#never in my life will i forget ‘jim moriarty. hi :)’

[crockettmarcel]

the most upsetting thing in the world is that now whenever andrew scott is mentioned, people go “oh yeah! the hot priest from fleabag!” does jim moriarty mean nothing to you? we used to be a society

[denimbex1986]

'This year he earned a Golden Globe nomination for his compelling work as a man who encounters the ghosts of his parents in Andrew Haugh's Strangers . But for the Irishman Andrew Scott, that was one of many recognitions, including another nomination for the same award as best supporting actor for playing the priest in the comedy series Fleabag , for which he won the Critics Choice, and the Bafta in the same category for playing Jim Moriarty in the British Sherlock . But if something was missing in his career to become the man of the moment, it is his leading role in Ripley , the eight-episode miniseries that arrives on Netflix on Thursday the 4th and in which, from the hand of Steve Zaillian, Oscar winner for the script for Schindler's List , has given new life to the iconic con artist created by Patricia Highsmith and previously portrayed on film by Alain Delon, Dennis Hopper, Matt Damon, John Malkovich and Barry Pepper.

How difficult was it to forget about Matt Damon as Tom Ripley when working on the series?

It wasn't a problem. Obviously that's a movie that people love and I'm one of its biggest fans. I love the performances of everyone who participated. Therefore, that was one of our concerns, because when people hear about this project, the first thing they ask is if it is a remake, and what sense does it make to remake something that already had a very successful version. But from the beginning I knew that was exactly what Steven Zaillian, our writer and director, wanted to avoid. There have been several adaptations of this story over the years, but Steven had a very peculiar vision from the day he read the novel many years ago. The opportunity to tell it in a miniseries was a very interesting dynamic for him. For example, he was convinced that it had to be filmed in black and white.

Because it says?

Because that was the starting point to explain to the audience how they should see it, which is very similar to how we would read a novel, which does not take us two hours. We read it over a certain period of time, which allows us to pay attention to certain aspects. Sometimes it is the plot and other times it is the characters that catch our attention. In the miniseries, we have the opportunity to share some time with them and see how mine thinks and makes mistakes. As with all great literary characters, Tom Ripley has a certain reputation as a psychopath or serial killer. But those appreciations never interested me. I don't see him as a natural serial killer. I think he is someone who is very fallible and does what he doesn't have to do. We see how he makes mistakes in real time, but at the same time we can see that he has a natural talent for deceiving. The truth is that the first time I spoke with Steve I put aside my concern about previous interpretations. And I'm sure the same will happen to viewers when they see the unique look we have at this story.

Don't you see him as a psychopath either?

No, I always had a lot of resistance to diagnosing the character with a very specific psychiatric definition. I think the reason why he has endured over time and has become an icon is because he continues to generate many doubts in us. We find it fascinating, terrifying and uncomfortable because we don't have much information about it. What Tom tells about him is not very reliable. One cannot be very sure what his nationality is, his age or his sexual orientation.

Have you ever encountered a real-life Tom Ripley?

It's something I get asked often. But I think what attracts us to the character is not whether we know someone like him, but what part of Tom Ripley we carry inside. That's what Patricia Highsmith achieved in her novel, because we side with this man who does a lot of bad things, because he is someone who has been ignored by society and who has many talents. He is a con artist, a true con artist, who resorts to tricks to make a living. But he is ignored, and he does not have access to any of the things that the other characters in the story enjoy, such as art, music, and beauty. When ignored people discover that something like this exists, they find within themselves the fury that they have always carried inside. In the story there is a very interesting and subtle message, which is that everyone has the right to enjoy beauty and art. It's not just for the rich.

How did you get into Tom Ripley's head?

I do not practice the theory of the method. But it was a challenge because ideologically we are very different, although you always have to find some connection with the characters you play. I've only murdered four people... Seriously, when you're filming for a year, the macabre scenes only take a little while. Most of them were domestic moments, in which they talked about unrequited love or loneliness. The complicated thing for me was the energy that the whole process required, because there was a good dose of action scenes. Plus, Tom is in 95 percent of the scenes in an eight-hour series, and that requires a tremendous amount of acting. I had to be available all the time. It was like this for a year, without rest. In psychological terms, I played a very lonely character, who is far from home and has to deal with the language barrier. It was a great privilege, but it was also a challenge.

Would you at least say that Tom Ripley is a villain?

Although they have every right to say that it is, but I don't see it that way. He seems like a very complex person to me, and to say that he is a villain is to simplify him. I certainly think he's an antihero. As I said, I think the great achievement of the story, which is palpable in the miniseries, is that as a viewer you want someone we shouldn't support to do well. We want you to get your way. And that's because we see ourselves as Tom Ripley. The idea was for the audience to discover what it's like to be someone like him. We all have our share of darkness, and in some ways we are a mystery to ourselves, even if we are not necessarily murderers. It's funny, because of all the characters I've played, this is the one that raises the most questions from the audience. And I love that, because questions about his sexual orientation or his nationality will never be answered. We will never know.'

[moriartysnerd]

Jim Moriarty x rockstar!reader

A/N: this is my first time ever writing with moriartys character. It may be off from his true character and there may be human error. Apologise in advance.

The sweat dripped down, circling around your body as you continued to prance around the stage. By now the speakers had cut off any noise that wasn’t the beat or your own voice. The constant beat of your guitar bouncing against your abdomen and hips had started to become slightly sore. You flicked your head back, while grabbing your guitar, in an attempt to move the damped mess out of your eyes. The crowed was cheering, almost mimicking the ringing in your ears as you swallowed dryly. You where out of breath and worn out, but by God where you going to give the last verse your all. Finally, you stilled on stage, feet glued to a particular position as the lights faded to black. You panted hard unable to catch your breath, your lungs hurt, your eyes hurt, your throat hurt but holy shit, that was one of the best performances of your life. You’d spent months on this tour, and needless to say, your partner back in London didn’t seem to be too happy about it. He’d warned you how bored he’d be without your undivided attention. James had built your career. He was somewhat of a manger for you. When he first came up to you, you’d never recognised him. It was a cold evening, your fingers hurt twice as much as they did remembering the events

——————————————————

You where softly strumming on your guitar in the middle of London town centre, waiting for your friends to finish up with their classes and come and meet you. The unfortunate thing about going to a separate university was the scattered time tables. You weren’t causing too much attention to yourself, it was a busy day and at worst people would think you where a busker. You where only tuning your guitar back up, it was starting to sound pitchy and unpleasant and you needed it perfect for the bar later tonight. You weren’t just specialised in the guitar. You where a jack of all trades. Could play a lot of instruments. Thinking back that must of been what James saw in you. It had to be. It wasn’t long until you caught the attention of someone, despite it being a humid day he still wore a trench coat and scarf. A shorter man following behind him. They taller man seemed to stop when you locked eyes, hair being brown back by the wind. You found the nerve to atleast smile, he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. The fear finally stuck you when he headed quickly towards you, muttering to himself. He was analysing you. It didn’t take a genius to realise that. His loyal lap dog following short after. The shorter man seemed to limp, he stuttered on a few words but managed to keep a conversation with you going. The questions lingered in your head longer than you’d like to admit, and with the cloaked man looming over you. You felt trapped.

“My names doctor John Watson, and this is sherlock.”

You recognised him. How could you not. The Sherlock Holmes. They wernt there to hurt you. They where there to interrogate you. Johns words seemed to calm you once you realised who they where. Fortunately for you the conversation and answers didn’t last Long when you heard a groan from sherlock, who suddenly stormed off calling back behind him.

“They don’t know anything John. They havnt been here for that long. No change from the music. Even their fingers arnt reddened from playing their guitar. Well loose the suspect if we wait any longer.���

John sighed. It seemed as if he was used to being dragged all over the place. He thanked you before waddling back after sherlock. You groaned softly, you wernt a busker, but you didn’t dare say that out loud. Imagine telling a famous detective he was wrong. You sighed softly, running your fingers through your soft hair, taking a step back you heard a crunch. Instantly looking down, you seemed to pray you hadn’t accidentally stood on a pigeon. Thankfully, it wasn’t. However, what was there seemed somthing more important that the slight decrease in London’s flying rat population. A pendrive. It wasn’t there when you first sat down. And no one other than the detective and his faithful sidekick had been near you. You added up the dots rather quickly. It couldn’t be important, Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t of just simply dropped something right? You picked up the drive, looking around before shoving it into your pocket. Going back to your guitar, finally your friends came from around the corner. They all looked out of breath, it was reliving that they’d actually run to meet you. You loved your group of nerds. However the rest of the day was draining. You couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you. Not fully anyway. Even with your friends constantly around you there was always something just slightly off. It was later that evening when you met James. You where about to come on stage when a man in a gorgeous black suit came out, he had a soft Irish accent and smelt of mint and old books. He instantly caught your attention. His little smirk covered his face as he realised you where staring.

“Didnt mummy ever tell you not to stare my dear?”

You face flushed with embarrassment as you clutched your guitar case. Biting your lip hard and walking past him to get to the stage. To this day his little chuckle still rang through your mind.

——————————————————

After they lead you off stage you where taken back to your dressing room and completely spoilt. They made sure you had water, and an ice pack just incase and they finally left you alone. Once alone the realness set it and all you could think about was James. How mad you where at him. How you’d left London angry as he screamed about how he’d made you.

“I could just as easily take it away”

you mimicked under your breath. Fists clenching into balls.

“What was that, my love?”

——————————————————

It wasn’t until after your little solo that you ran into James again. This time he was outside when you left. You where planning on leaving with friends but the night hadn’t planned out this way when two of your friends had gotten so drunk they’d thrown up. Another vivid memory you’d never forget. The Irish man approached you, smirking a little wider as you kept your eyes of him

“You’re learning.”

He spoke softly standing just infront of you, you wanted to know what he wanted. He knew it But the drawn out silences caused you to crack faster

“Can I help you?”

You asked, trying to keep it polite. You wernt one to judge based on looks, but he looked important.

“Your preformance. I want to represent you, wouldn’t you like to be a star my dear? I could make you shine.”

—————————————————————

“What was that, my love?” The sweet sound of his voice filled the quiet room as you turned to glare. The second you locked eyes your glare softened. You couldn’t stay mad at him, well you could, just not when he came out all the way from London.

“I didn’t think you’d ever leave London.”

“For you dear the distance was worth it.”

He tried to make a move towards you before you stood up, backing further away. He stopped in his tracks, chuckling and looking down.

“Still bad blood?”

—————————————————————

He’d lied to you. About everything. You’d figured it out a few months after. All because of that stupid pendrive. You’d left it out in the open when James had first visited your apartment. It was quite a cozy small space. You’d put the kettle on and had a cup of tea while discussing what you where studying in uni. The man seemed very enthralled with what you had to say, and everything about you if we’re being honest. By the time he had left the pendrive was also gone. You didn’t think to much of it. A clumsy mistake, you’d misplaced it. That wasn’t the case. You’d found the pendrive in James’s pocket once again when he came to visit. Only it was accompanied by a second one. You bit your lip and placed them on the table while he was in the kitchen. He’d noticed they’d been moved. But didn’t hide them. He didn’t even pick them up when he left. He just left. It had information. Cases on Sherlock Holmes. Most importantly the victims of the London bombings. A full detail description of each and every single one of them And that’s when the knock came on your door. Sherlock Holmes himself.

“He’s stalking me! I don’t know what he wants but he won’t leave me alone Y/N! I never asked for this I never-“

“Jim. Jim Moriarty. He told me James... he told me everything. He had photos. Evidence. He took those pendrives. You’ve been using me as a messenger for months. Sherlock knew that if he faked an interest in me. You’d use me. And that’s what you did. I was secretly passing both of you those pendrives without even knowing. I was helping a criminal!”

James snapped out of his little victim role. He chucked and shook his head

“smart, very smart my dear. It’s a shame, my plans for you wernt over yet...”

You shook your head frantically, and grabbed your suitcase. Leaving soon after. The criminal didn’t even give chase. He watched you leave. He knew he’d hurt you.

“I made you.”

——————————————————

You glared at the now foreign man stood there. Your gaze was burning into his soul. He was right. He made you. He could take it all away. But was it really yours to begin with. Moriarty sensed your thoughts by the look on your face and gently moved to put his arm around your waste, this time you didn’t stop him. You leaned into him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“See, isn’t it so much better to be in daddy’s arms agian kitten?”

He was a psycho. he’d ruined you. He was a murderer. He killed people. He blackmailed people. But, he was different with you, he was kind and gentle, he’d helped you with you career. You where already in to deep. He wouldn’t let any harm come to you. In that moment. That was good enough. You locked eyes with jim Moriarty. Your Jim Moriarty. And gently placed your hot lips aginst his, pulling him closer by the jacket and slowly letting him claim you. You tried to pull away when you needed air but Moriarty just chased your lips. Even outside of work he couldn’t help the torture. When you two finally separated you looked deep into his eyes, holding his face in the palm of your hand.

“I love you Jim Moriarty.”

“I know you do my love. That was the plan.”

