63!'d and I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM DOING.

[underweared]

Look at you fret, tut-tut.

I see some difficulty and that's a large chunk of 'fun time' you're wiping out of the schedule. There are things to do, a life to l i v e~ [ A humorous fluctuation at that last bit. Do-ho. ]

Comments

[noticing]

You being direct, or the idea of you causing trouble? The former, always. The latter? Never.

[ Such a lie even he can't help the corner of his lip from twitching, a smirk threatening to spill over onto his lips. ]

[underweared]

[ A quiet thought tickles her lips into a smile, actually encouraging the slight shake of her head that follows into the curious reptilian movement. Dark eyes peering and sinking into Sherlock's own. Bright and gleaming and just welcoming her in. ]

The detective doth protest too much, methinks.

[noticing]

[ Ah, and there it is. The oscillation of her neck and the harrowing gaze so familiar with Moriarty, regardless of the incarnation. What a lovely smile this woman has. How he would like to see it locked up in an isolated room, ten stories underground. ]

Really? Well, [ You've killed him once, you, one of you, the intimidation, the interest you inspire has dwindled. So hope you don't mind if Sherlock is the one encroaching on your personal space, Moriarty, standing just a foot before you with hands clasped behind his back. ]

-then please, scatter your breadcrumbs and leave me a trail. [ Interesting, their height difference. It's significant enough for Sherlock to notice it (well then again, he notices everything) and yet the feel of those eyes drilling into his with her lash-smudged glance is as unsettling as it's always been. Fingers dig into palms. Jaw tightens. ] By all means, make my job easier. [ On the last word, his upper lip curls. ]

[underweared]

[ One tends to get a bored locked up, don't you know? A clock ticking in the mind would continue swimming in ideas, routes and tricks to play when she sees light again.

Remember, Jane Moriarty would choose to be there. That confidence burns in her form, hands now properly tucked in the pockets of her suit and complete with the huff of laughter. Height or not, she's glad to be the one with the proper keys in her hands. Ammunition.

( 'No one ever gets to me.' ) ]

Right to the witch's house. You know better than that, you poor thing. [ Almost a purr. ]