Casual Closure Capturing ;; Mike & Jim;; casual

[JAMES MORIARTY]

James liked heading to the public library after his duties of teacher were fulfilled. Papers graded and filed away for safe keeping, emails answered, conferences done, and he was home free. So naturally he turned to another center of learning. The librarian recognized him from his regular schedule of visiting, and greeted him by name as he walked by. James smiled at her and waved, pausing briefly to ask about how her cat, Murray, was doing. Last he heard, he was quite the ill feline. Happy to hear that Murray was in fact doing better, James bid the woman good day and headed to a corner of the vast library that he hadn't explored yet.

The air was a bit thicker in the legal section of the library, heavy with knowledge and dust mites. James inhaled deeply once, his nose tickling, and exhaled slowly, smiling to himself at the scent. If learning had an odor, that would be it. The smell of ripe old ink, of pages slowly melting away into nothing with age, the plastic that had hastily been applied to try and preserve the cover. It was truly the essence of the only power man really held: intelligence.

Circling the end of an aisle smoothly, James glided down the way, staying close to the bookshelf so he could see the titles as they slid past his vision. It was like a dance for him. His hand glanced over the tattered spines, like it would his lover's waist as he guided them across the dance floor. His feet were placed with confidence, always resting more on the toes than the heel so he could pivot easily to look at the shelves behind him. Whenever he'd hook his finger over the lip at the top of a book's spine and tip it back, it was an invitation for another turn around the floor. Taking the book from it's place to hold in his hands and caress the pages was a slow waltz. Snapping the book shut, tucking it under his arm and into his book basket, a tango.

James had three dance companions: civil law in the Victorian era, ancient executions, and a wonderful collection of the last words of death row inmates. It wasn't quite the haul he had wanted from his first pass, but he supposed that he had to make do. He turned the corner, elegant in his navigation, ready to tackle the next row and had to stutter his steps just in time to keep from knocking into another bibliophile.

"I beg your pardon, I didn't see you there," James said after he regained his balance and composure.

[MYCROFT HOLMES]

Mycroft hated doing research. It was just his luck that he happened to have an associate who was incompetent and lazy, one who didn't do the proper research for their case they just started. Since Mycroft hated to get behind schedule, he opted to go to the local library himself after work that day to spend a few hours grabbing the correct books for his useless associate. After this case, he was definitely requesting a new person to take on as an associate. Someone with fabulous researching skills and great time-management.

He found himself deep in the back corner of the library, surrounded by law books of every kind. Hopefully, if he spent a few hours carding through the miles of cracked spines on the shelves, Mycroft could be successful in his research in a matter of hours. At least it smelled good in that aisle.

Mycroft pulled out a few books, taking a few moments to flip through each of them to see if he could find anything of direct use to him. He was successful a number of times, his to-go pile of books almost reaching the bottom of his knee, each with a slip of ripped paper to mark out sections for easy reference when he returned to them that night.

When Mycroft was nose deep in a rather large edition of a book detailing civil law in the United States beginning in the 1960s, someone nearly ran in to him. He only realized this, however, when the person apologized to him. Mycroft looked over, spotting a man who was carrying some sort of basket with a few books in it. That was when he realized he must have been taking up most of the aisle with his various books. He quickly tucked the book he was skimming in to his arm.

"No, my fault, mate," Mycroft said, bending down to awkwardly slide his stack of books closer to the shelf so he could make room for the gentleman to pass. He straightened up and gave the man a sheepish smile, pulling the book out from under his arm. "I happened to be taking up the entire aisle. My apologies."

[JAMES MORIARTY]

"No, my fault, mate, I happened to be taking up the entire aisle. My apologies."

James looked over the books that were strewn over the floor of the library corridor and then back to the man. He seemed a little sickly thin, but judging by his hair, he was healthy enough to fully absorb all vitamins necessary to result in extra body and shine that shampoos and other forms of artifice could never create. "It's certainly alright, I was overzealous." James set his basket down and began to pick up the man's books, stacking them instead on the little stool that was put in place to help people reach the top shelf. The library floor wasn't exactly the cleanest, best place for a book to sit while its temporary own rooted through its brothers.

He couldn't help but look over the titles as he restacked them, noting how they all seemed to follow a trend. "Are you looking for something specific? Or are you like me, here for fun?" James smiled up at the man from where he knelt. The books were stacked lovingly and then James straightened up, picking up his basket again.

His dance would have to wait since the aisle was cluttered, but he was able to look over some titles from where he stood. James plucked a book off the shelf, read the inside cover, and added it to the basket.

"Well, my manners have completely gone rotten since the last time I socialized," James laughed a little and extended his hand. "Professor James Moriarty, but please, call me James."

[MYCROFT HOLMES]

The man regarded him for a moment, then stooped down to rearrange Mycroft's books. Mycroft rose a brow at him, wondering why he felt the need to mess with his books. They were clearly out of his way and weren't doing any harm to him. He refrained from saying anything, using the time to leaf through the pages of the book he was holding to find the spot he had closed it on. He marked the spot with his finger just as the man finished rearranging.

"Are you looking for something specific? Or are you like me, here for fun?" the man asked, smiling as he stood back up. Mycroft chuckled a little. Fun reading wasn't something he had the time to do much anymore. As much as he would like to reread the complete works of Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde again, he just didn't have the free space in his schedule to do so.

"Afraid not. I'm just trying to get some information for a case I'm working on. Nothing big," he answered with a shrug of his shoulder. He tugged a small piece of paper out of his pocket to mark the place he found in the book, then set it on top of the stack. "I'm hoping to be finished here within the hour so I can get to work as soon as I can."

The man picked himself a book from the self and put it in his basket. Then, as if it came to him all of a sudden, he laughed.

"Well, my manners have completely gone rotten since the last time I socialized. Professor James Moriarty, but please, call me James." He stuck out his hand as he introduced himself.

Mycroft returned the smile and grasped his hand, giving it a small shake. "Mycroft Holmes. Just Mycroft is fine, unless Holmes strikes your fancy better." He released James' hand with a small nod. "Pleasure is mine."

[JAMES MORIARTY]

"Afraid not. I'm just trying to get some information for a case I'm working on. Nothing big. I'm hoping to be finished here within the hour so I can get to work as soon as I can."

"Well, how about I lend a hand?" James looked at the stack of books, surmised the general area of knowledge and then started to scan the shelves. He wasn't sure exactly what to look for but he figured that he could help narrow down the books a tad.

"Mycroft Holmes. Just Mycroft is fine, unless Holmes strikes your fancy better. Pleasure is mine."

James smiled again and nodded. "Alright, Mycroft it is. What a wonderfully old fashioned name, and so unique. Much better than plain old James, anyways." James tried out the name a few times. Mycroft...Mycroft...it was definitely a name that he wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon, or the face that went with it. Mycroft looked strangely gaunt but he didn't look to be in poor health; James wasn't going to judge though, he had his own bodily flaws. His torso was a little too short to be proportional, his feet turned in oddly, not unlike a bulldog, his nose was too long and pointed, his hair line receding on the right side moreso than the left. James always did his best to comb his hair and wear sweaters and sweater vests that covered all those things up.

James edged around Mike and did an abbreviated dance around the shelves that were clear. When he'd find a book that seemed like it could work, he pulled it out and wordlessly held it out to Mycroft to check out.