The sight of the ever-righteous Sherlock Holmes and that malevolent denizen of the criminal underworld, Professor James Moriarty, working together as if they were old friends, rather than two men sworn to each other's destruction.
— Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody.
— Neither can you, that's why you've come.
— But be honest, you're just a tiny bit pleased.
— What? With the verdict?
— With me back on the streets.
*Sherlock tries to struggle, but Moriarty's grip is vice-like*
No, no, baby, stop that, hush. *almost nuzzling into him* Lie back and lose, it's so relaxing.
You have less frontal lobe development than I should have expected. It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing-gown.
I write these few lines through the courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions that lie between us.