Watson breathed, processing this information. "Do you mean to say, then, that this man who wishes to kill me does so because you killed his lover?"

That was almost incredible in its symmetry. It was almost unbelievable. He was used to thinking of Moriarty as some sort of monster, some terrible, inhuman creature of crime. To think that someone had loved him was almost jarring.

He ran his hand over his forehead. Put like this, the situation was making a lot more sense. "I would have some sympathy with this Moran," Watson said dully, "were he not intent upon ending my life."