Sebastian Moran (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
precisionfocus) wrote2012-01-19 10:17 pm
precisionfocus) wrote2012-01-19 10:17 pm
< Where there's smoke... >
Sebastian Moran waited.
The faint glow emanating from under one door of the penthouse meant James was at work. Only with express permission or under special circumstances did he enter that room. Even so, he had it memorised.
Three computer monitors-- one at either end and one in the center above another-- showed every move of every room of the penthouse. The monitors one inside ran the news constantly-- one UK, one international. The next inside monitor on the right displayed information on at least forty bank accounts, all of which belonged to the mastermind. On the other side, a constantly updated contact, status, and date tracker ran. The low center screen was used for communicating with clients and arranging immediate plans.
He knew his presence would draw the attention of James Moriarty. Usually, the other man paid him little mind until he got hungry. This time, though, Sebastian had papers spread out over the dining table.
His entire military and psychiatric history. It had been left in his car-- a new car with a keyless entry code-- on the driver's side. Someone was looking into him and telling him about it.
A threat.
The faint glow emanating from under one door of the penthouse meant James was at work. Only with express permission or under special circumstances did he enter that room. Even so, he had it memorised.
Three computer monitors-- one at either end and one in the center above another-- showed every move of every room of the penthouse. The monitors one inside ran the news constantly-- one UK, one international. The next inside monitor on the right displayed information on at least forty bank accounts, all of which belonged to the mastermind. On the other side, a constantly updated contact, status, and date tracker ran. The low center screen was used for communicating with clients and arranging immediate plans.
He knew his presence would draw the attention of James Moriarty. Usually, the other man paid him little mind until he got hungry. This time, though, Sebastian had papers spread out over the dining table.
His entire military and psychiatric history. It had been left in his car-- a new car with a keyless entry code-- on the driver's side. Someone was looking into him and telling him about it.
A threat.
no subject
James sometimes forgot to keep up with basic things like shaving or brushing his hair. Sometimes he looked like a perfect clone of Richard Brook. And would be too if he weren't so blank-faced all the time. That was one of the great differences, the thing that made him so different from his parts. The people he took on had a whole range of complex emotions and like normal people had a harder time controlling them. James was (usually) perfectly in control, of ever minuscule twitch.
Other than that though - he looked a damn mess. He only sported a dress shirt and trousers, no shoes or socks. Not even a tie. It was possibly a sign of just how bored he was after finishing with Sherlock. Another obsession; another dead end.
He wanted competition. That was almost all he lived for these days. A challenge. An opponent. Sherlock Holmes had almost been perfect. Till he jumped off a roof. James snarled at the reminder. He beat Sherlock Holmes and now he was back with the ordinary crowd.
He might have just shot himself for real, just for a little excitement.
Hair sticking out in just about every way and a five o'clock shadow that had grown overnight were what he sported. He looked tired as well; the bags under his eyes more prominent and just how thin he was was shown off greatly with the lack of volume a suit normally provided.
James walked past Sebastian, taking a glance at his files and --
"Didn't take you for the self-praising kind, darling."
no subject
He paged through his military history, tapping a page. "This part? Redacted for all but the highest security clearance. No sign of being touched on this paper." Then there were his psychiatric reports. All mundane enough, really. Notes about possible PTSD, disconnection... But nothing damning. The full military records were more unsettling than that. It wasn't as difficult to break into the office of a therapist and rifle through her files.
"Someone wants me to know that they're looking at me. Looking close."
The last person who had gone through all these papers, gained unfettered access... hadn't told him until long after. And that was certainly not the person looking now.
After all, James Moriarty already had him.
Someone else was digging up everything about him.
no subject
And his interest had been piqued. James flits over to dear Sebastian's side at the table, hand propped against the back of his chair while he surveys the mass of paperwork. He plucks some of them up and rifles through, already familiar with what they entail. His intrigue over the matter is suddenly over-shadowed by a very somber light. James grows serious and starts taking the problem as it should have been initially - as a threat.
"No."
A new player perhaps? His mind went through the list of enemies he'd gathered over the years. But how many of those knew he had Sebastian? None who would risk their own livelihoods.
