Sherlock X Moriarty Novels & Stories

"Mr. Moriarty, do you remember asking us to keep an eye on young Sebastian?" Anthony Moriarty’s assistant inquired. "Yes. What about him?" Moriarty asked, his expression already showing irritation. "We detected some… unusual activity on his computer," the assistant said, sounding nervous. "What kind of activity?" Moriarty’s patience was thin—he hated when people beat around the bush. "He’s been searching for Frank Levett. He did it through the dark web…" The assistant finally spilled the information, knowing full well his boss wouldn’t be pleased.

The man kept talking while I kept watching him. Something told me not to speak to him because this could end up being a disaster like meg had always said. He stretched out his hands. "My name is Sherlock, everyone here calls me Sher." He grinned. "Take your filthy hands off her, or else you would find it shoved into the back of your ass."

A shoe closed over my throat and held me down when Moriarty came to stand over me, kicking me hard in the kidneys. When I looked up, I saw how disheveled he looked, his tie askew, his shirt and suit splattered with what I assumed to be my blood. I laughed as one of his men kicked me again and again until I couldn't see straight. "Get him out of here," Moriarty finally said. I heard his chair creak under his weight.

Carl sneered, going hurt. A perilous smile was left out of Sherlock. "You did everything I told you to do, because I bore all the expenses of your mother when she was a patient of terminal cancer. The doctor told me she won't survive, yet I cared for your sentiments. I did not even let you know the fees I shelled out to the medical team and you say you obeyed my instructions in trapping the girl? You did everything because I paid you when you were in need of money. There is no fellow hood and brotherliness in this field my friend and you know it well." Suddenly the jovial nature disappeared on Sherlock's face and transformed into insensitivity. "You call me an impotent useless bastard? See h

he even boasted. “Selene Burton Morgan, wife of Drake Morgan,” I answered nonchalantly. I felt a sudden change in the mood. Tension overwhelmed us. But it was cut by Vaughn’s loud curse, “Motherfucker, Xander. Of all women, why Morgan’s girl?” I can imagine him shaking his head. “As long as you leave my name out of it, none would suspect, right, Xander?” he reminded me with an emphasis on my name. “Done! I even wonder what we are talking about right now! You know me, don’t you? I finish the job clean, with no mess, and always a clean slate. I just want to know why and how she became associated with criminals.”

The man with a big build did not seem like the mysterious assassin type. Nevertheless, nothing about the person’s appearance stood out. The killer could blend effortlessly into a crowd. X stood near the door, his eyes reflecting indifference as Morris checked him out. Nothing seemed to get to X. “So, you’re the legendary X. This is what you look like.” Morris’ voice was laced with curiosity. “Some things could have been said on the phone. Did you call for this meeting out of curiosity?” X found himself a spot to sit down. He had no desire to meet with Morris or get involved with him.

Drake nodded, "You are tense, clenching your purse strap continuously. So yes, you are obvious" "Well done, Sherlock," she retorted sarcastically, earning a mocking glare from him. Soon she was approaching Xavier, looking deviously handsome in a maroon dress shirt and black dress pants, standing beside his black Mercedes. "Alpha," Drake gave a curt bow. Xavier gave a nod of acknowledgement before his eyes darted back to Erica. She lowered her gaze, but she could feel the heat of his gaze.

And somehow, it makes him look even more dangerous and enticing. His suit is tailored to perfection, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders in a way that should be illegal. The deep charcoal of his dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top—just enough to reveal a glimpse of the tattoo I barely saw the night we met. And for some stupid, ridiculous, brain-melting reason, my mouth goes dry. I should say something. Anything. But then Xavier smirks, his gaze dragging over me slowly, like he’s committing every inch of me to memory.

The worn-out mahogany table was already enormous in size, but it seemed more like a children's item than the figure of the man sitting behind it. Sir Grant was a man of great build, at least five inches taller than Kai, who was six feet tall. Although Sir Morgan had long passed his forties, not a single speck of gray appeared in his short black hair. And his overflowing vitality hasn't waned since his days as a Bow Street detective. As well as being the most accomplished Bow Street detective of his day, Morgan was easily the most famous, as he was once the subject of a series of best-selling novels. Before Morgan's time, the Government and the populace assessed the entire Bow Street force wi

Then another two bandit treasure hunters showed up. "Be careful, these bandit treasure hunters are nimble than they look. I don't know much about them except for the fact that they worked with the werewolves! Just stay in back so you won't get hurt!" "It looks like you were sent for this quest, fucking warrior. Let me tell you something you must know about us before you die. We are all strong and we can fight you!" said the bandit treasure hunter in the middle. "I'm Sherlock the leader of this bandit treasure hunters and I have no business with you. What we're looking for is the gold our victim's father will send us, get lost!"