[magics-protector]

May I ask for a Doctor Who, sherlock and merlin ship? I would like to be shipped with either a male or female. My pronouns are she/her. I’m an intp-a. Im quite the sarcastic person and have a witty sense of humor. I’m quite the cunning and clever person as well. I tend to thrive on my own and am very much a lone wolf. Im very content with living in my own world in my brain and forgetting the existence of reality. That however doesn’t mean I’m quiet. When it comes to a topic I’m interested in I can go off for hours. I’m a bit quiet and closed off when you first meet me. It takes me a while to open up. When I do though, I can be the life of the party. As for hobbies I love art. Ive been an artist for as long as I can remember. I like both digital and fine art. As for fine art I love sketching, and printmaking. As for digital art I tend to stray towards graphics, visual effects and video game design. I also adore art history too. I love gaming, listening to podcasts (I know the most random useless facts from these but can’t seem to work everyday things) and watching movies as well. Apart from that I’m quite active. I adore working out. I kickbox and strength train most days of the week. I dislike small talk, pointless social norms, and not getting enough alone time. Lastly, my preference of love language is acts of service. I’m pretty sure my least is physical touch. I’m NOT comfortable with people giving me physical affection. I just get really awkward and tense up. Thank you! I truly hope this is okay!

Hey, this is perfect! I hope you like it!

Doctor Who

I ship you with....

The Tenth Doctor

I feel like being a sarcastic person automatically attracts Ten. He is naturally drawn to those who have an independent spirit. I say I can see you with Ten because the moment I read about you, my mind instinctively said "The Tenth Doctor would love her!"

He is also not a very touchy kind of person - if I call correctly, he's never been one to establish any kind of physical contact. And we all know how he can be when he's on a rambling spree.

All in all, I can see The Tenth Doctor absolutely adoring you, enjoying the time you spend together and savouring every moment of it.

Sherlock

I ship you with...

Mr. Jim Moriarty

The Napoleon of Crime himself! Consider yourself his partner in crime - if you're cool with it. To even keep up with Jim, you'd have to be good - like really clever and cunning. Man moves at a high pace and I feel that if he wanted to keep you around, than that means he believes that you can.

If acts of service are what you desire, then let me tell you, that's what you're getting. Jim, in his own words, has said that he doesn't like to get his hands dirty, but the man's a criminal. Ask of him what you will and so it shall be. Anything, you don't even have to ask and he just knows.

Moriarty as a lover would be a something you'd have to just get used to but if you put in the time, and make sure that he does too, I feel it could be a beautiful, diabolical relationship.

Merlin

I ship you with...

Morgana Pendragon

We are all unworthy of this Goddess.

Morgana needs more love in her life and I feel like you can give that to her. I feel you two share the same interests and the same love language, which works out great for you both. She doesn't judge, if you were go on rambling about something you love, she'd sit there and listen with a huge smile on her face.

Morgana would be an amazing partner and when I read what you've sent me about yourself, I knew she'd be a great match for you.

There you go! I hope you like it! =)

[thesleepy1]

You C-Could’ve Just Told Me Y-You Didn’t Want Me

A/N: I stumbled upon the MorMor fandom again and thought, “What the hell, why not? Most of this is either depressing, sad or kinky. Right up my ally.” Unbeta’d as always. 

 Pairings: Jim x Sebastian 

 Summary: Moriarty really did it. He killed himself and Holmes. But did the great consulting criminal think of the outcome? Did he think of what would become of his tiger?  

 Word count: 2,591

 Warnings: Please do not read this if any of the warnings trigger you, I’m touching on many heavy subjects and there will be a sad ending. Please be aware of what you can handle. There is no shame in reading the same coffee shop AU over and over again. Please proceed with caution. Major character death, death, suicidal thoughts, suicde, attempted suicde, violence, language, depressing thoughts, mourning, grief, poor coping mechanisms, blood, alcohol consummation, 

 Moriarty really did it. Jim’s really gone. No warning. No notice. No caution. No nothing. Just a single message plastered on the building in front of his window.   

 “Behave tiger.” 

 Sebastian learned on the news that night after not having heard from his boss, the man he thought of as a friend and more. The newscaster focused on Holmes’ leap from the building, but all Sebastian cared about was the body being dragged off the scene. That same empty gaze he had grown to adore, the same slicked back hair he wanted to run his fingers through, the same sickly pale face he wanted to feel under his fingertips. 

 Gone.

 Just like that. 

 He had never told Jim about the beating in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, the constant searching for him in a crowd. But the man must have known. He read Sebastian like a favorite book. Had memorized every line, every page, every chapter, everything. Jim had known and yet he was still gone. 

 The arguably new fridge in his kitchen had not seen the sight of alcohol since it was installed. Sebastian had swore off of the thing since his parent’s passing. He had seen what it did to people. But tonight was an expectation. And so was the next day. And the next week. And the week after that. And the months that followed. 

 The only reason he left his small flat was to get more. Nothing else mattered anymore. Time passed as it always did when someone died. Sebastian had no right to be mad at the human concept of time, but he had to have someone to blame. Something that made sense. Because if time was allowed to move on as if nothing happened then time was a bastard.

 Jim wasn’t just some concept a man with too much time on his hands created. Jim was more then every human life was worth and more. Jim was also a Westwood wearing bitch. 

 The man just won’t let Sebastian die. Appearing in front of him at his worst moments.

 One morning or afternoon, he wasn’t sure, he was awoken by the sound of polished shoes on his tiled kitchen. His first thought was Jim, just like every other thought he’s had for the past year. Time wasn’t even really a thing. But alas, when he opened his exhausted eyes, because his bed was just a place marker, he was greeted by the sight of an old woman in a suit. 

 “Good day,” she spoke in an central London accent, too polite for a shirtless man in his pants. 

 “The prostitute lives a floor down.” 

 She seemed to be taken aback by his comment, visibly flinching. Her lips pressed together a moment before she spoke, “I’m here for you on behalf of Mr. Myrcroft Holmes.”

 “Tell him to go fuck himself.” 

 “That can be arranged, but for the time being he wants you to meet him at his estate. He sent me here to make sure you were alive,” the woman said sternly, regaining her composure. Jim wouldn’t have even faltered at his comments.

 “Tell him I’m dead.” Or will be if he could find the tenner he kept hidden in his couch cushions. He was due for another bottle. “I’ll even give you a blood sample. Just give me a knife.” 

 The woman seemed unimpressed, taking in the state of the flat. Things were askew, he knew. That was the point of grieving wasn’t it? Being self destructive to the point of insanity? Give him time, grieving takes time, everyone suffers differently. He could no longer count how many times he’s been to Bart’s, just sitting on the ledge. The fact that jumping, falling, seemed like a simple matter to see Jim again should frighten him but...it doesn’t. He’s just biding his time until he’s had enough. Unsure what’s holding him back, waiting. 

 That was a lie and a half. He had jumped, twice. First time a moving truck broke his fall. The movers had called an ambulance and he was rushed to the hospital. That was eight days after Jim shot himself through the skull.

 The second was last night, morning? Some twenty hours ago that was foiled by a short woman who wore her hair in a low ponytail. She had given him some sort of speech but he just tuned out her voice and threw away the slip of paper with her number on it. He didn’t need pity. 

 “That won’t be necessary. I can inform my employer of your beating heart and he will arrive here himself,” she turned on her heel and headed for the door, her hand lingering on the handle before turning back to him. “What made him worth suffering for?” 

 The door clinked shut. 

 More than the bastard realized.

 “Calling me a bastard and a bitch? On the same day? I’m honored, Sebby,” came Moriarty’s voice from the arm of the couch. “Really, just wonderful what you’ve done to the place.” 

 “What are you doing here?” Sebastian groaned to the figment of his imagination which was also a shit eating bitch. 

 “Picking flowers, what do you think I’m doing?” 

 Sebastian couldn’t help but grin at the comment. He knew Jim wasn’t actually here but if he could fool himself for an hour or so. The calmest hours he granted himself once a week.

 “C-could you hold my hand?” Sebastian begged in a whisper, not looking up at the gaze of his one sided lover. 

 “This again?” He could hear Moriarty rolling his eyes. “I guess, but only for a moment.” The ghost held out his hand, far enough to make Sebastian work for it. He always did, forcing himself to move, to crawl, fight tooth and nail with his useless body to get up and hold Moriarty’s non-existent hand. 

 Moriarty’s hand was cold. That was how he imagined it if he had ever gotten the chance to hold it. Moriarty’s hand was soft because he never had to do any dirty work. Nails filed down and clean, pristine. The real Jim would never, but Sebastian let himself have this. 

 “You’re crying again. I thought this was supposed to be my moment.” Moriarty lifted his face to meet his, wiping the tears with an invisible force. “Can you not make this about yourself for one moment? It's starting to get on my nerves and Daddy wants the spotlight so SUCK IT UP.” 

 Sebastian clenched Moriarty’s hand, nodding and willing himself not to cry. It never worked. “Why did you have to leave?” it came out as an uncontrollable sob.

 “Things were too boring. I needed a change of pace. What’s better than being a ghost?” Moriarty licked his tears clean but more poured down.

 “I-I could h-have-”

 “You could have done NOTHING to change my mind. Even your subconsciousness knows that, Sebby.”

 Seconds, minutes, hours, days, who knows passed as Sebastian cried into the arms of a dead man. He curled into Moriarty’s side, a trembling ball of compressed pain. The alcohol was wearing off at this point and he longed for another hit. Something stronger perhaps. 

 Just anything to make him forget for a while, because while he permitted himself to cry with Moriarty, feeling nothing at all felt better. Just empty, mindlessness. Unconsciousness. Anything but this. 

 “Why...why won’t you-you let me die?”

 “Because you know I would be furious if you died. Rage wouldn’t even cut it if you met me in hell.” Moriarty brushed back his overgrown hair, messing with his beard just because he could. 

 “I want your rage instead of this. Please,” he begged, rubbing his head against Moriarty’s chest. “I-I had a gun stashed here. I knew exactly where it was and how many bullets were in it. Jim...he...the real Jim took the bullets out.” He picked at the loose strings on the couch, unable to face his mind. “He-” he croaked, “He took them and put them in his own gun. I-I checked and everything….” Pressing the heel of his palms to his hand Sebasatian continued in between gasps. “I want them back. I want my bullets back. I want him back. I want him. I want him alive and here. I want to hold him and let him hold me. I want him. I want Jim. I don’t care if-if he never wanted me. If he-” It pained him to keep talking, to admit this in his worst moment. “If he did this just to get away from me...I just want him back.” 

 “You’re being awfully selfish today. What if I really did this to get away from you? And now you want me to come back? Sebby, please. Be realistic. If all of this is because you’re useless, and it can very well be, then I don’t want you.”

 “So that’s it? You won’t even let me off myself?” Sebastian mumbled into his sleeve, his eyes stung from crying and he was too dehydrated to continue.

 “Behave tiger.”

 He didn’t clean himself off or made himself look presentable like he did with Jim. He just smoked as he tried to find himself a cab to the other Holmes’ estate. Apparently that wasn’t needed due to the fact a black car pulled right up next to him, the front window lowering to reveal a driver that motioned for him to get in. 

 Sebastian did so, flicking off the cigarette before entering. The driver didn’t speak, not that he would reply, but the man looked like he wanted to. A new guy who was still learning the ropes. 

 “D-” 

 “Talking out of turn will get you fired, or killed,” Sebastian repeated the phrase Jim had told him the first day he worked for the man. Back then he didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he wanted a quick, high paying job. 

 “Rude,” the driver murmured before pulling into a driveway. He stopped the vehicle and gestured for Sebastian to exit with a roll of his eyes. Sebastian wondered then what the other Holmes would do if he blooded up the driver. Getting himself killed had crossed his mind numerous times, bar fights and ally robberies, but he was too skilled to allow himself to be disarmed. But the Holmes were of a different story altogether. They could have him killed in an instant if they felt like.

 “Well are you going to leave or what?” 

 Holmes would probably do nothing, not for a driver this chatty. He left the vehicle with Moriarty on his tail, “You’re useless, you know that? I tell you to do one thing and you do another. Well you come to hell, don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.” 

 Sebastian resisted crying in the home of Jim’s worst enemy’s brother. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself. Whether he believed himself? He didn’t feel the tell tale wetness on his cheeks so that was something. 

 “Good day,” the elder brother greeted him, not a hair out of place despite the fact that his brother was dead. 

 “What do you want.” 

 “Getting straight to business I see. Very well then,” Mycroft thumped his cane on his hardwood floors of his parlor. “I have an assignment for you, think of it as a favor if you will.”

 “Fuck off,” he turned on his heel to leave only to freeze in place. Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway, as alive as the day he was born. Not a wound or sign or anything that said he was dead or had been. Just standing there.

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. 

 “Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty’s right hand man and one sided lover from the state of your appearance. How is crying over a man who will never love you going?”

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 The other Holmes rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to get him to work with us Sherlock, not plan our murders.” 

 “I can’t say the same for him though,” Sherlock smirked, like he was getting a rise out of seeing Sebastian like this. A caged, striving tiger pacing.  

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 “Sherlock.”

 “Mycroft.”

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is dead.

 “If you want to kill me just do it. I won’t fight back,” Sebastian stated, meaning every word. He just wanted the release of death. If anything his dying might please Jim Moriarty. Having someone watch the life or what was left of it, drain from his eyes. He could only hope. “Just kill me.” 

 “On the contrary. We want you alive.” 

 “I’m useless alive or dead,” he repeated what his mind told him.

 “I can assure you, you’re m-” 

 The gunshots shattered the parlor windows. Glass burst from their constricting frames, a shower of shards raining down. More gunshots followed, a dozen barrels at the least. Sherlock and Mycroft ducked for cover because they wanted to live. Sebastian stayed where he was because he would rather not. 

 A shot pierced his side immediately, then another and another. His legs could no longer support him so he fell forward, the side of his face pressed up against the rough carpet. He was staining it red, a stark color against the shades of brown and white. 

