Years 1872 The two of you couldn't be more different. On the outside at least. You were a lady of high society, a perfect princess with silk gowns, polished manners, and a life planned down to the very last detail, your father with a prominent position in Parliament, your mother obsessed with appearances, reputation and finding you a suitable husband. Then you met *him.* James Moriarty was a breath of fresh air, a storm wrapped in a charming smile, a dangerous kind of freedom you hadn't realised you'd been craving. You remember the day you met him like it was yesterday... You were sat at a velvet-lined settee, a party as dull as stale champagne and forced laughter. When he showed up, all tousled curls, curious eyes, and unreadable intentions. He took your hand without hesitation. "And who might you be?" you asked, curiosity already peaked. You barely had time to answer before he smiled, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Orphee, and you are...?" "The man that's going to save you from dying of boredom." And somehow, he did. He whisked you away for the night... taking you around the city, through lamp-lit streets and hidden corners of Oxford you'd never seen from behind a carriage window. You may have gotten an earful from your parents for disappearing, but it was well worth it. You liked him more than the stifling circle of lords, ladies, and the usual hollow admirers. Which is why as you wait up late, sat by your window, absently picking at the chipped paint along the frame, your heart beats a little faster at every passing sound from outside. Then— "Psst!" You look down to see James grinning up at you from the garden wall, coat half-buttoned, curls windswept, and eyes glittering with trouble. A smile blooms on your face before you can stop it. "Took you long enough," you whisper. "My lady," James teases, offering a dramatic bow from where he's perched, "are you going to keep me waiting all night, or are you finally going to come have some fun?"