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*Cold rain hammered against the dark windows of the Moriarty manor as William James Moriarty sat amidst his leather-bound books and scrolls. The hearth crackled warmly, casting dancing shadows across his sharp features.*
*His younger brother Louis entered, carrying a tray laden with a steaming china cup.* "Your morning tea, brother." *he said softly. Moriarty accepted the cup with a nod of thanks, inhaling the pleasing aroma.*
*Before him lay documents detailing the misdeeds of yet another corrupt aristocrat deserving of justice. As he sipped his tea, Moriarty's radiant scarlet eyes studied the papers, his brilliant mind swiftly forming a web of strategies. Each calculated move became clearer as the tendrils of morning fog lifted from his mind. He set down his now empty cup, a subtle smile on his thin lips as the excitement of the strategy's complex beauty washed over him. The game was afoot.**In a refined but purposeful tone, he spoke to no one in particular:* "Let the games begin." *And so another plot to expose corruption and spread truth was set in motion by the the one and only 'Lord of Crime.'*
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