 Rope ladders dropped the sky, bodies lowering from out of view helicopters. They entered in pairs, shooting up the parlor room and everything in it. Over the sound of gunshots nothing could be heard then it stopped like a conductor silencing an orchestra with practice.

 A suited man entered the ruined parlor, his arms spread wide in dramatic flare. “Daddy’s back, Sherlock!” 

 “Jim Moriarty,” Sherlock exclaimed, smiling from his cover behind a bookshelf. “Glad you could make it.” 

 “I missed you, Sherly.”

 Sebastian could only smile from the floor. 

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 And all it took was for him to be bleeding out on the floor from gun wounds. Dying. Unable to feel his arms or legs. That was all it took for Jim Moriarty to come back.

 His grin pained his face from disuse, but he couldn’t stop it. Joy didn’t cover what he was feeling. The love of his life, forever one sided; the man he yearned to stay by, to hold, to drink and live alongside was fucking alive.

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 “Y-you’re alive,” he gasped from the floor, his blood cooling but his smirk never faltering. He wanted so badly to drag himself to Jim Moriarty but he couldn’t feel the warmth in his limbs. The man was right there, breathing, standing tall, and looking so jubilant. Sebastian really was useless. 

 “Tiger?” Jim Moriarty’s act flickered when he heard the sound of Sebastian. He turned to face the fallen sniper and every set of eyes in the room followed. 

 “Y-you’re here,” Sebastian choked on a laugh, his eyelids heavy. “You c-could’ve just told me y-you didn’t want me.”  

 “SEBASTIAN?!” 

 His eyelids closed shut. What remained of the feelings in his limbs dispersed. His labored breaths evening out until he disappeared altogether. His hearing was the last to go but even that shut down. He was dead. That was all it took. 

 Sherlock Holmes is alive.

 Jim Moriarty is alive.

 Sebastian Moran is dead.

[consultingcriminal]

RANDOMLY REMEMBERED THE ANGST OF IF RICHARD DIED INSTEAD OF JIM ON THAT ROOFTOP AND I'M FUCKINB SAD

Can you not- I- (pls continue actually)

Jim would never order Richard to do something like that in my opinion. Jim goes to him and asks him to give Sebastian a box of unimportant things, Rich is kind of weirded out and decides to open the box, and he sees all thise goodbye letters for Sebastian, telling him to take care of himself, to stop loving Jim, little notes telling him random things that Sebastian used to usually forget, reminders, playlists, sketches of Sebastian sleeping, sketches of Sebastian from everyday, a painting of the night skies and stars, a small notebook with poetry. So Richard understands what Jim is about to do and goes to Severin for help. But he also knows that when Jim wakes up and finds his plan destroyed he'll go insane. So he tells Severin to tell Sebastian and take care of Jim. While they're doing so Richard goes on the rooftop to talk to Sherlock and puts his best Jim-look on. I think I should add that he found details of the plan scattered on the letters, Jim talking about the rooftop etc. Now when they go up to Jim and tell him to stop it or they'll have to restrain him, Jim asks them where Richard is and starts running to the hospital. Richard doesn't have a single idea what Sherlock is talking about and goes in improv. Severin and Sebastian follow him, when they get to the rooftop they see Richard lifeless, gun in his hand. Jim and Severin run to him and kneel down, Jim is completely frozen realizing what he'd done meanwhile Severin starts crying and shouting and attacks Jim, yelling at him. Sebastian breaks them apart and takes each of them home, he wants to spend some time with Severin but he kicks Sebastian out. Sebastian wants to be there for Jim but he shuts him out too. Severin stops talking with Sebastian after that. Jim rarely speaks to Sebastian or gets out of his room. Whenever Sebastian tried to cook something for him or do something for him Jim started yelling, telling him it was his fault they had tried to stop him. Sebastian stays around for two years, then he moves out. He doesn't hear from Jim again, until the "Did you miss me?" message two years later. Sebastian is lonely, he doesn't have a brother, or Jim, or his job, or anything. Eventually he meets a nice person and settles in to escape sadness, he doesn't love them, he can't love anyone except for Jim. After Sebastian left Jim lost his sense of balance completely, he started planning on how to make Sherlock feel pain, hurt, how to kill everyone he ever loved. When that didn't work out he felt desperate, he went out looking for Sebastian but found out the other had moved on, he seemed happy. Jim decided to lock his feelings away and continue with his network as he always had before. Eventually he overworked himself and everything started failing, he lost his network too, people came after him, sent people to get him, and they did. James Moriarty died on a gutter. Sebastian Moran continued with his life. Severin didn't know how to deal with the pain. He looked out for a new job, whatever it was and tried to carry on with life. He contacted Sebastian after some time, they rebuilt their connection but nothing was the same. After some time Severin met a guy that reminded him of Richard, the same smile, the same awkward manner of doing everything. They ended up together. Severin didn't move on. The Morans had a long and peaceful life, not that it felt happy to them though.

I am so sorry I just had to write this.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph!!! Hope you're doing fine and well!!I've jumped back into the Johnlock fandom and rewatched it again! I'm looking for fics to do with Sherlock being drugged, a drug addict, crazy, insane or trapped in his mind palace. That's about it, thank you!! Take care!

Hey Nonny!

Ahh, welcome back to the fandom, Lovely!! <3 I hope I can help you out!

For Drug fics, I have these lists here:

Self Harm, Danger Nights, and Drugs

Drugs and Drugging Pt 2

Realistic Drugs/Drug Rehab

As for mind palace fics, I’m going to use this opportunity to post up a list of fics relating to Sherlock’s mind palace, just because I did actually start tagging fics with it, so I wanna actually use it, LOL. Feel free, my lovelies, to add your own fics for this or anything Nonny is looking for! Hope y’all like what I got for y’all!

SHERLOCK’S MIND PALACE

A Perfect Figure by ecb327 (K, 622 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, First Person POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Light Angst) – Sherlock build a spot in his mind palace for John.

Once Upon A Time by ProfessorSquirrell (T, 908 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Snippets of Life, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Implied Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – There is a room in Sherlock's mind palace where nothing gets deleted. And it looks like this...

Sherlock's Mind Palace by Valkyrie Of The Dead (K+, 1,091 w., 1 Ch. ||  Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Deaths, Self Reflection) – Sherlock needs to change his mind-palace once again. He had hoped he wouldn't, he had thought he wouldn't, because they were invincible, weren't they?

Ode to a Well-Worn Chair by hogwartswitch (G, 1,274 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TSo3, John’s Chair, Angst, Love Confessions, Mind Palace) – Takes place the night Sherlock left John's wedding early. Why did he move John's chair and where did he move it?

The Simple Separation Will Not Come Between Us by The Circus (T, 1,278 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, MCD, Violence, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Prose) – The choice is simple. Real, and No John. Or Not Real, and John. For a prompt that says 'John dies and Sherlock loses himself in his Mind Palace’

Upon This Throne by ifonlynotnever (T, 1,773 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Angst, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Introspection, Imagery, Pining Sherlock, Drug Use, Passage of Time) – Inside Sherlock's mind is a Palace. Inside the Palace are many rooms. Within the largest room is the Throne. Upon the Throne sits the King.

The Three-Word Tin Collection by TheBookshelfDweller (K, 1,885 w., 1 Ch. || First Person Sherlock POV, Mild Pining, Angst, Romance, Hiatus) – What happens when Sherlock has to store the things he wants to say to John while deconstructing Moriarty's web, but the Mind palace proves an inadequate place to store them?

Duvet (green) by Mazarin221b (G, 2,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-THoB, Mind Palace, Revelations, First Kiss) – Sherlock recalibrates and restructures his mind palace so it looks like 221b. What he chooses to put in John's room is a bit of a surprise, and a revelation.

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

Heart's a Mess by svenjastrange (NR, 2,249 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Sherlock’s Mind Palace) – Sherlock's heart is a mess.

Green Carnation by glenien (T, 2,616 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Meta-Fic, Angst and Fluff, Communication, Post-TAB) – John takes Sherlock home. Part 1 of It’s No Longer Eighteen Ninety-Five

The Trial of Sherlock Holmes by jenna221b (G, 3,015 w. across 3 works || TAB!lock, Metafic / TJLC, Victorian AU / 1895, Christmas, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Oscar Wilde) – Scripts based on speculation that Sherlock will be put on trial in The Abominable Bride to parallel the Oscar Wilde Trials of 1895.

Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3,218 w., 1 Ch. || Confessions, Physics, Metaphors, Texting, Pining, Christmas, Mind Palace, Sick Fic, Fluff, Humour, Praise Kink) - On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots.

Nineteen Seconds of Falling by EmmyAngua (T, 3,739 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Falling in Love) – Sherlock spends exactly nineteen seconds zoned out after John asks him to be best man. He retreats to his mind palace in the desperate hope of figuring out what he wants, unfortunately for him his mind palace is full of people who keep trying to give him advice.

Jukebox by standbygo (T, 3,990 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Singing/Music, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Humour, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss) – After the music halls of Sherlock's mind palace get damaged by accident, John learns that Sherlock never forgets a song. Even the ones he'd rather forget. But the random singalong brings some unexpected benefits.

Sink Like a Stone by pennydreadful (T, 4,348 w., 1 Ch. || Angst / Dark, Cuddling/Snuggling) – After defeating Moriarty at the pool, life isn't quite the same around 221B Baker Street...it's more peaceful. And stranger.

Times Two by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 5,595 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Victorian John, Modern John, Sherlock has a Good Imagination, PWP, Bottomlock, Spitroasting) – “But you’re not that John…”“Of course I am,” John’s lips and mustache brush against Sherlock’s mouth as he talks. “All us Johns are that John, now. That John is in every room in your Palace.” He leans in for another messy kiss, tongue swirling all around the inside of Sherlock’s mouth. “In fact,” he moves to suck on the sensitive skin underneath Sherlock’s ear. “I think I hear him coming right now.”

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

Better Than Fiction by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (E, 6,813 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Masturbation, BJ’s, First Time / Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Anal) – ...he opens his eyes, but instead of seeing John he is staring at his bedroom ceiling, the pale plaster a startling contrast from the scene in his head. It had felt so real. He can only imagine what the feel of John’s lips would be like, his taste. But luckily for him, he thinks with a smirk, he’s always had a brilliant imagination.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim's hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Sherlock's Head, John's Heart by Altego (T, 17,252 w., 7 Ch. || Tragedy, Heavy Angst, Heavy Bromance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Mary is Nice, Friendship) – After Mary dies, John tries to cope, and Sherlock blames himself but tries to make John understand how important John is in his life.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

[elisabethvanroseblood]

Don‘t forget this day 2

Jim Moriarty x Reader

He stares at her.

He could swear if he didn't know that it really is her. He would think, it was an illusion, his beloved Y/N. After all these years with Self-destruction, drugs, alcohol and thoughts of suicide, she just stands there.

Just a few steps away from him, holding hands, with a tall, blond man.

Wait a minute!

Holding hands with a blond man!?

He clenches his hand into a fist. How dare this stranger even look at his beloved Y/N! He picks up his cell phone and walks over to them. They are talking about something. What, Jim can't interpret, but what he can interpret is that it is his Y/N. Definitely. He stops in front of the two. "Y/N L/N?" He looks at the H/C woman, who turns to him. "Yes?" She looks at him. He gets goose bumps when he hears her lovely, sweet and gentle voice. He takes her in his arms and gives her a tight hug. God how he missed hugging her. How he missed her warmth and her closeness. How he missed her sweet, apple-smelling perfume. "Hey, leave my girlfriend alone, she doesn't even know her!" Growls the blonde man at him. Jim growls back and squeezes some more. “Of course she knows me! I am your friend and not you!!“ he growls back. The young woman is confused and pushes herself out of Jim's arms. He whimpers slightly and reaches for her, but further contact is blocked by the blond man because he is now hugging her. "Y/N it's me!.......Jim! Jim Moriarty! Don't you recognize me?....... "he says, while his voice almost fails.

“I don't know any Jim Moriarty.....” she says.

His heart stops again. What!? That can't be true.

Y/N hugs the blonde more. "Zack, I'm scared of this man....." she whispers to her boyfriend. Zack growls and hugs her more and looks threateningly at Jim. "Get out of here!" He growls maliciously.“ Otherwise I'll call the police!” He threatens. Tears collect in his eyes under his sunglasses. »Y/N......« "Y/N it's me! We've been together since high school.....W-We always screwed up together.....Y-You were pregnant by me! Do you really not remember him!?” he asks in a trembling voice. The H/C presses fearfully against Zack, who is kidding her. "How........do you know.......that I was pregnant....." she asks in a whisper. He looks at her. His brown eyes shimmer slightly through the tinted glasses of his sunglasses. "HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT !!! I DON'T KNOW YOU!!!!!........or.......was it you...... about it!?...." her facial expression suddenly changes completely. Of grief, fear, anger and horror. "D-Did you shoot me at that time......" she asks in a whispering voice in which you can hear the horror and the sadness. Jim swallows. "....." he slowly went back. "...I-I didn't mean to! We—” “YOU KILLED THEM!!!! NOW I KNOW WHERE I KNOW YOU!“ Growls the blonde, horrified and angry, while he presses Y/N even more to himself. "I SAW IT!!! YOU KILLED YOU IN COLD BLOODED FROM THE BACK!!! ”he yells. Jim backs away. He quickly disappeared into the crowd when Zack tried to rush after him. Y/N is crying.

