#moriartyxreader

You adjusted your stance on the kitchen tiles for the nth time in the past minute, glancing back and forth between the floor and the uncovered pressure cooker on the fire in front of you. The ticking of the egg timer to your left- how long the meat would take to brown before you could throw in the liquids and leave it to simmer- sounded like a full-blown drumline marching in the middle of your tiny little two-room Camden apartment. What had started as a niggling itch at the back of your mind when you woke up that morning had spent the whole day spreading until it became a fiery ache suspended through your whole body, settling heavy in your loins.

One minute left.

After an entire day of keeping up appearances as a sane, responsible adult, the only thing between you and the release you were looking for were 60 seconds.

59 seconds

48 seconds

35 seconds

23 seconds

One.

You slammed the egg timer the moment you saw the dial flick to 0. Pouring in the red wine, you stumbled for the lid and closed it tightly. There was a light spring in your step as you moved from the kitchen into the hallway, the stairwell at the end of it calling your name.

Finally, you could-

“You know if you’re horny you could just do it with me.” Your victory March was interrupted as your flatmate’s usual sing-song voice suddenly materialized behind you, leaving hot puffs of wet breath to brush onto your neck.

You freezed.

“James. I told you to quit doing that”

“Hmm... really darling?” You could feel his hands snaking around to your front as he pressed himself tighter to your backside. “‘Cause all I heard last time was go faster, Jim, do it harder, fuck me harder!-“ his mock-moaning tone coinciding with your own involuntary sounds as he groped you over your thin houseclothes.

With a frustrated grunt, you craned your head around to look him in the eye.

“What I mean is, I mean, there are- there are times and-“

His dark eyes stared back at yours, shining with apathetic mirth, like someone humoring a kid’s tantrum over something they know will be soon forgotten. You were always weak to his eyes.

“Just- stop deducing me all the time,” you muttered, trying to turn away from his piercing gaze. “Just ask like a normal person!”

He reached for your chin, smirk sinking into a pout on his face as he drew it nearer to you.

“Oh, come on dear.

Pairing: MoriartyxReader

Warnings: None, I don’t think?

A/N: Soulmate AU!! Kinda funny?

He could practically feel the strokes being created on his arm. Really, this soulmate business was a nuisance. He had to be careful about what he wrote on his skin, if the ink from his notebook would transfer over to his flesh- whether or not he caused his soulmate to hate him before they even met. And before you ask, yes. The world’s most nefarious criminal mastermind was worried about what his soulmate thought of him. Heck- he had been since he was a child.

Most people’s soulmates didn’t become set until their teens, and therefore, most kids didn’t have little pictures of stick people and abstract kittens drawn on their arms. No, it’d only been him. It was… comforting. His soulmate always seemed like such a happy and loving person, and in his darkest days, he would sit and watch the colorful doodles stretch across his skin while his father drunkenly destroyed what little he had to call ‘home’ in the background. He’d let the drawings take him far away, to a place where someone cared for him. His soulmate.

Now, he played off the drawings as that “soulmate-nonsense” to anyone who asked, and well, too. Sebastian was positive that Jim didn’t even believe he had a soulmate, that this was just a phenomena that people convinced themselves was more than it was. That was, until he witnessed Jim photographing a particular set of drawings on his arms, smiling to himself like an idiot. It was really quite telling. He wished he could stop himself, but- he couldn’t. Each work of art adorning his flesh was a reminder that, out there, somewhere, was you. With the most gorgeous handwriting he’d ever seen. Sometimes, with a very precise hand, he’d go over each letter, practicing the carefully constructed lines as if his life depended on getting them exactly right. He’d sometimes even sign off using the calligraphed letters.

The idea itself, he thought was idiotic. The idea of your skin showing up with the marks your soulmate made on themselves seemed stupider than anything else in the world. Yet, he chose to believe the pathetic rumor. But that was because it was, well… you. He didn’t exactly know who you were, but the random doodles and drawings you made was all he needed.

