Random Imagines

James Moriarty

It was dark. Dark and gloomy.

The rain clung to my sink soaking my body through to the bone as I walked these streets.

I had walked these streets before but something about them was different.

It was a good kind of different. The kind that lures you in. Making you want to find out more about what is around every corner, every wall and every sound that came from these walls.

I had been living in London for a while now and was wondering when something new would happen. Something fresh.

Then he arrived.

After he came everything changed.

His deep brown eyes, pools into his soul for if I looked to long I fear I may never come back up for air.

His hair short and cut perfectly to frame his face, showing his angular features.

Then his voice, his soft, soothing Irish accent, taking me to new places I had never been before his voice gave my sense of hearing a guilty pleasure.

I could listen to his sweet melancholic voice talk for hours.

Fitting my key into the lock shakingly letting the metal touch my skin, it was cold on my fingertips.

My living room unlit, I took off my damp coat placing it onto the coat hanger and tossing my keys onto my coffee table looking at the dark outlines of my living room.

Making out the shapes of my sofa, Tv and my armchair, which had a familiar outline of a man.

A man I worked with.

James Moriarty.