Work Text:
There had been a call placed and a meeting established. As it were, the gray haired man sat at a seat waiting for the man whose face he"d never seen. His name was whispered only in the darkest of places but he was present everywhere. And after years of digging and prying, Charles had finally found enough dirt on him to be dangerous. To have power. And now it was time to play his hand.
The door to the room opened and in walked a young man. He couldn"t even be forty. His suit was fine, Westwood, Charles would bet. His hair was slicked back and he had a blank facial expression. He closed the door and looked at Magnussen. His eyes were dark and blank, his movements reptilian, as he tilted his head slightly.
"Moriarty." Charles stated. "I pictured you older."
Moriarty said nothing in response, instead taking the seat across from him. He crossed his legs, sitting back nonchalantly.
"You have ten minutes. You had better make them count." The implied or else didn"t need to be spoken.
"You"ve been a very bad man." Charles looked at all the data he had on him. "Hundreds dead because of you. Thousands still live in fear or shame because of you."
"So far you have said nothing I don"t already know."
"You hurt people for a living," Charles stared at him over his spectacles.
"No." Moriarty glanced down at his nails. "I help people. Sometimes, however, there is fall out. "
"Until now, you"ve gotten away with it." Charles sat back, letting silence fall for a moment.
"Until now?" Moriarty looked at him appearing entirely unconcerned.
"Yes, seeing as how I"ve got enough information on your activities and crime circuits that I could bring you down in the blink of an eye." Charles felt all the confidence in his knowledge. Here was his favorite part, when he watched people realized just how owned they were for the first time.
"Oh?"
"James Moriarty, you started killing at age 11, wasn"t it? The boy at the pool...And you disposed of the evidence in the Thames. Except those shoes you kept as a little souvenir. The poor Powers child. The shoes though, those will get you locked up. As well as the various people in your smuggling ring that have given information on your activities. Not to mention the dirt I have on Moran. Who do you think he would be more willing to protect- his lover, or his daughter?" Charles stood, walking over to Moriarty. He leaned over the man, nuzzling his cheek with his nose. Softly, he said, "You see, I own the Prime Minister. I own Parliament. I am about to own MI6. And now, I own you." He licked a path from Moriarty"s cheek to the shell of his ear.
He felt him shaking. Imagining the anger and fear on his face, Charles pulled back to revel in the view. Instead, he was taken by surprise.
Moriarty was laughing.
"Oh dear me, you really believe in your power don"t you?" His laughter sent shivers down Magnussen"s spine. This wasn"t how things went. Moriarty was unphased, doubling over with mirth. Suddenly, though, he stopped and there was silence. His eyes, which had been empty at the beginning of the meeting, now burned with a fire and madness Magnussen had never experienced before. The metaphorical tables had turned and it left him reeling.
"Do it." Jim said. "Tell them all. Bring in the smugglers, Moran, the dead bodies. Bring them ALL. And still, I guarantee you that not a single. Person. On the jury will convict me." Jim took a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wiped off his face. "Do you want to know why I despise you, Charles? I do hope I can call you Charles. I do believe that once someone tries to blackmail you, you are on a first name basis, wouldn"t you agree? My problem with you is your lack of tact. You have no manners. You abuse your power physically. You can play with people"s minds. That is fine. But be be a gentleman about it. And for your own good, keep your bodily fluids to yourself." Jim smirked. "One day someone won"t be as nice as I am. Someone will put a bullet in your head for a move like that."
Charles was angry. He was angry that his plan which had taken nearly a decade to plan and prepare for had been foiled in less than ten minutes. He stepped back and looked down at Moriarty, who was still lounging in the chair as if it were he who owned the world.
"I could end you."
"No you couldn"t." Jim sing-songed. "I choose who I will be ended by, and when. And I already have. You aren"t included, SORRY!" Jim popped up, clapping his hands together.
Charles puffed out his chest, "I swear I"ll-"
"No no no no NO!" Jim yelled. "Stop being boring. You"re lucky I don"t kill you!"
"You"d kill someone for boring you? Where"s the logic in that?" Charles scoffed.
"That"s the difference between us, Charles. I"m not afraid to get my hands dirty for the sake of getting them dirty. Besides, I enjoy it. You want power? Make someone dance then be the one to make the life leave their eyes. That"s real power. The power of who lives and who....doesn"t. See, I"m letting you live. It"s not a right. It"s a privilege. And I grant it." Jim grinned.
Charles took a step back, realizing that, for once, he was in over his head.
"Oh, and Charles?" Jim cocked head head to the side again. "Stay away from the Holmes boys. They are my playthings."
"Mycroft is-"
"Mine to make dance. Not. Yours. Blackmail is so petty. Such a feeble thing, don"t you think? It won"t work on Mycroft anyway. The only way to break him is through Sherlock. And let"s get this straight: he is mine. He is under my protection. Touch him, I"ll make you into upholstery, understood?" Jim left no room to doubt him in his tone.
Charles nodded reluctantly. He found he envied the easy way Jim took power and wore it. He would look like a natural in a crown, he decided. And he loathed him for it.
He walked out of the room, shamed. However, he decided that he needed Moriarty out of the way to continue with his plans. He needed the entirety of MI6 at his control, and for that, he needed to own Mycroft Holmes. He was the second most challenging person to blackmail he had ever found second only to Moriarty. So he would have to wait for Jim to get out of the way. Then, after that, he had a new target, the key to his success: Sherlock Holmes.