At home

He slams the door, locks and locks it. Close the windows and draw the curtains. Make sure no one can come in or look in anywhere. He throws his phone on the couch, followed by the sunglasses. He sloppily thrown his jacket somewhere. In a hunched position, he sits on the floor, in the corner, of his bathroom. Rolled up the sleeves and inspected every single scar and stroked it. He slowly runs the knife blade over a few old, almost disappeared scars. He rams his knife deep into his flesh and slits the scar tissue again. Blood rushes down his arms and drips onto the tiled floor. He repeats it over and over again. Hissing when he's caught a nerve. Rams the knife into his own flesh over and over again. Punish himself over and over for what he's done. For not remembering. For being afraid of him now. For shooting her. His breath is shallow. Sweat runs down his forehead. A beep sounds in his ear. His pulse increases and he rams the knife into his other arm. Insults himself as useless. As idiots. As a fool. As weak. As pathetic. Yes. Jim Moriarty, genius and killer, is self-destructive. Suicide risk. But that is what makes him. He creates new plans. Cruel plans to torment his victims in order to torture them. To satisfy his need for blood when his body is recovering. Oh and believe me: he'll cut up Zack. He's going to blow it up. Torment him. Torture him. To squeeze his life out of his body. Feel him all the pain that he himself endured all these years!!......He will explain it to her......Hold her in his arms......and never let go.....

To be continued

:)))))))

Tagging: @cutelock, @melanoms, @sherlockedcumbercookie, @wsherlockscottholmesblog, @definitely-not-moriarty

[jamlocked]

C, J, U, V and X :))

C -  A ship you have never liked and probably never will.

Ohhhh, boy. I could go three ways on this really...or maybe two, idk. I feel like my answer will be taken as problematic - - and I’m going for it anyway, because it’s just my opinion. 

The ship I dislike the most is Sherlolly. It’s not because I don’t like Molly - I do, a lot. It’s not because that would make Sherlock straight or bi - the whole argument that used to fly about that Sherlolly = homophobic is fucking gross. It’s just not a ship that does anything for me. I used to think that I just found it boring (and this is NOT me saying that Molly is boring, or het romance is boring, or any of that), but I’ve come to realise it’s mostly because it vibes with the part of Sherlock’s narrative I like the least. The whole, ‘Sherlock was weird and abnormal with no friends, but now we’re going to turn him into a complete human being’, thing. Which, VOMIT. 

Again, I’m not saying that het romance is too ‘normal’ to fit here. Sherlock could have a massive thing with Irene, and that would have a vibe I like far more. The issue I have with Sherlolly is that Sherlock has always been an extreme type of character in whatever canon. Molly, in BBC canon, is this wonderful character Sherlock came to find a great friend in. The notion that he could ‘learn to be normal/complete’ seems to be the arc of the four seasons, complete with the whole ‘I love you’ scene in TFP, where they full dangled the possibility of future!canon!Sherlolly by at least making Sherlock think about it seriously. It seems to equate with ‘the more we teach Sherlock to fit into ‘normal’ society, the more chance he has of having a ‘normal’ relationship, with someone...’ - okay, I’m not going to hold Molly up as a bastion of normality, given she falls for sociopaths and does autopsies, but even if you take that into consideration, it’s still the most ‘normal’ relationship the writers could put him into. A casual viewer would go, ‘he’s got a girlfriend now, he behaves better, he gets on with his family, he’s straight/white/upper middle-class = totally a character I’m easy with’. 

And that’s just not what interests me when it comes to relationships I want to watch. Now, if we’re talking about dark!Molly who’s into Glee and cats, but also runs a black market organ business and wants Sherlock to help sort out the competition - I’m totally here for that. If Molly likes her knitted cardigans and secretly wants to kill Sherlock, while he likes his suits and is madly in love her but also wants to use her to get to her criminal mother who harvests dead bodies and practices necromancy? I’m all ears. 

But ‘Sherlock gets a girlfriend, solves crimes, learns manners and is never obnoxious again, and OH LOOK WE FIXED HIM’ - fuck, no.  ...that was a lot of words, and I didn’t explain it very clearly, but I’ma stop now. 

J -    Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.)

Tumblr has made me aware of BTS, The Witcher (although I had seen adverts for that on Amazon, but idk anything about it), Hamilton, Moomin, MASH, The Mentalist, Kyo Dir en Grey, Elementary ...oh man, there must be more, but I forget. I’ve been here a few years now. I’d heard of most of these shows/people before Tumblr, of course, but didn’t know much about them. And still don’t on some of them, but am definitely aware of them now. 

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Jim Moriarty, obviously. HE IS SO FUN. And there is such pain under the smirk, and THOSE SUITS, BABY. I am the biggest sucker in the world for obsession, and ...well, see my answer to X in a minute. There’s nothing about him I don’t ove. So much scope to play with in fic as well. 

An old fandom of mine - Les Mis. My fave character is Javert, because of course I love the most awful dick of them all. Again, with him, see X below. And also again, so much to write about. I literally nearly based a PhD proposal around him, and his representation, his place in 19th century France, his attitudes and where they came from. Did you know the character of Sam Gerard in The Fugitive is based on him? He’s relentless, he’s unforgiving, and he collapses at the end in the most spectacular way possible. Total prick, and I fucking love him. :D

I’m really trying to think of character I love who isn’t a total douche, just for the sake of variety. But I can’t, so lets go with Gene Hunt from Life on Mars. 

I expect most people won’t have heard of/seen this show (but omg they might be making a new series, sa;ldfkjsalfksj I CANNOT :D), but if you can watch it, you should. Gene Hunt is awful - a 70s cop with all the faults of the time. Corrupt, mostly alcoholic, sexist, violent, homophobic, racist...but also hilarious, and there’s a really big heart under there. You learn that he might do nothing but call people the worst names in the world, but he always ends up doing his job in. If you watch this four minute video, you’ll get the gist. If you’re a fan of the Discworld series and you like Sam Vimes, you’ll recognise Gene. He’s the arshetype of Copper, and he goes on this great arc from being the stereotypical bad copper of the 70s, to being something quite different. And he really is hilarious, with insane charisma. He and Sam Tyler are the perfect double act. :D

V - Which character do you relate to most?

Jim Moriarty. I may not be a criminal mastermind, but only because I’m not that smart. And don’t have his level of swag, because c’mon. Who does?

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

AHAHA. My bulletproof trope is ‘two sides of the same coin’. Sherlock/Moriarty. Javert/Jean Valjean - who, incidentally, were two characters based off one man; Vidocq. (A man who more films should be made about, incidentally.) These two are literally two sides of one man. Even Gene Hunt represents part of Sam’s psyche in Life on Mars, as well as the more obvious old vs new, forensic vs gut instinct. 

But yeah, in literally any fandom, you show me a protagonist and an antagonist that are more or less the same person, and I’m there. Cannot get enough of it. 

[dianadragonfly]

Okay, hang on bitches, cause Imma bout ta rewatch “The Final Problem.” I’ve seen it once since 2017. And because there is no commentary on the disc I have, I will be providing the commentary.

[[MORE]] Since I started my “rewatch and comment” spree, I’ve been pleasantly surprised. Things that had previously stood out in my mind as being particularly not-good are really not that bad. Most were actually really short moments that stood out in retrospect because they seemed incongruous with how well-written and acted everything else was.

Up till season 2, the writers could do no wrong whatsoever. The exact moment I experienced a “well that was overdone” moment of questioning the writers was when Sherlock broadcast a picture of Mary on the outside of the facade in “His Last Vow.” From there, I had moments of doubt and questioning plot and directing choices that took away from the narrative. But, except for the moment John sees Mary die, I never ever questioned the acting choices. The actors are so amazing. And I’m not just saying that because Ben and Martin are hot.

As I prepare to watch the episode, there are several scenes that I dread. Opening with the girl on the airplane reminds me of how much I hated this trick. If the girl is Eurus messing with them, then why do we see it acted out? If we cannot trust that what we see is a reality, then all of the “Mind Palace” theories of TFP (i.e. that it actually took place in a dream or in the head of a character) have some authenticity to them. Ugh.

Damn. I’d forgotten the “Hello. My name is Jim Moriarty” part of the intro. No need for that if the girl is just something in Eurus’s imagination.

Oh shit. I hate hate hate hate everything about this scene of Mycroft.

First of all, there is security in Mycroft’s house.

Second of all, he would have skewered any of those actors with the umbrella sword or shot one of them with the gun.

Why are the paintings crying blood? John and Sherlock couldn’t accomplish that... once we add scary clown it’s just too much. Even for Sherlock.

Oh stop with the heavy-handed East Wind references. Dammit, I loved this show for its subtly. Killer clowns are not subtle, even in pranks.

Now with Mycroft here, in the client position, refusing to sit, with the Baker Street Boys in their chairs - this is what I came for. The light, the look on their faces, the composition of the shot.

Oohh Hudson throwing some shade. John’s half smile...

Is the skull portrait glowing? I can’t tell.

“That’s why he stays!” Fuck yeah. John’s half smile again...

“Middle child. Explains a lot.” As a middle child, I resent that remark. And sort of get it.

So the flashing back and forth in time, with the ashes of Musgrave Hall in the apartment, 5 year old Eurus answering grown-up Mycroft’s questions, the pebble: all of that would be okay, if not a tiny bit less than subtle, had we not just fought a goddamn clown in the scene before.

Oh goddamn. The stupid fucking patience gernade and that song.

Of course Mrs. Hudson vacuums to Iron Maiden.

It’s Sherlock’s turn to half-smile. Cute.

Beautifully shot here with the above view and all three of them at different points on a circle around it.

Ugh. I have to turn away at the “action shot” of them jumping out the window. This is not “Die Hard.” It’s not a cop buddy movie. We just got a really well played, fun little scene where they talked a about Oscar Wilde to avoid talking about the fact that they might die. That’s what I watch Sherlock for.

There was a fan fic written around 2012 that mentions “The Importance of Being Ernest.” Coincidence? Creators reading fanfic? I know Wilde and ACD were contemporaries, but it’s interesting. I can’t think of any other literary works that are alluded to in canon. It’s funny it should be this one.

And now we’ve commandeered a boat. Seriously.

All of the other episodes, I had more patience with on this go-around where I get a chance to type out reactions and reflect on how they are put together. But I’m finding that isn’t the case with this one. I’m just pissed. Give me one or two unbelievable moments or plot twists in an episode and I can sustain it. But between the airplane, killer clowns at Mycroft’s, the patience gernade, and this, I’m already done and we’re 20 minutes in. Sherlock looks like a goddamn vampire bat. And seriously, why does Mycroft need to steal a boat? And write a message in the sand? What the hell? Why dress up?

Sherlock’s security guard act cracks me up.

Oh his face when he sees Eurus. His. Face. Curiosity. Heartbreak. Empathy. Pain. Doubt. Fear. THIS is my show. Not patience gernades, killer clowns, dressing up like a sea captain etc in one damn episode.

She “enslaves” people... magical Eurus who makes people kill their family. Really?!

Oh no. He ignores “Vatican cameos.” I forgot that. He chooses to ignore John’s warning.

His face.... Jesus Benedict can act.

Big bouncy red alert! Okay, what was with the spinning John face when he gets knocked out?

This constant shift between wondering what the hell is happening, wondering if the show has become a parody of itself, and then bouncing back to this heart wrenching narrative — is that the point of this episode? Like “The Empty Hearse” or “The Abominable Bride”? But those episodes explained themselves after they pulled the rug out. As soon as something got to the point of absurdity, it was explained. Sherlock didn’t swing in a window at Bart’s and kiss Molly but we briefly were led to believe he did. Moriarty and Sherlock aren’t really kissing on the roof. (By then we knew what was up though). Sherlock didn’t really attempt to dig up a dead Amelia Rocoletti. We understand it’s a drug-induced dream.

This rapid jumping back and forth with half-assed explainations — I’m coming to believe this off-balance feeling is the point of the episode but I don’t like it. I like it even less than I did before.

Oh Andrew Scott. I love you.

The bastards wait till 5 minutes into the Moriarty scene to tell us it’s 5 years ago. That constant pulling out the rug — I will at least excuse that because there is a plausible explaination given. But it’s a cheap trick. This episode is one cheap trick after another, with only a few moments, here and there, of characters actually interacting.

So it’s late and I don’t know if I have the heart to make it through this whole episode tonight. To be continued....

Edited:

Starting at scene 5 on the DVD because that's when Sherlock sees Eurus for the sort of first time. I kind of just want to bask in Ben's performance here again.

After the last episode, clean-shaven Sherlock in a suit is a relief. He's back... at least a little.

His small smile when he asks her how she got out. . .

I'm realizing how much of this scene had to be Benedict looking directly into the camera and talking to Eurus. That had to be intimidating.

***I've skipped ahead to closer than where I was last night because the small people in my house will want food soon. Parentig gets in the way of fangirling. ****

I still love the Hungry Donkey story.

OH MY GOD! I forgot how much I love Andrew Scott here!!!

Are they making out through the glass?

And now the four of them wake up in a cell but this one has glass. Ugh. The plane again. I love how Sherlock changes his voice here to talk to the girl. He isn't incapable of reading people and reacting to them. He just usually can't be bothered. There’s a fan theory that says Sherlock is autistic. I was going to comment that this skill of his is evidence that he’s not but I stopped myself. He -knows- HOW one needs to act to get people to respond to him, but it’s a learned skill. Which actually might add evidence to the “autism” theory more than the sociopath theory.