"They don't want you to know they're looking. They want me to know."
Something about that infuriated James.
no subject
But he couldn't. Because nothing else made sense.
Independently, Sebastian Moran had no enemies. Sure, there might be a pissed off guy or two or three whose girlfriends he'd slept with, both unknowingly and knowingly. A few angry exes. But no one with the clearance to get to these files or the resources and brains to know how to get to them. Taken as an agent of Moriarty, though, he could think of several enemies. Some would consider only him the enemy, vying for his position as second-in-command. (An hour alone with James, and he was sure most of them would abandon their desire to replace him. It took a very particular temperament to deal with that man and not at least hit him.) Most would consider them the enemy, view hunting the sniper as a way to get rid of a very persistent obstacle between them and the mastermind.
Sebastian nodded, unable to see any other possible solution. The message was, at least, meant for both of them-- if not for James alone.
"Then the question is who."
no subject
A few more moments and his lips pursed and he drummed his fingers against the table as his hand ghosted over documents. Looking for something. Finally he found what he was looking for - in Sebastian's hands. Roughly he snatched it out of the snipers hands, almost to the point of ripping, and walks briskly back to his fondly called lair and slams the door.
"Don't come in!"
no subject
Sebastian doesn't let himself consider that James might be worried.
When the paper is snatched from his hand, he lets go as soon as he realises what's happening, not wanting it to rip. Frustrating, the way he does it without a word. And the command not to follow. It matters just as much to him, the identity of this person. Perhaps more. It's his life on the line, after all. Yet... he knows better than to follow when specifically told not to.
So, instead, he sits silently on the sofa, closing his eyes. Waiting. Trying to tell himself not to worry. James will have it all under control in a matter of hours.
again pretend there's no bloody arm.
From pulling up the information - it was simple really - he went through the lists of most recent activity. Thank god the government was so keen on being paperless now. Made for so much less hassle. For them and James.
The list went like this:
Log Summary:
Application: Modified: Enabled: Retention Policy:
Key Service 09/14/11 6:13... Enabled Overwrite data as necessary.
Most of it was like that.
A self updating stream of code. If some great event happened or information needed changing, a user with a twelve digit pass-code to override the security would go in and change it. Simple.
Now the tedious part was to siphon through the everyday updating and find the needle in the haystack. The code and username that stood out without being apparent.
He found it in thirty minutes.
Some simple code in the administrative logs:
Application: Modified: Enabled: Retention Policy:
Administrative No Record No Record NH8H70SF340D5OP
Key-code, obviously. And an official one too. Whomever had accessed this information had a way in that wouldn't raise eyebrows. Or at least kept people quiet.
James hummed. His mind working at breakneck speeds to decipher the meaningless. ...Suddenly he had an idea. And it only took seconds before he was shaking his head, and moving onto the next solution.
This was fun. More fun than he'd had in ages.
"Dear me," he smirked. Quite meanly.
He went and did the same with each and every record the world had on Colonel Sebastian Moran. And that little code kept popping up innocently with each one. Sloppy. Very sloppy.
"Sebastian, darling."
no subject
"What is it, James?"
If anything was coming after him to get to James? James would find it and send the sniper to eliminate it. He... knew he didn't need to worry. Not nearly as much. Not if James was looking into it. And yet... there was that nagging worry. The sense of a sniper of overlooking some small threat that would prove major.
He was used to being the first line of defence. The first on the battle field, picking off potential threats before they ever made it to the heart.
Swift and Bold.
And now he was the one being protected.
no subject
"One of the bad points about being a lawful, my dear, is that there is always a trail. Electronic footprint. Can't get away with being invisible, not like I can." Good God he looked manic and excited and frightfully spontaneous. Not in the good way either. In the way that inspired sudden kisses, sudden stabs and sudden hands on throats with a sharp grin. A wild sort of grin. The kind that he got when a chase was occurring. Well now one had started.
"Daddy's getting it sorted," he nodded his head, somewhat sincere sounding and pecked Sebastian's cheek like a child before vanishing back into the dark of his lair. He left the door open, an invitation inside.
no subject
When James disappeared again, Sebastian rose. He followed. His eyes scanned the computer screens briefly, but only a cursory glance was needed. This was James's world; he became involved only when James asked for him to take part.