But that’s besides the point. The point is, you were out there. Whether he met you or not, you were out there. But that was the thing…

If you were out there, he had to be very careful what he wrote down on his skin.

“I don’t know, they haven’t written anything in a while.” You giggled at Mariah. She’d been your best friend since preschool and if there is one thing you can always remember you guys talking about, it was your soulmate.

“Oh crap—what if they’re dead?! Before you two even had a chance to meet!?” She cried, clearly horrified by the idea. It wasn’t unheard of, actually… it was tragically almost common. Then again, it was just as common for a person’s soulmate to have another person as their soulmate. Just like love could be one sided, so could a soulmate.

It wasn’t like you had to worry about that, it was proof enough that you two were each other’s when they would trace your words.

“I don’t think they are, Iah.” You said, sighing softly as you rolled your eyes. She had a way of reading too much into things, this was actually the fifth time she suggested they might be dead. She went to try and argue, when you suddenly felt the usual tingling on your wrist.

“Wait—I think they’re writing something?” In all the years you’d known you had a soulmate, never once had they written something first…

“Hold on one second—no, Mr. Crump, I’m not trying to ignore you, just let me find some paper-!” Jim was still scouring around. This wasn’t good, if he didn’t figure something out soon, he’d lose the client. And a presidential candidate who wanted to conspire outside their country wasn’t a client he was willing to lose. Without thinking, he wrote down the request on his forearm as the man was saying it.

“Yes, My men will handle it right away—yes sir, thank you.” Jim ended the call, and sighed in relief. That relief was soon replaced with an utter feeling of sickness as he looked back down at his arm. Right beneath the looming sense of doom;

“Russia dignitary + win guarantee… American election rigging… 10,000,000 quid’? What. The actual. Hell?” You stared at the words on your arm, suddenly feeling something pressing into your opposite palm, as well. Your jaw dropped, looking at the words that had appeared there…

“Shite-” Jim cursed as he looked at the imprint he’d just left on his hand from the still drying ink, '3 billion pounds for disguised explosive—nitroglycerin base.’

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” Mariah asked, seeing your utter panic. The message was quickly being clouded, like they were panicking to get rid of it, but the damage had been done. You tried to stand, but your legs immediately gave out beneath you.

Pairing: SherlockxReader/MoriartyxReader (Idek, man.)

Warnings: Mentions of sex, gun threats, mentions of criminal past (it is the Sherlock fandom, this should be no surprise). Maybe light cursing, I don't remember.

A/N: I AM SO SORRY MY LOVELIES. I've been SUPER busy, and just haven't had time to post anything. I am so so so sorry.

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Sherlock's heart sped so fast, he could hear the fear coursing through his veins. A screeching so loud, he swore everyone within a four kilometer radius could hear. The words repeated over and over, what appeared to be a simple little comment on his blog became an omen of everything that could've possibly gone wrong.

Lovely girl you've got, But can she stand her own flames? Fires can be very dangerous... ~JMx

He'd replied eight times over, attempting to get more clues. His head was spinning, trying to solve the clue at the bottom of the recent picture of you and him. Something John had posted on Sherlock's blog in his place, and it may've given you you away to Moriarty. The name sent chills down his spine. What used to be a fun challenge had turned into his own personal hell.

And now the devil had the woman who mattered most to him, and all the clues in the world couldn't help him, because his mind refused to process. John, Mycroft, Lestrade- everyone was trying to help, but to no true avail. Moriarty still had you...

Then a call came in- no, less of a call, more of a clue, one so simple, even George could figure it out. But before anyone else could evaluate it, Sherlock had sneaked off, hurrying to the same place he'd faced the Black Lotus General- only to be met with another clue, this time leading to an abandoned flat on the outskirts of London. He huffed as he climbed the stairs, feeling like his lungs may burst at any moment from the over use, but he could still see the image of your glittering eyes burned into his mind.

----

Jim tilted your head towards him as you both waited, away from the window that you could see your "knight in shining armor" come to "rescue you". His thumb grazed along your jaw, lifting until his eyes burned into yours.

