Jim Moriarty turned sideways, tilting his head as he looked at himself in the mirror. Though almost every suit he owned was bespoke, and one would think he’d get used to it, every time a new suit neared completion, it was still an event. He smiled at his reflection. Dark blue, so very close to black. A colour he didn’t own yet, not in this fabric. Summer wool, because while the weather seemed to beg for cream and pale grey, he didn’t think he was really making the best impression if he was wearing beige. It just wasn’t quite as villainous as he was looking for.

“Oh, let’s pull it in just a little more at the back, Mr. Isaacs. Do you understand I’ve been eating salad every day for lunch for several months? I want to enjoy it!” He smiled at himself in the mirror, not bothering to smile at his tailor’s reflection. The short man stood beside him, obsequious and eager. Not worth meeting his eyes, though he obviously respected the man’s work. 

He did, however, smile at the reflection of the man standing behind him, and just a bit to the left. Tall, blond, and not quite as relaxed as either the criminal or the tailor. But then, great expanses of windows tended not to put him at ease, though he stood easily. Prepared, not panicked.

“Sebastian, I know you’ll be as politic as possible, but I would love to hear your thoughts on this suit. I’m certain no one’s going to try to shoot me through Mr. Isaac’s window, so look away for a moment, will you?”