tell me you're not that dull, dear. [ Those flint black eyes roll to the back of his head, his head tilting with it, neck exposed as he rolls his head to turn to Sherlock again. ]
It's obvious. Obvious what the motive is. Though I doubt you can see it, you're so blind towards these sorts of things, dear, you're so sweet, acting all innocent. Please tell me you actually realise what is going on.
[ He glances towards the left, and towards the right, the shift of his gaze matching the shift of his expression, teeth exposed as he grins. ]
Whomever decided to bring us here is a smart man, Sherlock; [ He lets the name roll off his lips, letting the guttural ending of his name hang in the air for a moment before continuing. ] He…she. They know how to control people.
[ He taps out the side of his temple. ] Basic instinct. They're appealing to the pleasure center of the human cortex. Keeping them - us - docile, sated, complacent. [ His eyes fall closed, and he shakes his head, laughing. ] Could just as easily be something different other than sexual pleasure. could be food, could be anything that increases endorphins. If you keep your people happy, they don't question.
[ Jim stretches his lips wide, dark lashes falling over his cheeks. ]
But it won't work for you.
[ Or maybe it would. Jim felt like playing a bit of a game with the detective's ego for a while perhaps - let him think he could be above it all. A world driven by sex with a very nonsexual being placed in the heart of it - no one could really say if Sherlock would be at a disadvantage, but Jim was willing to bet on it. ]