"Problem, my little desert rose?" He purred, eyes dead save for a twinkle of insanity, and a smirk so dangerous it could kill you without a touch.

"None, sir." You answered appropriately, but the way he grabbed your wrist immediately told you that your little lie hadn't gone unnoticed. Your eyes snapped shut at the immediate, but bearable pain. Despite his cold exterior, you both knew Jim would never actually hurt you, but his threats were never to be taken lightly.

Just because he wouldn't hurt you, didn't mean he would have any problem leaving you for the dogs...

"I just- is it necessary that I be here, sir?" You kept it polite as possible, allowing your eyes to open again, being met with a quizzical stare. That's right, you thought, he doesn't understand complex emotions... You stared back, trying to hide what you could behind a blank mask. From this short distance, you could feel his breath fanning over your lips, like it'd done many times before. Though, usually, it came with a sleepless night, and marks left for the next day, claiming what was his.

"Remind me, pet," Great, now he was upset, "Why're we here?" He took a step forward despite there being no room, forcing you to move back, and repeatedly did so, until your back hit the wall of your old flat.

"To bring down Sherlock Holmes." You muttered shakily, feeling very contrasting emotions from his close proximity, the combination making you dizzy and nauseous. Your hand hit the wall with a gathered force of his anger and something underlying that wasn't quite as clear.

"Now, wouldn't we want him to see his little sweet, sweet love betraying him, pet?" He hissed out each word, face inches from yours as his plan ricocheted in your head.

"I put you onto the playing field to make Sherlock Holmes fall for the girl of his dreams- not the other way around." Your breath hitched in your throat, head shaking as much as possible. You didn't know what you felt for Sherlock, or perhaps it was simply nothing, and you just felt the need to protect the one person who'd ever cared for you- but you definitely would overlook it for your life.

"It's not like that- Jim, you know me, and it's not like that. I know the plan, and-" He already seemed to be calming some, though his eyes still showed rage inside, "I would never betray you like that." Sadly, it was true. Jim had protected you when you made the biggest mistake of your life- from both the government and any criminal organizations out to kill you. Six years, and he'd given you everything you could ever need, at the simple cost of working for him. He never had you do much, and never pushed you into anything you were uncomfortable with, and hey- the door was always open, if you'd ever do choose death over him.

But that's the thing about Jim Moriarty. He is death, in his own sense, just in much prettier packaging. He twists your mind, until nothing exists but him, and he always gets what he wants, and always makes it seem like that's what you wanted, all along. And you'd caught on to the game early on- never cared to stop it, but then again, if you did, then you'd be boring like everyone else.

He smirked the slightest bit, fingers brushing against your cheek like rose petals in the wind, "Oh, my little desert blossom..." he leaned closer like he would kiss you, "I'll believe it when I see it. Choose Holmes, and you've only got yourself to blame for your untimely demise." He said it the same way he would words of endearment, the sickly feeling seeping into you, but his tone drawing you closer.

"You're a double edged sword, you know that?" You muttered, somewhat wishing you could betray James- even the slightest bit. You couldn't care less about your protection. It's just that your sense of loyalty rested with the consulting criminal, and you could never give that up. His lips brushed against yours just as the door opened downstairs, and you fought down the temptation to tell Sherlock to just stay put.

But as Jim's lips fully encased yours, not a sound left your mouth. Footsteps echoed up the stairs, and still, you were engulfed by the madman. Infatuated.

The door to the old flat building was kicked open, the ancient lock flying off the door. You heard the gun before you saw it..

Click, "Let. Her. Go." He demanded, as if you hadn't just been kissing the criminal a second ago. Your eyes went wide as Jim pulled away, smirking with a demented glint in his eyes. The same one that sliced down into your very core, ripping anyone in its path to shreds.

"Oh, Sherlock... tsk... tsk... tsk..." The gun stayed trained on Jim, and every second ticked down, ringing in your ears. You looked between the two, staying next to the wall, unsure if you were even allowed to say anything, or if it'd mess up Jim's plan. Jim circled around Sherlock, the gun lowering slightly the moment he was away from you. Soon he was in front of you, again, eyes lit up with knowing that Sherlock was absolutely clueless. Jim held his hand out to you, more of an offering than a demand. Cocky bastard. He knew you'd choose him.

