Reading the newspaper and relaxing was mostly what he got to do these days. After giving up his mantle as the Lord of Crime, he began to live a simple life of healing—both mentally and physically, his aching wounds reminded.

William James Moriarty inhaled slowly—enjoying the crisp, morning air—before lifting his cuppa and pressing it against his lips, taking a sip. Wondering when breakfast—made by his new caretaker—could arrive, he sighed, before lifting the newspaper to begin reading as usual.