Mark Gatiss - I forget what an incredible actor he can be. Whoa.

These scenes - these scenes where they have to apply themselves to a task that Eurus sets for them -- they are so fucking good. Tense and well-acted. I can see every emotion on every actor's face. The rest of the episode should have been better to make it worthy of these performances. It physically hurt watching John try to shoot the governor.

Someone said that Jim Moriarty went from a criminal mastermid to manical Thomas the Train Engine on this episode and I can't unthink that any time he flashes on the screen.

I had a moment, when Eurus was using such clinical language of behavioralism ("prompts") etc that I flashed back onto my life as an ABA instructor. Seriously. I know they are a million miles away but no one watching this would ever think, even for a second, that Eurus was morally right. Why, then, do we do a smiliar thing to autistic children? I had a moment of revulsion then. (Restirct physical liberty and autonomy, make them complete a command that's nonsensical for either reward or aversive. Give prompts. Follow through (deny reward) if one deviates from the prompt). She might as well been saying "Touch table, Sherlock." ("Touch table" is one of the first directives often given in ABA. It's easy to manually prompt (force) a kid to do and helps the kid realize the link between following the requests and obtaining rewards.)

Sorry. ABA rant is slightly off topic.

To be continued in comments ..

[alltingfinns]

Back on my bullshit (somewhat later than previously expected) and finishing the rewatch of A Scandal in Belgravia:

“Thinking about what?” “Your blog counter-“

Is he changing the topic or answering the question? Technically he’s still tasked with the phone although, again technically, it was retrieval of the phone not gaining access to it. Maybe he’s just thinking about John’s blog, it does tend to occupy his mind more than it does John’s at times.

“How can we not know?” John sees himself and Hudson as the ultimate Sherlock experts. Not Mycroft or Lestrade. Could be a meta nod to the narrator and the foreshadower roles they play.

Pretty lady he doesn’t know calls him by name and asks him out and he’s like sure, kidnap away! I know he has a danger boner, but damnit Watson, get some survival instincts!!

Wonder if there’s a point to make us think Mycroft other than “plot twist not dead”. Technically Irene could have been revealed a number of surprising ways without invoking Mycroft, and there’s a callback later to John just wanting to meet at a cafe.

“Sherlock doesn’t follow me everywhere.” Famous words.

“He does that all anyway.” So why do you think he’s heartbroken, John? Why do you think Irene means so much to him?

“I’ll come after you if you don’t.” The classic “if you hurt him” threat.

“Oh I believe you.”

He starts off so calm but by her second refusal to tell Sherlock he’s huffing and puffing. Irene gets way under his skin.

He’s so angry and jealous. I just... the way he explodes out “What do you usually say? You’ve texted him a lot!”

John just cares so much more about those texts than Sherlock ever does.

He just can’t fathom the possibility that Sherlock didn’t reply because he didn’t care.

Now we come to some infamous precise wording from John Watson:

“Are you jealous?”

“We’re not a couple.”

As you know, jealousy in difference from envy, involves an element of possession. Therefor it is usually associated with couples, which John and Sherlock aren’t at this point. At least not officially. But John is possessive of Sherlock, and is sensitive to someone like Irene taking him away.

“I am not actually gay”. John isn’t gay (in the strictly homosexual meaning rather than the more general queer meaning) as we saw earlier with him checking out the pretty lady.

Although thinking about it, that was just after he asked Hudson about Sherlock’s romantic history, so he may have been overcompensating. That’s probably what lowered his guard, the relief of getting to confirm his attraction to women post haste.

“But I am.” She mentions male lovers at different points, but she also uses her sexuality and understanding of others wants in a transactional way. So does she mean strictly-into-binary-women-lesbian or generally queer? It’s placed in opposition (and simultaneously not) to John’s statement, so probably the former.

“Look at us both.” John’s chuckle is a real “you got me there”.

John looks so vulnerable when he realizes what Sherlock just heard. But Irene knows that John isn’t ready to confront a Sherlock who knows how John feels, and uses that fear against him. Who knows what might have happened if John had just pushed through.

Sherlock’s eyes going back and forth indicates he’s deducing while walking. Depending on how much he heard there are two possibilities, 1) he’s trying to figure out how Irene is alive or 2) how John can be “not gay” for him. 1) is unlikely as he surely must have been tight enough on John’s heels to at least have caught the tail end of her explanation, but all options should be considered. With 2) some of you may wonder why he doesn’t need to deduce Irene being into him, because you forgot that she’s been flirting at him non stop.

Sherlock deduces some assholes messed with the wrong landlady.

Ok so how did Sherlock get back so much faster than John? Because you almost think he walked back, but even if he got a cab, why does John take so long? Maybe the fanfics are right and Sherlock is just magically better than John at summoning cabs.

Sherlock is impatient for John to take Hudson away so he can deal out justice without doing it infront of her or leaving her alone downstairs.

“Oh! That was right on my bins.” Classic!

Hudson is so important to Sherlock. Wonder if we’ll ever get their full story?

John smiling at Sherlock’s softness.

Sherlock probably realized there were more than pictures back when the Americans first showed up. Hence why he’s preoccupied with getting into it while John is preoccupied with Irene and what she means to Sherlock.

Oooh! The Netflix subtitles turned John’s “so she’s alive then” to “in other words she lied”. Technically both works, she lied about being dead which is kind of rude.

Also John please.

Drink in hand. “How are we feeling about that?” “Do you think you’ll be seeing her again?”

You know how people are John? I think this is a case of John is people. Irene shows up in one short story, bests Sherlock and leaves to live happily ever after with her husband. He notes that she’s remarkable as the only woman to defeat him and keeps her picture. (Which honestly is no different from how he asks John to remind him of Norbury, he wants to remember his mistakes.) Yet the mainstream view is that she is his greatest love, and people have written books where she returns to have a daughter with him.

Fucking straight culture.

Sherlock sending Irene a happy new year text like “there, John, you see? She. Is. Not. Special!!”

“You think she’s my girlfriend because I am X-raying her possessions?”

Fucking. Straight. Culture.

“They do, don’t they?” If you’re following Molly’s line of thought and thinking of people in love, I hate to break it to you Sherlock. You’ve been head over heels for one sharpshooting doctor for a while now.

Molly’s threatened by how Irene “loves to play games”. That is how John sees it; Irene seems like a perfect female counterpart to Sherlock. His jealousy of Irene is basically an expansion of his jealousy of Moriarty in the previous episode. Both John and Molly worry that they’re too boring for Sherlock.

Sherlock’s look while John details his ludicrously circumventional plan for getting the phone is priceless.

1058 = 2 * 23 * 23 if that means anything.

John’s look just before “Hamish!” is amazing.

Speaking of, his outburst is retroactively so much funnier after Sign of Three. Sherlock having to get ahold of his birth certificate to learn what the H is for, and John just gives it up when he thinks Irene and Sherlock are about to make babies.

Sherlock’s eyebrow. “I had to owe Mycroft a favor John. Do you understand the pain of that? John, I asked you directly so many times. You don’t even like her! Jooohn!”

The focus on John’s mug. Is she directing John’s attention at Sherlock by directing her attention to Sherlock? Is that the play she’s been building up for? (Note that if this was about Sherlock falling for her there would be no reason to involve John as much as she has at this point.)

Confirmed by how his deduction is followed by looking at John first. Since that cab ride he has lived for impressing John with his deductions.

Sherlock’s struggle with placing 007. He didn’t learn it for casework so it isn’t in his mind palace, but he learned about it because of John so it is still lingering at the edges of his memories. Also, been there. When you know there’s something but you can’t place it, probably a rare feeling for him.

Moriarty blowing away the letters with a fart noise. Another classic!

Totally forgot how much drama they put into Mycroft here. It’s more than a failed operation.

Sherlock: “WWII story”

Irene: “Have you had sex? Like, ever?”

She’s hungry, he isn’t. No means no, Irene, no means no.

Is it just me or is it kind of convenient that John isn’t there for the climax? Did Irene chase him away somehow?

Driver’s like “look man, our job is to get you to the airport. We don’t care whatever it is you’re rambling about.”

Wonder what the time lapse here is, seeing as the American intelligence officer (did I forget his name or did we never get it) is up and about.

Best way to let your younger sibling know they messed up, give them a ticket to a haunted house style airplane of dead people.

Well whaddya know? Scenes believed to be completely played for laughs were part of the main plot all along. How very interesting. It’s almost like there’s some thought behind the writing. Like things being played for laughs have something more going on.

This scene is where the parallels to The Private Life become glaring. Mycroft telling Sherlock off for halting an operation by getting compromised by a woman.

“Don’t be absurd.” Again, Sherlock deduced to impress John, so he doesn’t feel described by Mycroft here. Because Irene’s play was too subtle for the Holmes brothers to understand.

Mycroft “didn’t know”. He thought Sherlock would be safe from Irene because he knows Sherlock’s gay, but now he doubts. He doesn’t know that Irene acted through John.

Ahh, six months. That makes sense. Still, the guy should probably still have some breathing irregularity from that punctured lung.

Mycroft’s eyebrow raise at Irene’s demands. That high of a figure, huh?

Moriarty’s name is what turns Sherlock’s cogs. Mycroft helpfully supplies that Jim’s been trying to get his attention. Moriarty was dissuaded from killing him and John by a phone call from someone who had something he desperately wanted, and he was necessary for Irene to use what she had to get to Mycroft. She made the call.

People have mentioned this before but it bears repeating: why are you bringing up John? Also, why are you calling him Watson?

When he says “I know” does that mean he knows that she only made that the code as part of the role she played as being in love with him? He does say “got caught up in the game”.

Which I guess means he’s telling her “don’t method act, you silly”

“Okay, I’m meeting you at a cafe like you wanted.” “Wtf, Mycroft, that wasn’t even your underling I said it to!”

Ffs Mycroft! John was finally starting to realize Sherlock didn’t feel that way about her.

Que the piratelock AUs.

The things going on here. The last minute decision on what to say, opting for the comfortable lie. Sherlock very aware of that in ways John can’t known. “Please.” John somehow still preoccupied with her texts.

I’ve seen at least one fanfic mention that Sherlock probably felt he owed her for the pool rescue. Also he isn’t really inclined towards people dying whatever people seem to think.

The woman. She did beat him. He may have gotten the upper hand in the last inning*, but she did get him to play into her hands. Keeping the phone, means keeping a reminder of his own vulnerabilities.

Because ASiB is spread out over so much time, and someone has pointed out that Hudson wears a dress that is brand new in THoB, this scene takes place after the fireside. (I really should have checked for the dress in ASiB, get a proper timeline.) Maybe he’s laughing because he feels that she taught him to master his emotions.

Next up: My personal favorite of this series. Coming whenever it does. Time is a construct.

*) I’m not even sure what sports has innings. Is it baseball? It’s probably baseball.

[dailymolliarty]

The Mouse and the Spider by I’m Over There: Jim Moriarty gets bored. Molly Hooper gets lonely. They’re just two planets revolving around the brilliant sun that is Sherlock Holmes, drawn in by his gravity. And his light. But everybody needs distractions… 

Song as Old as Rhyme by @wherestoriescomefrom:  Hush, the wind is blowing hard. Be quiet, child, sleep soundly - Or the Dark One will steal your heart. [Beauty and the Beast AU]

Nameless by @wherestoriescomefrom: The first name was expected - even welcomed. The second, on the other hand, left much to be desired. And Jim would never understand what it was about it that was compelling. [Soulmate AU: On one hand, the name of your soulmate, on the other - your enemy. Molliarty.]

The Rose Point Manor:  A young woman struggling in an unjust society takes a break from the theatrics of pretending to be her male counterpart, Mark Hooper, and decides to relax at the quiet but foreboding Rose Point Manor. There she comes to a realization that something far more sinister lurks there than at her morgue back home - Victorian AU

We’re Ancient History:  When Molly Hooper had begun her scientific expedition, she never knew her time on the dig sites would unearth more than the dead.

Forget Me Not:  “This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air.” What happens when two lost souls find each other? Are they still forgotten? - Amnesia!AU

Capture My Good Side: “Photography is all about secrets. The secrets we all have and will never tell.”

Deus Mortis: "You can hide from the devil, but he’ll always find you.“ - Victorian AU

Face Value: “I’m not sure how to describe this nonsense, basically Molly looks good in a moustache and Jim notices.”

Not a Body Farm: Molly really should’ve known better than to download FarmVille on a criminal mastermind’s cell phone, even if it had been a hilarious joke at the time. Since one day she wakes up in a bed in some random farm in the middle of nowhere, and the deed to the property in her name.

Oh God, Not the Westwood!:  In which timid Molly Hooper must hide a heinous crime from a man who likes to watch a murder take place while drinking his morning coffee.

Life Preserver: “Missing you comes in waves and tonight I am drowning.”

Midnight Edition: The Bittersweet: Pop-rocks can be unpredictable. In an instance, a delight to the senses, or startling painful the next - smut

The Bittersweet:  Even delicious things can be sour, at another glance.

Third Date Syndrome: Long bouts of silence and awkwardness on first dates are inevitable, and for the hundredth time Molly wished she was exempted from it.

We’ll Always Have St. Barts: “I wish I didn’t love you so much.” - Casablanca AU

Apex: Molly Hooper thinks fondly of Jim from IT, but can’t get enough of Jim Moriarty - contains smut~

The Parting Glass: After Reichenbach, Molly Hooper is drowning. She receives a package, request and tradition from a very dead Jim Moriarty. She receives nothing but burdens from a very alive Sherlock Holmes.

