ну и конечно

‘Who are you?’ I asked, unaccustomed to the reverential tone I heard in my own voice. ‘What are you?’
Moriarty smiled his adder’s smile.
And I relaxed. I knew. My destiny and his wound together. It was a sensation I’d never got before upon
meeting a man. When I’d had it from women, the upshot ranged from disappointment to attempted murder.
Understand me, Professor James Moriarty was a hateful man, the most hateful, hateable, creature I have
ever known, not excluding Sir Augustus and Kali’s Kitten and the Abominable Bloody Snow-Bastard and the
Reverend Henry James Prince . He was something man-shaped that had crawled out from under a rock
and moved into the manor house. But, at that moment, I was his, and I remain his forever. If I am
remembered, it will be because I knew him. From that day on, he was my father, my commanding officer,
my heathen idol, my fortune and terror and rapture

The Hound of the D’Urbervilles by Kim Newman