"Let's let our fair blossom decide, hm?" You wished you could say you even considered choosing Sherlock for a split second, but then again, that'd be pointless. The moment you left Jim's side, you'd be dead... Your hand reached out for Jim's, not a hesitation in the motion.

"Y/n, I know who you are." Sherlock said flatly, your head snapping to him, hand drawing back. Jim's eyes went black at the reaction, oh so tempted to just snatch your hand.

"I can help you- protect you. You don't need him!" Sherlock insisted, stepping closer, and offering out his hand. His eyes sparkled with desperation, genuinely wanting you to come with him. He didn't want to beat Moriarty, or use you for his own agendas. He just wanted to protect you... and that was enough. Your hand shook, uncertainty spreading through you. You had never left Jim's side- never questioned him. You'd let him use you until you ran dry, because... that's all you'd ever known. But here was Sherlock... and he genuinely cared for you..

Pairing: MoriartyxReader

Warnings: Smut.

Okay, all he needed to do was apologize, and try to make you understand the situation he was forced into. Without getting slapped and told that he was a fool... because he honestly didn't think his face could take anymore bruises.

He hesitated to knock on your door, and when he did, he thought he'd curl up and die.

"John- I'm bloody fine!" He could tell by the sound of your voice that you most definitely weren't. It sounded as if you'd been crying for days, even though he'd only left an hour and forty three minutes ago. The door swung open, and more guilt fell onto him. Your cheeks looked freshly slapped, with angry tear trails going all the way down them, and eyes swollen and puffy like no other. You weren't wearing your professional clothes from work, anymore- just a simple long shirt to cover you enough that your panties wouldn't be seen. Your jaw locked upon seeing him, and he lunged to stop the door from slamming in his face.

"Please- give me five minutes, and then I'll never bother you again." He swore, looking almost as broken up as you were about it. You stared at him, his brown eyes pleading with you. The London streets were oddly quiet, and if you hadn't been so furious at him, he might've taken a picture at the serenity that surrounded you both. At you, still managing to be bloody gorgeous despite the tears and angry eyes. It wasn't fair, and it never would be.

"Fine. But I'll be counting." You threatened, turning and heading to the sitting room, already ticking down seconds as he scrambled inside to follow. He didn't quite know what to say, he honestly didn't expect to get this far.

"Hurry up." You turned, crossing your arms across your chest. He took a moment to calm himself, and swallow a lump in his throat.

"First off, I'd like to say that I didn't mean what I said to John, and I don't expect you to forgive me, whatsoever." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to sort through his thoughts. You rose a disbelieving brow, and he looked askance for a moment.

"I know, I wouldn't believe me either, but please just hear me out?" He begged, motioning to your sofa. You didn't trust him as far as you could throw him, but it felt nice for someone to actually try and apologize to you. Sherlock would just assume everything's fine and move on without so much as a 'sorry'.

"I shouldn't have said that, and I know it," you slowly sat down on the sofa, him close behind, "and that isn't what this- what it was to me." He cleared his throat, trying to formulate his thoughts into words as they rained down on him. He sighed, resigned.

"I know you love Sherlock, and I'm sorry for what I said about him, too. It just-" his hands gripped at the sofa cushion, "it makes me so angry that he does that to you." Your brows drew together, confusion replacing your anger. Did you have to be so adorable when he was trying to do this? Of course you did- you always did...

"BecauseIloveyouandIknowIwouldneverdothattoyou, andyousee, Ididn'twantyoutoknow, becausethatmakesmeajealousareshole, whichIam, but-" He took a very deep breath as you stared at him, eyes blown wide. He went to say something else, but the words caught in his throat.

"I-" You cleared your throat, cheeks going crimson, "I wasn't expecting that..." You admitted quietly. His hand shot up to the back of his neck, head turning away to hide behind the arm.