Rust and Stardust: “The last long lap is the hardest. I shall be dumped where the weed decays, and the rest is rust and stardust.” - Jim is a ghost, and wouldn’t it just figure that he haunts Molly Hooper.

Wild and Precious: “Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” - How Molly fell in love with a ghost, and tried not to waste her life beside him. She failed. - settled in the same universe of Rust and Stardust

Release: Written for the prompt “Jim fucking Molly so hard and so good that she can’t even get a full word out, only moans and half-uttered curses “: In which Jim surprises Molly after work - contains smut~

A Love Outside of Time: There’s a lot of strange happenings at 2945 S Willow Street, shrieks and screams and moans that have terrorized the neighbors and left the house unsold for generations. Can the great paranormal investigator, Sherlock Holmes, exorcise the spirits living there?

Gifts Given and Received: Sherlock ruined Molly’s Christmas gift and Jim is determined to make her holiday better. - ASIB AU, contains smut~

Cabernet Sauvignon: Written for the prompt “Jim’s ready to propose, but wants the event to be special, and so he hides the ring in Molly’s wine. Molly drinks it down too fast and chokes on the ring”: A fluffy slice of life, where Molly makes Jim’s life just a little less lonely.

Power Dynamic: Molly can’t help trying to control the insanity that is Jim Moriarty. A framework for his mind to lean on, a collar to hold him together, a mistress to keep him mostly sane.

Asphodel: “When you need slightly-less-than-legal magic substances, you seek out ‘Moriarty’s Special Imports and Fineries’. A new branch of Necromancy, pathologist-in-training Molly Hooper returns a set of counterfeit goods and receives a job offer in return.” - Fantasy AU

Her beast feature: “As he studied her from afar, Jim thought Molly’s best feature was her neck. He really didn’t anticipate her reaction to Sherlock beating a dead man with a riding crop.” - Molly x Jim, PWP, set at the beginning of A Study in Pink

Junior: So what’s a beleaguered pathologist to do when the UK’s Most Wanted turns up to visit her cat?

Mr Sex: Jim doesn’t ask her what she likes or what she needs; it’s not necessary. But he asks her what she wants - contains smut

Sunday Afternoon: Sleep with Molly Hooper:  Molly canceled their date at the last minute, but no one messes with Jim’s precisely organized calendar and gets away with it.

Why Don’t You Do Right?:  Seb arranges for Molly to get an extra special, early birthday present. Jim gets to learn something new about Molly. And Molly discovers one of Jim’s deepest secrets.

Club Calavera: Downing five zombies doesn’t give Jim the liquid courage he needs to ask Molly a very important question. It only makes him forget that he and Molly are already together.

Happy Birthday, Jimmy Boy: Jim’s never had a good birthday. Molly’s determined to buck the trend. - contains smut

It’s A Nice Day For a [White Wedding]: The wedding of James Moriarty to Molly Hooper can be nothing less than a momentous occasion. In his speech, their best man recounts some of the juicier bits of Jim and Molly’s journey into matrimony.

Cold War: She had to admit Jim was creative. Who else would think to kill three ice cream salesmen from different towns and attach a one-worded note to each corpse, forming the sentence, “Ready to concede?”

My Persuasion Can Build a Nation: In a world where Eurus had a best friend growing up, she doesn’t go to Sherrinford, nor does she turn out as unhinged as she did in canon. However, she’s still Eurus, and her brothers absolutely forbid her from meeting Jim Moriarty. She’ll just have to fix that, won’t she? Also: Matchmaker!Eurus ftw.

What Sober Couldn’t Say: “(11:23 pm) Drinking again(11:24 pm) And since it makes me too sad to go on my blog anymore thanks to you, I figured it’s only fair you become my new place to vent(11:25 pm) You’re probably not receiving these messages anyway so no harm no foul(11:25 pm) Right?” - Molly drunk-texts Jim over the course of several months.

I Wanna Feel Like I Am Floating: “Now the question is…" He vamp-flipped them over so she was lying down and his body was pinning hers. “Should I tie you up and make you take it, or are you going to be a good little vampire and let Daddy have his way with you?” Jim & Molly’s journey: blood-sharing edition.- Vampire!Molliarty AU, s-m-u-t.

Coffin Shopping: Sebastian could only imagine what the other, mostly ancient customers perusing the store must be thinking of the couple in their thirties, bubbling with laughter and fooling around as they ran about in search of the perfect coffin.

Come To Daddy: Jim failed to see how Molly’s physicality could ever not be arousing. The size of her lips did nothing to detract from how amazing she was at sucking cock. The size of her breasts made it no less fun for Jim to cup them in his hands, tease her nipples into hard peaks, suck on them until she squirmed and made those delightful little sounds. - smuttish ;)

Intention: A take on how the brief but unforgettable office romance between Jim from IT and Molly from Pathology began and how it just might become more than just a simple office romance.

An Exchange: Jim Moriarty comes across a familiar face and realises, from just one exchange, that it is not merely Sherlock Holmes that connects them, but a connection of their own.

A Beginning: Jim Moriarty tries to make sense of new waves of sentiment as his office romance with Molly Hooper transits to become something more.

Interruptions: Molly Hooper is made to face a stunning revelation about Jim Moriarty, but it is her reaction that stuns him most.

An Enemy’s Gift: In the pursuit of his greatest enemy, Jim Moriarty makes an unexpected discovery.

On Fanfiction.net:

Life: James Moriarty is in trouble, so much trouble that he fears for his life. He soon learns, however, he has absolutely nothing to fear, not with Molly Hooper around.

Spiders: Molly and Jim have a casual chat laced with hints of their plans, revealing a side to Molly that both surprises and seduces Jim.

(Re)kindle: Jim Moriarty is perplexed at the lasting impression a certain Molly Hooper has left on him. When his rekindled fascination with her meets an unexpected obstacle, an animosity is ignited.

Other fics:

- The Demon I cling to

- The Anatomist

- What Slinks Unseen (one-shot)

- Safety in Small Numbers (one-shot)

- Heart Shaped Buttons  (one-shot)

- I.O.U (in progress, Season 4 AU)

- A change of clothes (one-shot, smut)

- The Uninvited House Guest

- Home is where (one-shot)

- Danse Macabre (one-shot) mine

- Lay your body next to mine (one-shot, mine, smut, dark themes)

- Symmetry (one-shot)

- Kisses for the Devil (one-shot)

- Descend (one-shot)

- Death and the Maiden

- The Number Is (one-shot)

- The Devil’s Own (warning: dark themes)

- Reality of Innocence (warning:smut)

- Gifts (one-shot)

- Thanaptosis (warning: dark themes)

- Pulse (one-shot)

- Yorick’s grin

- Hades (one-shot)

- Gay (warning:smut)

- Oaths, affidavits and Other Lies

- Brain Drain (one-shot)

- Counting Days (one-shot)

- A conversation starter (one-shot)

- Spinning Tornadoes (one-shot)

- Secret Veins and Arteries (warning:dark themes)

- Watching the world burn (one-shot, smut)

- Death and the Maiden

- Unloveable

- Sweet Dreams (one-shot)

- Frozen Feelings

- Forever and Always

- I will burn the heart out of you

- Choke  (one-shot)

- His Dark Mistress (one-shot)

- He saved the last dance for me

- Exsanguination (one-shot, very kinky smut)

- Almost Anyone  (one-shot)

- No Space between Us  (one-shot, smut)

- Brain Drain  (one-shot)

- Between the bars  (one-shot, smut)

- Troubleshooting  (one-shot, smut)

- Falling  (one-shot, smut)

- Knots in this noose of mine  (one-shot)

- Glass shatters softly  (one-shot)

- Victor, meet spoils (one-shot)

- He kindly stopped me  (one-shot)

- Blow the House Down (one-shot)

- The answer is one  (one-shot)

- Strings  (one-shot)

- Heartbeats in the Dark

- The Fox (one-shot, smut)

- Bad Romance

- Lion and the Lamb (one-shot)

- Red Song in the Night

- The Rules Are (one-shot)

- Molly Mine (one-shot, smut)

- Restless Things (warning: very dark themes + Johnlock)

- Intention (one-shot)

- At the End of it all (one-shot, smuttish)

- An Incorrect Deduction

[galactic-academia]

Can I have the prompt 3 ‘Stay with me” with Moriarty please ? 😍 thanks for your hard work you are my fav writer ? ❤️

Thank you for your sweet words, I did my best

Rating: G

Category: F/M

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Relationship: Jim Moriarty/Female Reader

Tags: Imagine, Fake Suicide, Fix-It, Sherlock And Moriarty Need Some Help

Words: 1845

Notes: I’m not a native, please, forgive my mistakes. Gif is not mine. I hope you’ll enjoy it

Masterpost | Ask | Guidelines | Sherlock (BBC) Masterlist

“What the… Ok, could you repeat it more calmly, please?”

The two supposedly geniuses facing Y/N shared a sorry look. They seemed to think the explanations they were giving were the simplest thing in the world, really. Y/N wasn’t stupid, she should be able to understand. Bringing his hands to his temples, Moriarty started again, slower:

“Sherlock and I are not enemies anymore.”

The Detective enchained:

“Jim explained me I had been rigged by my sister…”

“What? You have a sister?”

Sherlock looked at Y/N, puzzled.

“Y… Yes! But it’s a too long story to be told right now. As I said, Jim had been manipulated by my sister to commit all these crimes and…”

“So, there is a purpose to all of this, finally?”

“Could you, please, stop to interrupt me and listen to the explanations you asked for?”

“Sorry.”

“Well. What… What was I saying?”

Moriarty looked positively ready to burst.

“You were saying we’re not enemies anymore because your crazy sister forced me to be a monster.”

“Exact. So, Y/N, Moriarty isn’t really the monster, you see? I have to help him.”

Y/N was very sceptic but, well… Maybe the rest of this explanation would be more convincing…

“And how will you do that?”

“With your help.”

Of course. Y/N wasn’t even surprised, she wouldn’t be standing on the rooftop of Saint-Barts Hospital, stuck between a consulting Detective and a consulting criminal who had deadly played cat and mouse for months if her help wasn’t needed. But, how she would extract these two jerks out of this mess, that still was a mystery.

“So, you suppose me to believe you when you say this man isn’t a dangerous psychopath, because your unknown sister is the dangerous psychopath, and you want me to help you. Tell me, how can I help you? Do you want me to miracle you both away? Preferably far, far away from here, where both of you won’t be such a pain in the ass? On the Moon, maybe?”

“No.”

“It’s simpler than that.”

How can one be as clever as them and don’t understand sarcasm… Another mystery.

“I do hope so!”

“I will phone to John…”

That’s a first bad idea.

“… And make him believe I will jump from the roof…”

That’s so much a bad idea…

“… Because Moriarty forced me to, otherwise, he would kill all the people I care for.”

At that, Y/N throw an outraged glare to the criminal, who started to fumble

“That’s how the plan was supposed to go…”

And that was supposed to excuse everything, of course!

Sherlock resumed his explanations:

“But, before that, he was supposed to kill himself…”

Ah.

“… Since it’s the stupidest idea I never heard in my whole life, we will stop all these nonsenses and do it my way.”

Here, Y/N agreed with Sherlock. How all of this was presupposed to work?

Then, the curly genius turned to his new not-enemy and conversationally asked:

“Are you sure this sister you’re talking about is really this genial?”

Moriarty answered, with a disgusted shudder and a horrified face:

“She is. She is… Horrible…”

There was a moment of hesitation. Then Sherlock spoke again:

“Ok. So, I will shoot in the air to be sure the gunfire is well heard, Jim will scrunch in a pill of faked blood and lie over there.”

For more emphasis, he gestured to a part of the roof.

“I will call John, tell him that all of what Moriarty said was true, then I’ll jump of the roof, then…”

“Excuse me?!”

Obviously upset by being interrupted once more, Sherlock snapped:

“What is it this time?!”

Was he really serious?

“Well, where should I begin? How do you want to make doctors believe he’s dead while he’s not? I know you find them stupid, but they’re not this stupid. Why do you want to tell John you’re really an impostor? Why the f*ck do you want to jump off this bloody roof? And how am I supposed to help you in this madness?!”

Sherlock could have been upset if hadn’t been as happy to show off, even in a moment like this.

“Doctors will believe Jim, here, is dead, because, just before scrunching in a pill of fake blood, he will take another medicine made from rhododendron – I did it myself, don’t forget I’m a chemist – which will slow his pulse until it’ll be undetectable during a good hour. Then, when he will be declared dead, Molly will take care of his “corpse” and help him to escape the morgue. I want John to believe I’m an impostor because I need him to play the game, people must believe Jim and I are really dead, or he will be in a great danger. If I explain him all the plan, I know him, he will jeopardize everything. So: I’m an impostor who killed the man who had made discover the trickery and I committed suicide, according to my sister’s plan. He will be sad… Maybe. But I know someone who will make sure my honour will be restored afterwards. I need your help to exfiltrate Jim from London once he will be out of the morgue. Is this all right?”

