What Kind of Man || Jim Moriarty

Seventeen

It had been two weeks since she'd seen Moriarty. Four weeks since she'd left her so called 'old life'. And one week since he'd spent £630 on simply dying her hair and making it look pretty.

She hadn't believed it. The car had dropped her off and for five hours the celebrity hair designer had told her what colours she would suit due to her complexion and what cut and shape would compliment her face shape and body type. Katherine had let him do what he thought was best, not knowing what he was actually on about, and the result was...well...she had to hand it to both Moriarty and the hairdresser and say they were both right in saying her old hair could be improved upon. It was gorgeous.

Dark, rich brown strands highlighted with warm amber tints now fell to just above her breasts, after a good three or four inches had been chopped off. It was parted down the middle and shaped so it framed her face with different layers and depth of colour. The ends were fresher and new, her hair was shining for the first time ever now it was darker and her green eyes had never looked so deep and entrancing.

It made her look prettier, more feminine and healthier. The salon had also sent her away with a years supply of beautifully scented and magic oils, treatments and masks to care for her new hair so she got the most out of it. Of course it didn't look the same after being slept on or dried by herself, but the dark chocolate stands still made her look like she'd stepped out a movie. If she did say so herself.

That's why Katherine had adopted a spring in her step as she had got ready hours ago in one of the new dresses Sebastian had brought her from Moriarty when he'd picked her up. Jim himself was no where to be seen, even still as she wandered out of the door to the bar she'd been sat in alone for at least three hours.

Having been given a tape recorder, an audio bug and a roll of cash for drinks for herself she had been expected to sit and listen to two slimy business men in downtown Soho. It had been boring for the first part, waiting for them and watching the door for the description she had been given. But then had turned interesting. Apparently, sitting and being nosey by ease dropping on complete strangers could be quite entertaining, especially when their conversation had turned to what Moriarty wanted her to listen out for. Oh and she had a lot to report back about one of them, a Mr David Steal. Being sneaky and lying to Jim was just the beginning.

"There you are. Thought you'd been picked up by someone else." Katherine heard the low chuckle before she saw him and looked up from the pavement to see Sebastian leaning against the car, waiting for her. It was drawing in on 1am and she was absolutely knackered, her feet ached from the heels she hadn't even been stood in and the tightness of her dress was making it hard to breath. If she was right, and she was pretty sure she was, she'd say Jim was subtly suggesting that she loose weight. More than she already had anyway, which was a good half of a stone since moving into the flat. Apparently sitting around and not feeling like eating was a good diet.

"Oh yes, I just can't get enough of arrogant, cheating, low life, business men." The insult flowed from her mouth comfortably and she smiled at the man with a weak chuckle. He had been nice to her when he'd picked her up, asking how she was and such and complimenting her hair. Her boss was nice, to her, and as the only person she talked to apart from Moriarty now Katherine found herself finding it very easy to have a conversation with him.

"That bad, huh?" The older man laughed again and opened the back passenger door for her to jump in. She waited until he had climbed behind the wheel before answering him.

"You don't know the half of it." Sebastian watched her roll her eyes in the rearview mirror as he pulled out onto the road, starting the journey to her considerably new home. "Apparently a woman sat alone on her phone means, 'come and drool over me' to some men." It had been irritating to say the least when just as the men were starting to spill juicy details, a drunken banker would stumble over to start chatting her up.