"You don't have to say anything, I just- I didn't want you to think I was using you, because I wasn't... I never would have told Sherlock, I swear to you, I would never do that to you." He mumbled, grimacing at how frail his voice sounded. You reached slowly out to him, but your hand shot back.

"I didn't- you never..." He sighed softly, eyes closing.

"I didn't want you to 'chose me', simply because I was there, so I didn't say anything. I know you are disgusted with yourself for just us sleeping together..." He chuckled resignedly, "I didn't want you to feel that way all the time, anyways." He shrugged lightly, but he was crumbling inside. That was just the facts. He could never have you, because he was who he was. His hands shook like branches in the wind, and eyes bordered with tears that he quickly blinked away.

"I-I'm sorry..." The realization of everything came crashing in, making you rethink everything. His behavior made a lot more sense now, and all those little things he'd done to make you, somehow, fall for him, felt all the more special.

"It's fine- I'm more worried about you, anyways... how're you holding up? John isn't good to tell Sherlock is he?" He straightened himself out, looking to you with a forced smile and dead eyes. It was almost as if he hadn't confessed that he loved you five minutes before.

"He didn't, I, um... I did..." His jaw dropped a level, eyes shooting to you, wide as can be. You rubbed the nape of your neck awkwardly, wishing he wasn't so surprised.

"I'm sor-"

"Don't be. Believe it or not, I'm happier this way- I'd rather be with someone who wants me than some hot-shot detective, anyways, you know?" You smiled brightly, because it was true. You wanted someone to love you for you, not just keep you around. The news shocked Jim, and for a split second, he wondered if it was still considered "rebounding" if he'd already been "with" you.

"So..." He breathed out, wondering how to broach the subject. Luckily he didn't have to, because your lips were already on his. It was a lot softer, nicer, of a kiss than you were used to, but he liked it. His left hand cupped your jaw, the other resting on your hip while your arms timidly snaked around his neck. All those feelings of self disgust for falling for him, that had been stored up for months, simply vanished. Because he wasn't just a criminal, not to you. He'd been there when Sherlock wasn't, and had cared for you in bad and worse.

He was the man you fell in love with, and for once, that didn't bring bile to your throat. You didn't think of the bloodshed he'd caused, or crimes he aided. When your back hit your mattress, you didn't think of all the people he'd hurt. It was just you and him, soft and gentle, like how things were supposed to be.

His hands pushed your shirt up gingerly, unsure if this was too fast. A couple hours ago, he was picking around the edges of what was Sherlock's, and now... well, now you were his. His lips didn't leave yours, ever. They were locked there, only breaking the kiss to breathe, and when that happened, everything froze. Foreheads together and eyes locked, him inhaling your air, and you exhaling what was his already shallow breaths. And when those little moment were over, you were back to kissing, and inching off what was left between you two. His hands ghosted over yours sides just as his lips fell to your neck. He only touched you to pull your legs around his waist, and even then, you could barely feel it. There were flashes in both of your minds- of previous sessions, that ended with tattered and torn clothes strewn across the room, of broken furniture, of bruises and bite marks... of things so very different than this. All of those memories were spur of the moment, desperate lust trying to get off, but this was so very, very different. It was slow, and gentle, catered to keeping your minds intact while the world crashed down around you. Devils and angels weren't supposed to mix, not like this, but for once, you didn't care.

"I love you." His breath ghosted over your neck, hips rolling into yours with your head resting on your pillow.

"I... love you... too..." You managed to say between desperate, gasping breaths, causing him to smile. He lost control as he got closer to finishing, fingers digging into your hips as your name fell repeatedly from his lips.

You finished together, muscles weak as you collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, your head landing on his chest as you both caught your breath. His arms laced around you, coddling you to him, protecting you.

"Does this mean..?" He whispered hopefully.

"Yes." You agreed, smiling softly up at him, and he returned the smile.

Pairing: MoriartyxReader, mentions of Sherlockxreader

Warnings: Smut, a bit of cursing, and a LOT OF ANGST. I LOVE THE ANGST. Also, unrequited love, for the most part?

