The most terrifying thing about Moriarty to me is his smile. He smiles with his mouth, but not with his eyes. His eyes are dead. I just can’t get over that.
A cyber friend of mine was a big fan of Andrew’s. She was on holiday in London for 3 weeks, and went to almost every night of his play. After she told Andrew that it was her last night in London and that she was flying back to China on the next day, Andrew said to her: ‘Can I give you a hug?’ My heart swelled with admiration.
Andrew was a darling. He had brought along his own sharpie to sign for his endearing fans. Sometimes it really was the details that revealed the true character, wasn’t it. He signed everyone’s notebooks patiently, took pictures with people happily, answered questions with wonderful smiles, made sure he was attentive to everyone’s demand. He was the most thoughtful and considerate star I’ve ever met.
He looked at my drawing and said, ‘wow you did this?’ I smiled back at him, watching him carefully putting a big autograph right underneath the ‘burning Moriarty’, mentally deciding to make sure I’d get a good seat for his next play, and definitely for more than one night.

It’s a quarter past 12 and it doesn’t look like I’m stopping anytime soon.Can’t stop, won’t stop.
Fuck school, I need my fix.