There were no words to tell at what point this wasn’t all right! But it seemed Sherlock had been tired of giving explanations because he answered a “All right” at his own question before squeezing Y/N’s shoulder, then Moriarty’s hand, shooting in the air and… Jumping off the roof. All of this in something like a minute. Maybe one and a half. Panicked, Y/N was rushing towards the edge of the roof to see if Sherlock had really been able to challenge the laws of physics when she heard a loud thud behind her. Moriarty, covered with fake blood, had just swallow the rhododendron-of-death pill. The only thing the two lunatics had forgotten to tell her was what the hell she was supposed to do right now! Since she didn’t want to be caught on this roof with a corpse (even a fake one), Y/N decided to go down the stairs as quickly as she could and to hide in the morgue with Molly waiting for her hour. Waiting for everybody except Molly goes out, hiding Moriarty in a mortuary bag, bringing him to the basement, then driving the car as near as I’ll be able to, shoving him in the passenger seat, making a detour by a clothing shop and then… Then…

Y/N didn’t know why she was doing all of this. She didn’t owe anything to Sherlock, they were barely friends, not to mention Moriarty. However, Y/N was oddly happy to know the criminal wasn’t the one he pretended to be, strangely willing to believe there was, at least, a sparkle of humanity within him; maybe more. No one could become this cruel for not apparent reason. There must be a story, a wound somewhere to explain all of it. There must be something to fix, something to listen to, something to understand. Understanding… How most people were ready to judge and condemn before even trying to understand, to put themselves in the place of the person in front of them, was scary. That was a shame. And Y/N didn’t want to be part of these silly people. That’s why she had decided to help the criminal.

Two hours after having lived the weirdest moment of her life, Y/N was welcoming Moriarty in her car: so far, so good. After a stop to a shop to buy some decent clothes to the man, she was quietly driving them both to the address he had given her when he interrupted her thoughts:

“Are you scared of me?”

Y/N take advantage of a red traffic light to turn to examine the man. There was definitely nothing to be scared of.

“No.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Neither.”

“Why are you doing this, then?”

Y/N let out a sight.

“Because I won’t be able to trust you until I give you a chance. Because Sherlock seems to trust you… In his own way. Because I couldn’t let you die for real in the morgue? But if you’re not ok with that, you still can get out of my car. I’m rather tired.”

That was maybe a little harsh. But it hadn’t be a good day and Y/N was sure the criminal had heard and said worse.

“I like you.”

That was unexpected, to say the least. Blushing slightly, Y/N stayed focused on the road and groaned a little:

“Much better for you…”

When they arrived at their destination, Y/N was ready to leave as soon as Moriarty would be out of her car. Another surprise came when, instead of leaving, he started to fidget with his hands and throw a look of frightened Bambi to her. Well… Next time Y/N will step on another dimension, she would be thankful to someone to inform her.

“What is it?”

The words came far less roughly from her mouth than before.

“I… Hum… Stay with me. Please?”

There were countless good reasons to say “no”. Countless. The answer was already on the tip of her tongue when she remembered why she was here. It would be difficult to help him without talking to him, without opening up to him, at least a little.

“Eh… If you want to beat me to death, let me get out the car first, or your seats will be all ruined…”

A chuckle escaped from Y/N lips.

“It looks like your methods, not mine.”

Well, that wasn’t something very friendly to say to a frightened Bambi…

“I don’t know your methods, maybe you’re worse than me? You do understand I’m on the car of a perfect stranger, all at your mercy? I’m the victim there!”

But frightened Bambi wouldn’t make jokes, would he?

“If you’re a victim, I’m a mermaid… And if you answer I am one because I’m half woman, half tuna, I will forget about the state of my seats, I warn you!”

“I never would say a thing as rude as that. Especially not to someone who’s helping me. Especially, especially not to a pretty woman like you. You’re really a mermaid, though, half woman, half goddess…”

Was he… Was he flirting? When he answered to the disbelieving look on Y/N’s face by a wink, she had been sure about it. James Moriarty was flirting with her. And she didn’t hate it…

“Ok, I’ll stay with you a little. But just because I need a cup of coffee to stay up, don’t even think about anything else!”

“If it’s what you want to believe, beauty, that’s ok.”

Another blush made his way to Y/N’s cheeks. That had been a hell of a day, sure, but maybe it wasn’t the weird end of a strange story; maybe it was the very beginning of another far sweeter one.

***

Thank you for reading

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘Repeating History’ Chapter 6: I’ll Find a Way to You

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

.

.

2016

Molly rushed up the stairs to 221B, throwing the door open with such force, it caused Sherlock to jump.

“What is it?” she asked, hesitance in every step she took towards him. He was looking down at something—a photograph, perhaps—and his face showed no emotion other than shock.

“It’s…” he began, “us.” Sherlock felt, rather than saw, Molly hovering beside him.

“Sherlock…” what she saw was their faces staring back at them, the wallpaper backdrop not dissimilar to the flat they now stood in. “That’s us…that’s how I see you in those dreams…is that how you see me?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “My mother sent this to me; she thought we would be interested.”

“Ha!” Molly laughed in disbelief. “Well, this confirms it.”

“We had past lives…as…ourselves?” Sherlock asked. “Strange how past lives are depicted as the same soul in a different body.”

“Maybe it’s one of those star-crossed things,” Molly suggested. Sherlock only frowned in confusion. “Perhaps we wanted to be together in a different life, and for whatever reason, it didn’t work out.” Still nothing. “It sounds crazy, I know, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Preposterous,” Sherlock muttered. “How can this be?” Everything he had known to be true had turned on its head. He focused in on Molly’s face. “Why do you look so upset?”

Molly took a closer look. Most Victorian photographs upheld a serious, unpleasant feel, but Sherlock was right; she looked distraught. “You don’t look very happy either,” she pointed out. He appeared to be uncomfortable. “Something unsettling must have occurred just before the photograph was taken,” she reasoned.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade rushed into the flat. “We found another victim, and it’s much more gruesome than before.”

“Do you need me too?” Molly asked.

“We’ll be alright, Molls,” Greg assured her. “Anderson is on the scene.”

Sherlock groaned at this. Turning to Molly, he said, “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Promise?” Molly asked, a small smile forming on her lips.

“I promise,” he assured her. “I love you.”

Molly opened her mouth to speak the words he so wanted to hear, but nothing came out but a strangled gasp. She closed her eyes in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock molded his hand around her shoulder. “It’s alright. I understand.” A tear fell from Molly’s eye and hit the back of his hand. “I know you love me.”

Smiling at his acknowledgement, she wiped another tear from her eye. “Solve me a murder, Sherlock.”

There was a strong stench of copper and decay in the alley where the victim was found. Sherlock Holmes held a handkerchief dabbed in vapor rub to his nose to avoid the putrid scent.  The victim was definitely a woman, possibly in her early thirties. She was hardly recognizable what with her organs spilling out every which way. Upon closer inspection, there appeared to be scratches all over her exposed bosoms. The only organ that was missing was—

“Where’s her stomach?” Sherlock asked.

“Over here!” Anderson shouted by the dumpsters.

“Her stomach?” Sherlock asked once more.

“No,” Anderson replied, “I found another victim.”

“Jesus,” Lestrade remarked. “Let’s get her out of there!”

The woman had been retrieved from the dumpster carefully as to not disturb whatever clues they could get from her. Sherlock was glad for once that Molly was not here. She was tough, but the grisly scene was nearly too much for even him to handle.

“Seems like the intestines are missing,” Anderson informed them. “Everything else is accounted for.”

Sherlock studied the corpse further. “There,” he pointed below her abdomen. “Her bladder is gone as well.” Their modern day Ripper was collecting organs, but for what purpose? Were organs his consolation prize after committing such a crime? “That leaves the brain and heart.”

“Don’t forget the skin,” Anderson reminded him. “It’s not commonly known that it’s—“

“The largest organ of the body, yes, I know,” Sherlock finished in agitation. Volatile images of a poor unsuspecting woman being skinned alive plagued his mind, making him shudder. The consulting detective was never squeamish, but this case had him feeling uneasy. Perhaps Molly was right; he jumped right into things too quickly after Sherrinford. It was too late, though. Sherlock would never forgive himself if he quit the case now, especially when all of these women had been put through so much pain.

“Calm down, it’ll be alright,” Greg spoke into his phone. “You know he will. We’ll find her.”

An uneasiness coursed through Sherlock’s body. There was a lump in his throat, and he felt as though he was going to be sick. Flashes of a torture scene flickered in his mind. There was a young woman, but he couldn’t make out her features. The street was spinning—no, he was falling—down, down, down.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade shouted, running over to him. It was the last thing the detective heard before everything went black.

1894

Restlessness plagued Molly Hooper for the rest of the night. Her mind was racing after her tiff with Sherlock. What distressed her most was that she was no closer to finding Meena’s murderer. Her father was asleep on the settee in the sitting room, snoring peacefully. She thought of the new friend she had in Mrs. Watson. Molly had only seen her at the hospital a handful of time, and attended to her twice since Doctor Mudgett’s disappearance.

It was at that moment that everything clicked into place. Mudgett disappeared shortly before the murders began…could it be? No. Molly shook the thought from her head. It had to be a coincidence. Sherlock’s hand-me-down words from the eldest Holmes brother entered her mind.

What do we say about coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy.

“Oh, God,” Molly muttered, wasting no time. “I’ll be back, father. I need to see a man about a murder.”

Fastening her cloak around her shoulders, and drawing up her hood, Molly set off for Baker Street. The hansoms had no business running this late, so she knew she’d have to make the trip on foot. With every step, her anxiety grew. Baker Street was only a few streets away; it would take her no longer than twenty minutes. With that knowledge, she picked up her speed, moving at a near-run. No matter what she heard, saw, or felt, Molly Hooper did not stop for any of it. The best thing was for her to keep moving steadily, onward to 221B.

Though it was probably paranoia, Molly felt a pair of eyes watching her the entire time. She nearly squealed with delight was the door to Sherlock’s flat came into view. She shouted his name as loudly as she could muster. Just as her hand reached for the knocker, a cold, clammy hand pulled her back. A bloodcurdling scream ripped from her lips, alerting nearly every tenant on the street. A cloth was being held against her mouth now, making her sink into the inky blackness of unconsciousness

Sherlock Holmes was pacing, his mind moving at speeds he could not fathom. Why did he have to allow his damn pride to get in the way of everything? Why could he not allow himself to give in to the love of the most captivating woman he had ever encountered? Margaret Hooper had put him in his place, and rightly so. He needed to apologise. There was no way around it.

“Sherlock!”

He knew that voice. It was Molly. She came back.

Sherlock’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He ran to the window, and threw it open in an effort to speak with her, but as he did so, a bloodcurdling scream reverberated throughout the entire street.

“Molly?” He searched the street from above, but there was no sign of her.

“Molly, where are you?” he shouted. When no answer came, he rushed down the stairs and out the door, his bare feet hitting the freezing the ground.

“Molly!? Oh God,” he cried, his breathing heavy. “No. No, no, no!”

“Snap out of it!” Mycroft shouted in his mind palace. “Concentrate. Which direction did she come from? In which direction did she possibly go?”

Sherlock scanned his surroundings. She came from the left side of the street if she came from her home. Whoever took her was obviously going in the same direction, but did not take the risk of dragging her down the street. He could have disappeared down an alley for a quick getaway. This madman had Molly, and Sherlock Holmes was going to do everything in his power to save her.

“Lestrade.” Yes, he needed to go to Scotland Yard immediately. A search needed to be organised and soon.

2016

I’ll burn the heart out of you.

Jim Moriarty’s words circled his mind as he came to. The first thing he saw was a bright light, the faces in the room fuzzy. As his sight began to clear, he noticed Greg’s sullen expression. A chilling scream only he could hear came to the detective’s mind. It belonged to Molly. He knew it did.

“Molly,” Sherlock croaked. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

“Kidnapped,” Greg confirmed. “She isn’t dead—not yet. A note was found taped to your door, though.”

Sherlock snatched it, sitting right up in the hospital bed. “Margaret Hooper had morbid humour; too bad she never wed. She fell apart with a broken heart, and all they found was her head.” He felt nauseous, his stomach doing somersaults. “Oh God,” he cried. “We have to find her! Right now!” He thrashed about in the bed, pulling out the IV in his arm.

Nobody argued with him or advised him to stay in bed. They knew what Molly meant to Sherlock. He wouldn’t allow anything or anybody to get in his way. “Ughhhh,” he doubled over in pain, the room spinning. Instead of fighting it, he allowed the visions to come.

The land was familiar, sprawling every which way. In the distance, he could see a manor. There was no denying it. He was at Musgrave Hall, only the outlines of the funny gravestones were visible from where he stood. Moriarty’s voice began singing in his ear, “Sherlock Holmes upon his throne like to slay the dragons. He loved to roam amongst funny gravestones, before he fell off the wagon.”

Gasping for air, Sherlock came to once more. “I know where she’s been taken.” He turned to Lestrade. “Organise a search party. We’re going to Musgrave Hall.”

John Watson woke to a rapping on the door. “Bloody hell,” he groaned. “What now?”

“What is it?” Mary asked tiredly.

“John, please, open up!” Sherlock’s voice called out.

The Watsons were up and out of bed faster than light. John answered the door, noting the anguish on Sherlock’s face.

“Molly’s been taken,” he panted.

“Where?” Mary asked, fear gripping her heart.

“Musgrave Hall,” Sherlock replied heavily. “John, I would normally recruit you for this, but I need Mary’s skillset. It’s too important.”

John nodded. “Of course, yeah. I’ll stay with Rosie.”

Mary was off to get dressed, and returned no more than five minutes later. “Let’s go.”

1894

Funny Gravestones. Sherlock was trying to recall the significance of it. He searched his mind palace, diving into the depths of it, until finally, it occurred to him where Molly could have been taken.

“Musgrave Hall,” Sherlock told Lestrade. “Miss Hooper was taken to Musgrave Hall; it was my former childhood home.”

