dedusive:

FBI. Sherlock’s last encounter with government-driven Americans
had ended sourly for them. Then again, they had deserved such a reaction
when placing his landlady in harms way. But Moriarty’s web extended
further than Europe, & he was not the only soul with a bone to pick with
the now-deceased consulting criminal.

                 It was odd, being in the headquarters of a place like this under
                       his own name & breaking no security codes. Preferable, save for the lack
                 of adrenaline the opposite would have provided.

Man walking by. Behavior Analysis Unit.
     No doubt one of the few who would be interviewing him
          as to hopefully, successfully profile James Moriarty.
    It’d certainly taken them long enough.

                              ❝ Excuse me. ❞ Use a polite voice, retrieve information card. Shying away from physical interaction. Germaphobic? Most likely. No touching, then.

❝ I’m with Mycroft Holmes & MI6 for the criminal profiling & information exchange of James Moriarty. Could you tell me where the interview is taking place? ❞

        _{❝Professional❞ was a title pinned idly on the breast of the nameless. Everyone had taken turns being the forefront at least someone’s thoughts, but when an ocean, a culture, dividing them left questions hanging in the air on listless strings best left undisturbed.}

       _{Sherlock Holmes, however, was a name, title, and purpose plastered in everyone’s thoughts, and headlines for what felt to be months on end. Acclaimed detective – brilliant – deductive reasoning and stone cold logic incarnate, only proven to be emptily fraudulent.}

        _{Sealed in blood.}

                                                  _{Until he returned.}

        _{Spencer knew the burrowing scrutiny of the camera’s lens, stood before a wash of unknowing masses if only to deliver word of what could mean their impending doom. Rarely did he find himself, if ever, entranced himself with the flickering screen.}

        _{Faked suicide. Detective lives.}

                                                       _{[ Worthy of notoriety. ]}

        _{Thus, when approached with the opportunity even to exchange customary introductions with the world’s bloodied sleuth, was enough to dismiss sleep the night prior in place of nervous excitement, pacing, and reciting of – a script-like conversation.}

        _{Akin to a brush on the shoulder, a practiced tone deviated his path of thought to that of authority – self proclaimed, and widely recognized. A person prepared without previously assessing the situation, cautious, and observational – oh.}

        _{❝Consider me very much excused, then.❞ Left hand found his pocket, the other hardly flexed upward from his hip to provide a trace wave, ❝ – Right, of course. I’ve got a note mentioning a Mister Mycroft – somewhere – on my desk.❞}

        _{Eyebrows arched beneath a quickly managed tousle of hair, strands that he brushed aside with his free hand, ❝Here, actually. Here-ish – likely a private room… I’ve been told a conference space was rearranged to fit the, uh – situation.❞}

        _{❝Doctor Reid – Spencer Reid, I’ll – be your conversation partner for the next little while.❞}