(You’re so adorable! Thank you darling! I’m so sorry this has taken so long - seriously it’s been months since I got this - but thank you for sending it!! I hope you like this!)
“Defense, call your witness.” the judge droned. He kept his eyes on the man in the grey suit on the bench, who was chewing gum and smirking at him.
The barrister defending James Moriarty stood up and said: “Defense now calls Doctor John Watson to the stand.”
John Watson’s eyes widened. He glanced over at Moriarty, who had slightly turned his head so that he could see John out of the corner of his eye. Moriarty grinned. He kept chewing his gum as he turned his gaze back to the judge.
“Doctor John Watson, please approach the stand.” the judge gestured to him.
John took a deep breath. He could feel everyone’s eyes staring at him. The journalists in the observation seats furiously scribbled notes down in their books - Dr John H. Watson, middle-aged, wearing a black suit and a profoundly aggravated expression, stands up and prepares to provide his account of the Moriarty crimes. Dr Watson is most well-known for his dubious relationship with Mr Sherlock Holmes… love or friendship?… this is sure to be the statement of the century… and even more bullshit. John stood on the podium, feeling very exposed despite the wooden shield between him and the gallery. The jury stared at him; the judge watched him and Moriarty closely; the barrister smiled almost kindly at him. Moriarty just grinned. He looked like a snake waiting to guzzle an innocent animal that had wandered into its path.
“Hello, Doctor.” the barrister smiled. “Let’s proceed. How long have you known James Moriarty?”
“I haven’t known him in the sense you mean.” John said. “We met last year, at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. I didn’t know who he was until we met for a second time, which was a few weeks after that.”
“And where did you meet him the second time?”
“By the pool.” John’s arms broke out into goosebumps. He felt a cold chill on his spine. “Moriarty drugged me and strapped me to a semtex bomb. He tried to kill me.”
“And this was the man who did all that?” the barrister pointed at Moriarty, who was still chewing his gum innocently.
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Doctor Watson, how would you describe James Moriarty?” the barrister asked.
“In a professional capacity, I’d say James Moriarty has a psychological condition. He’s obsessive - obsessed with Sherlock Holmes, in any case. He’s a murderer. He’s a kidnapper. He’s… he’s insane.”
“And those are your own words?”
“Mine and Sherlock’s.”
“Are you sure that this was the man that met you by the pool?” the barrister asked.
John frowned slightly. Where is this going? “I’m positive.”
“And there’s no chance that this man could have been a decoy? An actor? A man paid by Sherlock Holmes to pretend to kill you?”
“What? No! That’s Moriarty!” John’s voice rose nearly to a shout.
“It is true, is it not, that your relationship with Sherlock Holmes was influenced by the events of that night?” the barrister kept the smile on his face, though now it was more menacing.
“That has nothing to do with-“
“Your honour,” the barrister turned to the judge. “it is possible that Holmes staged the alleged ‘incident at the pool’ to become closer with Doctor Watson. This man,” he pointed at his client. “could merely have been a pawn in Holmes’s scheme.”
“No!” John barked. “You’re wrong!”
“Do you have any evidence, Doctor Watson, that this man is Moriarty? We have proof of Richard Brook’s background, but not Moriarty’s. No history, no past reported crimes. Richard Brook is real.” the barrister smiled triumphantly. “Moriarty is not.”
John’s jaw hung open. The reporters and journalists were in a frenzy, shouting and scribbling notes and trying to snap pictures of the flummoxed doctor. The judge banged his gavel on the table, crying for order. The barrister sat down, looking pleased with himself.
John looked over at Moriarty. The professor looked back at the doctor and smiled. He winked, forming a little heart shape with his fingers and thumbs. John glared at the man. He mouthed the words: you bastard, but Moriarty simply laughed and mouthed back: gotcha.