Jim Moriarty had originally been living a settled, boring high school life in another world. After suddenly transmigrating, he not only discovered that there were a lot of clever people around him (good and bad), but also got the entire "Sherlock Holmes" collection spoiled for him.
He was thrilled and just wanted to cause trouble.
"This is youthful vitality." Jim Moriarty gave himself five stars. "Come on, play with me."
Life is short. If you don't find something sweet and long-lasting to make up for it, how can there be any fun?
"Are you serious?" Irene Adler held a cigarette between her fingertips. Her face, blurred by smoke, was rarely openly shocked. "Do you think the Ice Man Mycroft Holmes is sweeter? Or that famous virgin consulting detective of England's is longer?"
Jim was amazed by the Queen's brilliant follow-up. Jim applauded.
Looking at Moriarty's phone contacts, where superheroes and supervillains stood side by side, and detectives and criminals shared the same color, the Queen, expert in the art of the carrot and the stick, felt conflicted.
"Sweetheart, if you don't rein in your rampant urge to role-play, you're really going to get caught out."
It wouldn't take much. All it would take was one post sent without the right filter group set, and it would be enough to land this criminal mastermind in hot water.
The consulting criminal was very confident. "It's fine, I've got this!"
Yes, such complete and absolute confidence is also a fine quality in young people, one worth protecting.
