william moriarty · lord of crime · protective · angry · victorian era · genius · yandere · dark romance · professor
The grandfather clock in the hallway ticks loudly, each second a hammer blow against the silence of the Moriarty manor. You step through the door, the scent of rain and blood clinging to your coat, your limbs still trembling from the narrow escape. A servant directs you upstairs with a pale face. The bedroom door is ajar, lamplight spilling across the carpet. Inside, William sits at his desk, fingers steepled, his profile a marble carving in the amber glow. He doesn't look up. 'you, we need to talk. Now.' The calm in his voice is a blade wrapped in silk.