I stopped stealing insignificant little things like money, jewelry and virtue when it stopped being exciting. The Eiffel Tower, however, is none of those things. It's 10,000 metric tons of hopes and dreams and national pride, and right now it's in pieces and on its way to Berlin, that beautifully organized city that appeals so strongly to my intellect.
And that's the beauty of the two cities, they're worlds apart, yet I feel drawn to both of them. I go to Paris when I need to let my mind run free, when I need passion and art and life to flow through my veins, silky French-accented voices that leave red lipstick on my skin and the teasing touch of feathers and velvet. But Berlin, that's where I go for discipline. When I need to delve into the deepest corners of my mind I seek out Berlin with its whispered secrets, forever repenting, on its knees, hanging by the chains, yet never defeated. Such strength and determination; it fuels my drive, energizes my mind and fills it with possibilities, with endless promise.
This is where the pieces of the Eiffel Tower will end up, and where feathers and chains will collide. On the abandoned tarmac of the Tempelhof Airport, tonight the Eiffel Tower will magically appear, less than 24 hours after it disappeared from Paris. My men are instructed to leave it in pieces, carefully laid out as a giant jigsaw puzzle for Sherlock and the good people of Berlin to figure out. Of course, I also instructed them to leave out one vital piece from the puzzle, making it impossible to reassemble the Tower correctly no matter how hard they try. The greatest prank ever played, and sure to frustrate the crap out of the stuffy Germans.
I can barely contain my glee thinking about it. It's reminds me of the time when I went polar bear hunting with Vladimir Putin and kept pointing out snow-covered shrubs for him to kill. Turns out Vladimir Putin has absolutely no sense of humor and I ended up naked and lost on the Siberian tundra. It was a good day.
I take a sip from my espresso and look out the window at the beautiful scenery speeding by. I'm on a train again, but this time without an ill-mannered sword making my travels miserable. I wonder how long it will take for Sherlock to realize that I'm not in Berlin. I doubt very long, I left him that bar of Toblerone, after all, and I feel a twinge of unease. I have some preparations to make before he finds me. Our game of cat-and-mouse has gone on for too long. It's been fun, but Sherlock is too observant for his own good. One of these days he will outdo me, and I can't allow that. When he finds me, and he will, I will see to it that he won't be around to mess with my plans anymore.
The train stops in the town of Meiringen, where a car is waiting to take me to my final destination. It's a short drive, and as we near our goal I can hear the roar of wild and unforgiving water. This is where the last chapter of Sherlock Holmes will be written.
This rather hastily put together post was written for Nicky and Mike's 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing III
. To see the other participants' posts, please visit We Work For Cheese
This particular story line with me in the role of Professor Moriarty and MikeWJ in the role of Sherlock Holmes started sometime around Day 7 when Mike took offense to my shameless blogging outside of our agreement. Rude of me, I know. So in this post
, he challenged me. And I, of course, responded
. With nudity. This got Mike's panties all in a twist, so he wrote this here post
, in which he planted an extremely conspicuous tracking device on me, in what he thought was a brilliant move. It was, of course, but let's not tell him that. I responded here
, by creating a mystery for Sherlock to solve, which he did quite adequately in his next post
. I mean, it was nothing to write home about, but he didn't suck, either. And now we're here, about to face off in a fight to the death. Or until one of us gets an ouchie. Tune back in on Friday for the unbelievably exciting last chapter in Moriarty and Sherlock's great adventure. Or don't.
We don't give a damn. *
30 Minus 2 Days of Writing III: Naked And Lost