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Hands pinned to the wall, and the most dangerous man in the world's lips attacking your neck. This had become the norm when your boyfriend was too busy for you, and you always felt guilty afterwards. Hell, you felt guilty at the beginning of one of these sessions, too. But- Jim was just so... sexy.

He could feel your reservation, like there always was, and he hated that. You always thought about Sherlock, always felt that same guilt, when you should be focusing on him.

What was so special about that damn detective anyways? He ignored and neglected you- he'd never do that. No, no, no- you would be his queen, and he'd treat you as such. But you already felt horrid enough about having an affair with the consulting criminal, for how good you let him make you feel. So, for now, this would work.

"You have got to relax, Kitten." He purred into your ear, letting your wrists go temporarily to unbutton your white blouse. To be honest, he didn't understand how Sherlock could possibly ignore you. If you were his, he'd be too busy admiring you to get any work done, at all.

You nodded, taking a few deep breaths, tossing your shirt aside, letting him pin your hands, again. Jim was masterful at this- lips burning your skin, making you hotter by the second, a few simple nips and kissed making your hips buck into his. But he could still feel how tense you were. Chuck- he hated Sherlock.

"Babe, jut forget about him for twenty minutes, so we can get this show on the road, yeah?" He murmured against the tender flesh of your breasts, getting increasingly annoyed with all of this.

"I'm used to him being hours away when we do this- not just across London, cut me some slack!" You snapped back, hitting your head against the wall. He rolled his eyes, and continued, using his knee to separate your legs, and smirked when you instinctively wrapped them around his waist. His lips were suddenly on yours, teeth quickly joining the kiss, nipping and biting your lips. He knew better to leave any marks, but man, did he wish he could. He'd mark you as his in any and every way. Not just by having his way with you. Your wrists would be bruised, and you'd have too many hickeys to count painted all over your body. Your nails would create art across his back, and all down his arms. He wanted to be yours, more than just as a lover, and to be marked accordingly.

He'd want you to leave more marks than you already did.

And, most importantly, he wouldn't have to watch you flounce around with his enemy, after. Kissing in the safety of the flat, and watching you wear that stupid purple scarf. Only when Sherlock remembered he had a freaking girlfriend, of course. That's what annoyed him most of all- Sherlock had you, this wonderful, gorgeous, intelligent woman, and he didn't even remember you were his.

"Who's distracted, now? What? Your little pet mess up your tie, again?" You taunted, tugging on it with your, now free, hands. He scoffed, pulling the offending garment off. He hated when you did that- but loved it, too... damn you, being all witty and sarcastic. He threw the tie to the side, tossing you on your bed, landing on top of you.

"I'll show you distracted." He growled seductively, attacking your lips, again, hands roaming over your body until they got to your shorts. Your hands made quick work of his button-up, and, even more quickly, it joined yours. His body pressed against yours, lips exploring your skin as his hands began to push your shorts down.

You both froze when the door buzzed.

"Y/n?" John called, already trying to find the spare key. You threw yourself up, pushing Jim aside as you hurriedly pulled up your shorts and snatched the white button ups from the ground.

"Closet- now!" You demanded as Jim straightened out his pants. He didn't get a chance to respond as you began pushing him towards the door.

"Closet? Really?" He complained as he was forced among your things. His eyes began scanning his surroundings, an annoyed scowl on his face.

"You're the side-guy, you go into the closet- get over it." You snapped, pulling on one shirt while tossing the other as his eyes stopped on a set of lingerie, examining it.

"Suddenly not so disapproving of the closet." He mused, taking a closer look. You scoffed offendedly, buttoning up the shirt as quick as you could. He looked to you with a small smirk, by it quickly dropped.

"Y/-" You didn't have time for his nonsense. "Shut up, you're staying in the closet." You hissed, shutting the door quickly, then hurrying out to meet John, pulling your hair into a decent looking pony.

