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Time to time, more's the better.

Time to time, yes. So long as one can keep it from becoming too much of a variable.

[ Variables. Maths. Moriarty's language, not his. But Moran understands nevertheless. ]

Hasn't been a problem yet.

[ Moran's a smart man. It wasn't for language or conversation — or maths — that the former colonel was hired, but he would never have been kept around so long if he hadn't been able to keep up. ]

And I suspect it won't be for some time to come, should things unfold as planned.

[ It's no surprise that a man like Moran hadn't taken well to life in the army. There were too many restrictions, too much expectation to bend to other people's rules. Genuflection was given to rank, not the man who wore it and Moran subscribed to a much different set of priorities. (Hunter and hunted, predator and prey.)

He works for Moriarty because the former colonel can see — there is no greater predator than him. ]

And the woman?

[ Adler — that had been her name and she hadn't quite gone to plan. Moriarty had managed a quick enough recovery, but still— All eyes. ]

[ Without missing a beat (and without any real feeling besides a sort of assurance): ] She won't be a problem for much longer.

[ Getting rid of Adler poses no moral quandary; he hardly bats an eyelash. Moriarty is a great predator for this reason above all others: he lacks the morality chip that most others do. Things don't boil down to good and evil (the constructs are childish at best, after all); rather, if something can be done, and it's within his means, then why not? ]

Make things ready for her, shall I?

[ Unlike Moran, who has honed a single speciality down to a deadly acuity, Moriarty is versatile — both ambidextrous and subtle. He has innumerable irons in the fire at any given time and can wield each and every one of them to surprising and inarguable effect. Although Moran may be his most invaluable weapon in his arsenal, he knows that he is not the only one.

Which is why he asks. ]

Mm. [ With a slight shake of his head: ] No, I don't believe that will be necessary. I have a little something planned out already.

But thank you for asking.

[ He's not surprised, and if he was, it'd be loathe to show on his face. Instead of speaking, he dips his head silently in a half-nod. A suit yourself; a yessir.

Moran's hand disappears into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdraws a small silver tin. Within, thin leaves of rolling paper and scented tabacco. He goes about methodically rolling himself a cigarette — not careful but precise.

His muscle memory is perfect.

At length: ] He won't be doing us any favors.

[ After her. Once she's gone. ]

[ Moran goes for his tobacco, and Moriarty goes for his notebook. The red leather is well-worn, the clip upon it almost useless, now. From the same pocket from which he produced the notebook, he also produces a small pen, the nib glinting once (a wink) as it hits the light. His hands are deft, flipping the pages to one in particular, the pen then finding paper to draw a single line. The removal of a variable. ]

Of that, I am well aware. [ The implication: I doubt that he would, either way. ]

But I doubt that particular snag in the road will be too much trouble. [ There's no problem, after all, that — in the end — a well-placed bullet wouldn't fix, but this is one particular catch that Moriarty plans to get the most out of.

It isn't every day that he meets someone who could stand as his intellectual match. ]