Professor Moriarty Wants to Retire.

A story needs a villain.

A wall for the protagonist to overcome and their arch-enemy.

So, if this world is a story with Sherlock Holmes as its protagonist, his adversary and nemesis would undoubtedly be Professor James Moriarty.

The master of the criminal world, the most dangerous man in London. The mastermind behind every case and a monster that even public authority cannot challenge.

Not only possessing exceptional wisdom and strength, but also wealth, fame, and power. Moriarty, who has everything, is a fitting nemesis for the great detective Sherlock Holmes to overcome.

That’s why Holmes always pursued Moriarty, and Moriarty always hindered Holmes from tracking him. The two geniuses couldn’t tolerate each other’s existence under the same sky, and they did their best to kill each other.

At the end of the story, the two finally face each other alone. Like enemies meeting on a narrow bridge, the two who confronted each other at the Reichenbach Falls would engage in a final duel.

In the end, Sherlock Holmes, the story’s protagonist, emerges victorious.

Among all the numerous adversaries Holmes has faced so far, undoubtedly the most powerful evil and his only nemesis would finally fall to justice and plummet down the waterfall.

…That’s how it should have been.

“…Are you really planning to leave?”

If only Moriarty hadn’t suddenly declared one day that he would leave for America, the story would surely have flowed that way.

“Please tell me the reason. Why are you abandoning everything you’ve built to go to the land of those vulgar Yankees?”

“I didn’t know you would be so saddened by my departure.”

Despite the remonstration of his faithful subordinate, Moran, the professor did not bend his will.

“Didn’t I tell you? Everything I’ve built in England is now yours. I thought you would be more pleased. I hoped so.”

“If I had the capacity to take all your gifts, I would have put a hole in your forehead long ago. But you know better than anyone that I’m not cut out for that, Professor Moriarty.”

An ordinary person, and especially someone who knows what kind of person James Moriarty is, would not understand this series of eccentric actions he’s undertaking.

It’s certain the story wouldn’t be different even if the subject was James Moriarty himself. The professor was sure that if his self from a week ago saw his current self, he would think he had suddenly gone mad.

After all, the person who knows James Moriarty better than anyone else is James Moriarty himself.

“Don’t leave. There’s no one in London who can replace you. The empire you’ve built will crumble.”

“Let it crumble. If you think you lack the strength to bear the crown’s weight, melt it down, take only the valuable treasures, and flee.”

That’s why Moriarty looked at his pleading subordinate with an ingenious gaze.

Moran, and most of the subordinates including him, don’t want the leading position. They want someone to lead them. Their innate nature has made them that way.

“I understand your feelings.”

While looking down on Moran, Professor Moriarty understood him somewhat. It’s quite painful to forcibly do something that doesn’t suit one’s aptitude.

“However… I no longer have any attachment to that empire. So you should let go of your attachment too.”

The shadow of London. The empire of darkness that sits behind the glory of the British Empire is entirely the result of the ambition and greed of the Napoleon of Crime, Professor Moriarty.

How could he not regret it? How could he not have lingering attachments? Abandoning the empire he built with his own hands.

“If fate allows, we’ll meet again, Moran.”

Nevertheless, the professor left behind the glory he had achieved with his own hands without hesitation or lingering attachment.

Because he had to because he must.

“Phew…”

In Professor Moriarty’s possession as he left the mansion, there was no longer wealth, power, or anything else. Just a letter to send to someone and a bag with light luggage.

Even so, the professor didn’t look back at the mansion where all his possessions remained and immediately set off.

Why is he engaging in such eccentric behavior, has James Moriarty truly gone mad?

Only Professor Moriarty himself would know the truth.

“…”

Professor Moriarity silently gazed at the London sky, always covered in thick smoke.

Soon after, he sent a letter to Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street, to the mailbox.

――

To my dear enemy and hateful friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

By the time you read this letter, I will no longer be in London.

No, I won’t have a place to set foot anywhere in the vast territory of the British Empire.

Because I plan to board a ship bound for New Jersey, America, and by the time you read this, I’ll be on the sea or have already arrived.

As you know, America gained independence from the British Empire quite some time ago.

Some might rejoice at my departure from London, but I believe you won’t simply be happy.

Rather, you’ll be suspicious. What trick is that old fox up to this time?

I understand. As I know you, you know me too. James Moriarty isn’t the type to suddenly give up everything and cross the Atlantic without reason.

Surely there must be some scheme. He must be plotting something again. It might be natural to think so.

However, I swear by the name of my Lord in Heaven and Her Majesty Queen Victoria that there are no tricks or conspiracies in this journey.

Right now, I have nothing in my possession except the things any Englishman should naturally have: a passport, identification, and Standard Oil Company bonds.

Everything I’ve built, I’ve left behind in London. If you’re still suspicious, go and check with Moran. Ah, try to avoid provoking his anger. Even the great Sherlock Holmes couldn’t escape death if he got a hole blown in his forehead, right?

Anyway, you must be curious why I’m suddenly engaging in such eccentric behavior? You, Mr. Holmes, who understands James Moriarty better than anyone, must know that the greedy Professor Moriarty wouldn’t willingly let go of what he has in his grasp. Unless he suddenly went mad.

Yes, I’ve gone mad. I am a madman. One couldn’t do this in their right mind.

But how could one not go mad? How could a character who realized they were merely a character in a book not go mad when they realized that even their life was at the mercy of someone else’s pen?

I thought all my life that I was a player on the chessboard. I believed my job was to control the pieces to capture the opponent’s king.

But it wasn’t so. I, too, was just a piece in the end. I’ve only now realized this fact. It’s utterly shameful.

Mr. Holmes, what would you do? When you realized you were just a black jester dancing on a pure white page. When you knew you could be erased at any time by the hand of a nameless writer-creator. What would you do?

Honestly, I think you might not care much. After all, you’re the protagonist.

Justice always prevails. While it might not be so in reality, it’s a constant rule in stories.

You will overcome each obstacle I’ve prepared and finally confront me. And I will be defeated by you and die, while you will survive and savor the joy of victory.

James Moriarty will be defeated by Sherlock Holmes. While you breathe the air of this world, I will depart for beyond the River Styx, and when you rest in your lodgings at 221B Baker Street, I will wander through hell like Dante.

I don’t want that.

It’s not that I fear death. I just don’t like that someone else has already decided my fate.

My fate is my own, and no one can control me. Even if it’s the creator.

As you know, I detest having someone above me to an unbearable degree.

This is similar to you. Now that I think about it, we have much in common. Don’t we?

So I believe without a doubt that if you were in my position, you would make the same choice.

Your eccentric personality and rebellious nature wouldn’t tolerate a predetermined fate.

This is rebellion. A creature’s rebellion against the creator.

Like Satan who fell to hell for rebelling against God, I too intend to resist that fellow’s pen tip even if it means falling to hell.

Well, despite the grand words, I’m not planning to do anything special. I’m just going to do things that James Moriarty would never do.

For example, farming in the countryside. What Englishman would think that Professor James Moriarty would live digging in the dirt in the countryside?

Even the author probably wouldn’t think so. Rather, the one who created James Moriarty would be even less likely to think of it.

I’ve rambled on. The conclusion is… we won’t meet again in the future.

Farewell, my friend, my confidant.

From Professor James Moriarty.