You opened the door with a cheery smile, "Hey, John." You chirped, smiling. He returned the smile, coming in, not really taking a good look at your attire. Your heart felt like it would break open your chest cavity at any moment. You could still taste your betrayal in your mouth, and you hated that it tasted like expensive Irish whiskey and mint gum. It was the worst taste betrayal could have.

Jim wanted to gag- he could hear every word. Yep, John had to come save Sherlock's relationship, and save his stupid arse. No one would ever see Sebastian doing this, because Jim would never ignore you for two days straight.

"Um..." His eyes narrowed on the tag hanging from the shirt, "Westwood?" He asked, clearly confused. Jim rolled his eyes, using the door to the bathroom to get around into the kitchenette, while your breath caught in your throat. He held up the blouse you threw him in your rush.

"Wrong shirt." You silently cursed yourself as he moved to return it to you. He picked up the collar of your shirt, making a show to point it out.

"I know Westwood when I see it." That was what he'd been trying to tell you when you told him to shut up... and now John knew about your affair with Moriarty. He smirked, leaning against your counter, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the flabbergasted John.

"You're cheating on Sherlock- with Moriarty?! Why!?" He demanded, standing up in a fit of anger and disgust. His eyes showed how betrayed he felt and you couldn't even blame him.

"John, it's just that-"

"Sherlock ignores her, neglects her, sometimes forgets she exists and that she's his girlfriend- plus, I rather like to think I'm a pretty good shag." He said cockily, maybe even spitefully. You went red at his words, shaking your head quickly.

"N-No- John's it isn't like that-" John was already coming over to either chew you out or punch Jim. Either option wasn't exactly a good one...

"John- please, don't tell Sherlock." You begged, Jim's jaw ticking. John looked ready to say something, but Jim beat him to the punch- no pun intended.

"Or do. It's not like he'd care enough to actually exert the energy to break up with you anyway." He shrugged casually as both you and John stopped. John knew Sherlock was, well, Sherlock. And that he didn't always remember you guys had plans, or your birthday, or... that you existed at all... sometimes he'd say rude things to you... or kick you out when you were crying because a relative died and he needed to go to his mind palace... okay, so there was nothing positive about you and Sherlock's relationship, but cheating? Especially with Moriarty? That was low.

You spun around to Jim after the initial shock, "He would to care!" You insisted as he looked over his manicured nails.

"You mean like he did when your grandmother died? Or... would it be more like when he let you stay kidnapped for 47 hours because there was a more interesting case and he didn't realize you were gone for the first 36 of those hours?" He mused sarcastically. Tears pricked your eyes, because he was right. Sherlock would be more concerned with the fact that Moriarty was sleeping with his girlfriend, than his girlfriend was sleeping with Moriarty. He wouldn't care that you cheated on him- he'd care that Moriarty took time out to screw you. John sat there, a tad shocked at the disdain that Irish accent held, a hatred that you didn't hear. Jim could've seen anyone, or he could've told Sherlock in hopes of crushing him, but he didn't. Why..?

"Screw you, Jim!" You snapped suddenly, more tears gathering in your eyes. You spun away from him, only to have him pull you back around, and use his thumb to wipe away your still coming tears. He didn't drop his dead eyes or displeased look- never in front of John, but you were his primary concern right now.

"Oh, hush, now, Sweetheart. I'm sure I'm completely incorrect and Sherlock will find a way to forgive you." He lied easily. He couldn't bear to see you cry, especially at something he said. How dare Sherlock? He had a wonderful woman with a heart of gold, and the sweetest smile there ever was, and all he did was send her into waves of tears.

John's curiosity got the better of him, and he spoke up, even if it meant his doom, "What exactly do you get out of this, then?" Jim froze, thumb halfway across your cheek. What he got out of it? Listening to the woman he loved scream his name and trash talk his nemesis were two pretty fair reasons, but... no. He couldn't say that. Then you'd push him away, and he'd never see you again, under any capacity, even an enemy. But he couldn't say he was using you, because then he'd be just like Sherlock. Playing at your heart. Which was less painful..?