"Genuinely sloppy?" he asked. "Or is someone making it look sloppy?"
James had played that game before. He'd left a trail to the specific answer he wanted someone to find. And only Sherlock Holmes had ever seemed able to see past the smoke and mirrors to the sleight of hand the trick required. While Sebastian knew James would watch for anything like that, he also knew how bored James was since the suicide-under-duress of the consulting detective. Boredom could make James careless, or so he worried.
Better to ask a stupid question and be mocked than risk the thought not occurring to James.
no subject
"The records that day, the day of this log -" He pointed at the computer screen that held the code. "- have been tampered with. The whole morning that day is a complete blank. Nobody signed on, or off, including our friend." A tap on the screen. "Unfortunately for them, they used a government issued computer to gain access to a government issued computer. So. The records that don't exist on the battlefield are at home base. The original hard-drive that issued the search. Now they either can't or purposefully didn't - which is honestly more likely - delete their end of the search. But every computer in Dear Queen Mother's service has the wipe as an option. Erase everything in the memory, even down to the hard-drive evidence. You can do that with specific things to, very specific. But you'd have to be computer keen to do that and have top notch access to override all those pesky security blocks.
I couldn't even hack into that. Too many firewalls and passcodes for my system. I would need a computer with the same capabilities as the one I was hacking. Which means - government issued. Very high up."
"You see where I'm getting at, darling?"
no subject
One name came to mind.
"Mycroft Holmes."
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His eyes narrowed a bit and as he typed in a few more lines of code into his computer. While his 'hacking' with Sherlock had largely been that of people and what they were willing to do, James was far more competent with a computer than simple hacking. He wasn't kidding about being able to blow up N.A.T.O in alphabetical order. But that was for a rainy day.
"Either him or one of his stooges. Either way the trace goes directly toward his computer, so he looked at the information himself."
James leaned forward, completely enraptured by what he was reading. Very slowly....he smiled. It was coy and quick, and was taken over by a blank expression as he quietly whispered, "Will you be just as fun?"
As if he suddenly remembered Sebastian's exsistance, he looks to the man and smiles. His teeth are blue from the light of the computer screens and the grin is horrible, twisted. As he speaks it vaporizes, "He knows we're watching him watch you. Us," he corrects himself. "I suspect in few moments time we'll be given a time, a place or some sort of pathetic ultimatum."
no subject
Rook to Queen.
H
Sebastian picked up the phone, looked at it, and then offered it to James.
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"Oh..."
And he curls into himself, wriggling with giddy laughter like some overly-excitable teenage girl over her crush of the week. Completely unstable. Happy.
"Oh this is delicious!" He straightens from his little ball of glee. Still tittering on under his breath with wide, lit-up eyes. He snatches back the phone and chuckles once more before typing something up.
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He knows that much, knows how to play. He can even understand the sort of metaphor. Because James is a master tactician, a chess grandmaster. And Holmes... Either of the Holmes men would understand the game, excel at it.
And somehow he's been drawn into the game. The analogy has something to do with the papers he received. But what's the rook and what's the queen? And what does that mean for him?
no subject
- JM
"Chess, Chinese checkers, poker, Russian roulette - Whatever you call it, Sebastian, it's a game."
He snaps it out as he types, sounding as traditionally irritable as he would with any common lackey. Sometimes he got like this with Sebastian when he was in a particularly bad mood, but now - now he was absolutely beside himself with joy. Or at least he was before he spoke again. Whatever it meant, this text message changed things. Rearranged the pieces on the board. Established a new game.
"One I am very eager for," his voice softens again; as if he remembered suddenly who he was speaking to. Briskly, he handed Sebastian's phone back to the sniper. The whole thing warmed by the palm of his hand.
"I have to go. Take some precautions; burn the papers. I'll be back shortly."
He started dressing himself quickly enough, but then decided he didn't quite like his tie.
Off to the closet to pick another. Might have to change the pocket square to match too.