"Simple. I have it over Sherlock, that I can have anything of his at anytime, and he doesn't even know I have it." Your eyes snapped open. Why you? Your hands collided with his chest, sending him to your kitchen floor, and you stormed back to your room. So what? The man you'd been seeing behind your boyfriend's back was just using you. So what, he was there when Sherlock wasn't? So what, you'd began to develop feelings for him? So what, he broke your heart?

Maybe you'd given into a small fantasy that the consulting criminal liked you, and might even have had loved you. Maybe you'd given him the power to break your heart.

Maybe the sound of your table crashing wasn't said consulting criminal being punched by John.

----------

Jim got back to his place a long while later, jaw bruised and eye swollen. Sebastian rose a brow before heading to grab an ice pack.

"Thought you said she wasn't into that?" He joked, tossing the smaller man the cooling relief. Jim carefully pressed it to his jaw.

"Johnny-Boy came a knockin'." He grumbled, slouching onto the couch. Sebastian grabbed a couple beers and joined his boss on the couch, ready to listen to what happened.

A long story later (telling Sebastian absolutely everything), he finally got to what John had said, "...then that stupid fool asked me, 'what do you get out of this, then?" His voice rose in mockery, "And of course, I lied-" Sebastian stopped him there, rubbing his temple, knowing he'd need another beer after this.

"Woah, Boss- you lied? Girl just realized her boyfriend doesn't give a flying rat's behind about her, and you say that you- let me remind you, that you're the person she has been going to when Sherlock is being a complete and total arse- and you lie and say that you don't care about her, either?" Jim flinched, realizing his major mistake right there, but not wanting to admit it.

"So what? I should've just said, 'Can't lie- I'm in love with her and this is legitimately the only way I'll probably ever get her because she refuses to leave her arrogant sod of a boyfriend'?" He snapped back, earning a bemused look from Sebastian.

Pairing: MoriartyxReader

Warnings: I still hold that Moriarty is a warning in his own nature, but no.

Story type: This follows most all of the canon events, but adds reader in as a main character.

“A crime isn’t beautiful. Ever.” Sherlock’s chin tilted up triumphantly, smirk flashing proudly as Jim’s jaw fell agape.

“When it comes to the very nature of something like ‘crime’, when it’s in a state of perfection, one can’t put the label of ‘beautiful’ to it. However, in the same token, the planning behind the crime, is.” Now it was Sherlock’s turn to look at you, completely aghast from the preposition.

“And what would that mean of the person who planned the crime..?” Jim inquired, intrigued. You looked at him, the way his dark eyes stared into yours without a hint of shyness. He met your eyes, not sheepish, not blushing, just stared back into your gaze as if it were nothing. It was an unusual occurrence, to say the least, but what’s more, it came with an unusual twist in your stomach as it fluttered.

He turned to face you, blatantly ignoring the other person in the room as he tilted your face to look at him when your gaze farted away, “Y/n.” He said seriously, eyes watching yours with an almost unreadable emotion.

“...the person whose planning was, what we are defining as, beautiful, could be considered no less than genius.” You felt the words leave your lips without a second thought, it occurring to you what you had said no less than five minutes. Jim smiled faintly, eyes glittering at the notion.

“Then I’ll have to thank you for the compliment, love.” His lips teased against the corner of yours as you felt your heart stop, your entire world slowly crumbling around you as you attempted to process what he meant. Surely he couldn’t have—No. Not Jim, not the Jim you knew...but then again, the entire time he’d been a Jim you had never known, never so much as seen before. It couldn’t be possible that he... Could it?

“W-What..?” Your eyes were wide as you stared straight past him. He hummed, nodding at your confusion, fingers brushing your cheek with a softness that could only be considered loving.

“The crime we were contemplating was of my own design, I’m afraid to tell you.” He responded earnestly, watching as your thoughts swam across your vision. Tears pricked at your eyes, breaths coming out in sharp, pained heaves as it all settled over you. The man you had thought you knew, the sweet, charming, so-painfully-quiet-it’s-endearing man... was claiming to have committed...