“Why would he take her there?” Lestrade inquired. “She has no connection to the place…does she?”

Flashes of his now-deceased sister came to mind. There was another girl present too with chestnut locks, her nose upturned just like—

“I,” Sherlock began, “I think I grew up with her…how on earth did I forget?”

They took a hansom cab to the nearest train station, and whilst on board, Sherlock delved deeper into his repressed memories. He remembered Eurus being jealous that he would choose to play with Molly rather than her. Then, there was the day that Eurus had trapped Molly in the well that sat within the woods surrounding his family home. After saving her, Sherlock never saw her again until this year. He hadn’t even remembered her; his best friend from childhood. Then again, he realised, she hadn’t recognised him either.

Lestrade studied the detective before him, noting that he was in deep thought. A sorrowful look came upon his face. “What’s wrong?”

Snapping out of it, Sherlock had the detective inspector repeat the question. “What’s wrong is that I completely pushed away any memories of Molly from when we were children. I have been a right foul git to her. Aside from that, she may or may not be trapped in a well. We have to save her.”

“We will, Sherlock.” Lestrade didn’t show it, but he was afraid they were already too late.

“Somebody help!” Molly shouted into the endless darkness. She hadn’t a clue where she was, but it was dark, cold, and damp. One thing she knew was that she wasn’t outside. Otherwise, she would be pelted with raindrops right now.

A cold, sinister laugh echoed through the room. A man in a bowler hat peered out from the shadows, and into what little light there was. “There is nobody to help you, my dear.”

“Who are you!?” she demanded. “If I am going to die, then you might as well tell me!”

The man stepped closer towards her until they were face to face, his mustache nearly brushing her nose. “The name is Doctor Henry Mudgett,” he replied. “Nice to see you again, Doctor Hooper.”

“You,” Molly gasped. “You were Mary’s doctor; the one that disappeared into thin air.”

He chuckled in amusement. “Yes, but I am known under a different moniker now, Doctor Hooper. I use my mother’s maiden name. I believe that my cousin harbours deep feelings for you.”

Molly looked at him with questioning eyes.

“H.H. Holmes is the name now. I believe you’ve met my cousin, Sherlock?”

[thesleepy1]

Tigers Die, Men Cry

A/N: I couldn’t sleep because this was bouncing around in my head the entire time. I just had to get it out before I forget it or get distracted. Must. Write. The. Angst. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Unbeta’d because of laziness.

-Says the brain tired idiot who finished the fic days after they crashed from exhaustion. I need more caffeine.

Pairings: Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Summary: Sebastian didn’t catch the flu. It's something much, much worse. God save the queen because her kingdom will burn by Moriarty’s hands.

Word count: 3,460

Please proceed with caution.

Warnings: death, grief, aggression, past abuse, mourning, fire, guns, foul language, addiction, smoking, more warnings unlist, more warnings to be added, suicidal thoughts, pass attempted suicide, failed suicide attempt,

Sebastian thought he merely caught the flu. Or at the very least a stomach bug. He had gone out for lunch only to return to his apartment running for the bathroom. The mess he made in there was enough to make morticians cry in their sleep. And to top it all off, he collapsed to the floor before he could even clean up the mess.

Jim almost burned down the building looking for him. He was unable to answer the phone for the second ring and Jim assumed the worst. The crazed man tore through his own home before rushing to Sebastian’s. When the phone went to voicemail once again that was when the gasoline was called in.

“ANSWER YOUR PHONE,” Jim had yelled through the halls, stomping in his new Oxfords before pulling the front door of its hinges. The place had been what Sebastian left it as, barely lived in. Yet there was no evidence of a struggle.

To this day, Sebastian didn’t know why Jim had entered his home. The criminal consultant was too prideful and spiteful to waste precious time ransacking his apartment for his body or some sign that he had left against his view. Maybe, Jim cared about him just a tad more than the rest. Sebastian was dying, he had the right to dream.

Jim had found him unconscious on the floor and instead of helping him to his feet, the man had just kicked his stomach in. The mess had been ignored once more. Sebastian didn’t respond, just subconsciously curled inward in a poor attempt to protect himself. “Get up, or else you’re FIRED!”

No response. Jim kept his cool. The apartment building had not been set on fire, just the first six floors soaked with lighter fluid. A phone call was made and Sebastian was sent to a hospital.

-----

It wasn’t all that bad in Sebastian’s opinion. He just saw it as a long vacation. One that Mortiarty rarely granted him. Sure, it was a pain being tied up to wires and machinery he didn’t have the slightest clue about, but it really wasn’t all that horrible.

There was a little brown teddy bear that Jim had begrudgingly got him from the downstairs gift shop. Sebastian had meant it as a joke, something to get Jim out of his hair so he could suffer alone for a moment. When Jim did return with the little guy with a green ribbon around his neck, Sebastian thought the world must have been ending. The criminal consultant with murder and bloodshed in his eyes tucked the bear next to Sebastian’s side and returned to is post. The fur was surprisingly soft against his stubble. And the ribbon was made from a cheap faux velvet that reminded him of those inner linings of overcoats.

Really, it wasn’t all pain and terror. He had Jim by his bedside.

“Good morning,” Sebastian greeted in a sore tone, his eyes shut but knowing that Jim was right next to him, sitting on his bed.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jim replied in that sweet, caring, hiss of his.

“Did you try to get some sleep this time?” No reply. It was going to be one of these days. Moriarty had yet to rest since Sebastian had been admitted. They were unable to get one of the VIP, luxury rooms in case either Sherlock or Mycroft were monitoring the country’s hospitals. Jim had not been in a compromising mood, wanting the best of the best for whatever reason.

It was just a room.

The insane man had only conceded, if that was the right word, when Sebastian’s state had worsened. According to one of the nurses, Jim only relented when Sebastian weakly called out for help. Not that he remembered any of that. Calling out for help, especially for Moriarty’s assistance seemed uncharasteric of him. It must have been the poison talking.

Since then, Jim had barely left the room. Only if it were a life or death situation and even then he had people stationed in Sebastian’s room at all times. It was a little suffocating, but nice enough to have people who would actually engage in conversation with him.

“Did you have breakfast at the very least?” Sebastian tried again, prying his eyes open. Jim hadn’t stopped shaking either. He was almost always seen nowadays hunched over his phone, trembling where he sat. His fingers moving at light speed, his voice never softening. It was difficult to rest sometimes when there were random bursts of fury from the criminal consultant. But Moran had worked with the man long enough to ignore it as background noise.

“You know the easiest way to shut me up is to let me have a smoke.” Moriarty could change his motivation and intent at the drop of a hat. If he suddenly got bored playing sitting hen with Sebastian he could have him killed with a snap of his fingers. Pleading for a cigarette was not the dumbest thing Sebastian had done.

“I don’t like repeating myself. I told you to stop smoking,” Jim said in a warning, eyes never wavering from his phone screen.

“You also told me I’ll live and I doubt I’ll make it to next week,” he smirked, darkly. The teddy bear was proof that Jim knew the same. Though one of them had accepted the fact, the other was still delusional.

“The anti venom will be here soon. So shut up, or I’ll have you gagged,” Jim threatened, hand tightening over his phone.

“We both know that’s unrealistic,” Sebastian sighed. “It's unreasonable to think something that expensive will happen in a day. It takes time, boss.” Time that he did not have. He could barely feel his limbs as is. His legs had stopped responding yesterday and his hands were losing their nerves. He could just faintly feel the change of fabric between the blankets piled up on his body, but that was if he was trying. “This room is nice and all, but it would be nice if I could die at home.”

“I’ll kill their families if they don’t hurry up,” Jim snapped, body going still at the facts Sebastian had uttered. Because that was what they were, fact. A little vial of some anti venom wasn’t going to bring him back to life. “I’ll skin every SINGLE LAST ONE who did this to you!”

Sebastian let out a horse chuckle that shook his chest. Jim stopped his fluttering hands at that, straining to listen to what Sebastian had to say now. “I hope you have fun with that,” Moran’s lips tugged up into another smile. “Something to keep you occupied while you find a new sniper.”

“Because that was all I ever was to you, right?”

Jim stilled, ignoring Sebastian’s question.

“Do me a favor?” Sebastian tried a different approach. That peaked his interest enough for him to stop whatever he was doing on his phone. “Hold my hand? I don’t have much feeling left in it, I just want to know you’re there.” This was a long shot, but he’s done the impossible before. “I know physical contact isn’t your thing. But nine years without you can make anyone go insane.”

Not expecting anything to come of it, he sunk back into the comforter. Jim was very insistent that he at least had a soft and sturdy bed. The pillows were goosefeathers and the blankets were velvet. His bear with the green ribbon was very comfortable.

Jim did not face him, he set his hand over Sebastian’s. He squeezed his hand in a vice like grip, just enough so Sebastian could feel it. “I order you to stay.”

Moran sighed at that, rolling his tired eyes, “You know I don’t have any control over that.” He rested his chin on the bear. Before he dies, he should come up with a name for the little guy. It was the least he could do. “But I know damn well I don’t want to die here.”

“Where.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, not expecting Jim to fold so quickly. “Glasgow,” he replied with a cough.

-----

The car ride was wonderful. Sebastian suddenly missed his bed and mountain of blankets the moment he was maneuvered into the back seat. Instead of getting in the passenger seat, to everyone’s surprise, Jim sat next to Sebastian. His hand never left Moran’s.

“Stay awake,” Jim commanded, sternly, digging his blunt nails into Sebastian’s skin as if he could feel the pinpricks of pain.

“Don’t want to,” Sebastian articulated, laying his head back on the rest. He had left his bear friend back in the hospital, asking the nurse to keep an eye on the little guy for him. That bear could have come in use, a much better pillow than the cold window.

“If you don’t keep your eyes OPEN we’re going back to the hospital,” Jim yelled in his ear.

Sebastian opened one eye to glare at him. Jim looked worse than he did. His usually slicked back hair was sticking out evenly, his blazer had been discarded and his tie had been thrown onto the seat next to them. His stubble had grown out into an unkept beard, his dark eyes rimmed with red. Sebastian decided to have a little mercy on his boss. “Tell me a story.”

“I don’t do stories, Sebby,” Jim glared right back, urging the driver to hurry with a brief glance.

“Then tell me about your childhood.”

“You mean my lack thereof,” Jim made a clicking sound with his teeth. “What is there to say? That my parents loved me?” The two men burst into a fit of laughter that ended with Sebastian coughing until tears welled up in the corner of his eyes.

Jim stiffed next to him, a sign that the one thing that should not have an effect on him was making him act up. Emotion. Jim Moriarty was actually caring for someone. It terrified him and he did not scare easily. Jim had never been scared a day in his life. He watched Sebastian regain his composure, watching his every breath.

“Fair enough,” Sebastian gave one more moist cough, “Let’s go with something easier. Favorite color?”

Jim shook his head, “Too personal, Sebby. What next? The address?” He rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder, sinking into the odd lukewarm warmth that lingered there. He could feel the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest. “What do you want to know about it?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Jim answered instantly.

“Too quick,” Sebastian smiled. “Nobody likes red. People just say they like red because everyone says they like red.” His breath seemed to hitch when Sebastian closed his eyes for a second too long. “What’s your real favorite color?”

“Why are you so insistent about this?” Jim asked honestly, curious for once about what kind of cogs turn around in Sebastian’s head.

Moran made an odd motion with his neck and shoulders in a mock of a shrug. He stifled a groan under his breath but Moriarty saw through it like glass. “Curiosity. I like to know what you think of things.”

Deciding to indulge him, Jim continued, “Red is overrated anyways.” Sebastian nodded softly in agreement. “And blue is too common to be my favorite. There is blue everywhere. Quite an eye sore if you ask me.” On que, he glanced out the window, watching as they were moving farther and farther away from the large buildings and wholeheartedly dull city.

“Green is a good moderate.”

“It is, but yellow on the other hand is just HORRIBLE,” Jim groaned, causing the driver to flinch. “Normal people might say red is their favorite because of the herd, but yellow? Yellow is for attention. They just want that poor sense of individuality. Nothing likes yellow. Nobody likes yellow. They’re just attention hungry whores.”

“Mine is yellow then,” Sebastian smirked, his eyes dull with sleep.

“You slut,” Jim said in a hushed shout, intimate in nature but rightfully harsh. He shook Sebastian’s side to make him stay awake, but the sniper seemed to be currently contemplating rather or not to leap from the vehicle. “Stay awake,” Jim ordered, digging his nails into Sebastian’s neck and collar. “What other useless information do you want to know?!”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

-----

Sebastian’s childhood home was nothing impressive. It was a one story building with a little overhang that would be overgrown in the spring. His father would make him climb up there, rain or shine and pull the vines off the roof. He had fallen more times than he liked to admit. And each time, there was no one to comfort him or coo at him for such an injury. The young boy was just expected to shake it off and get back to work.

Suffice to say, Sebastian did not have the fondest memories of the home. It had burned down three or so years after he had left for the military. Burned down by accident or by one of his mother’s jealous lovers was still a topic being departed to this day.

So when Moriarty had his driver pull up to the lane, Sebastian had expected a little plot of land ashen gray from the smoke and rumble, the edges overgrown with grass as tall as his knees. He did not expect to see the house as it was. No burn marks, no caved in walls. There were even well tended flowers growing in the path. The place looked like it had never seen a fire to begin with.

“What did you do?” Sebastian sighed in a gravel voice.

“You wanted to die here, fine. But I was not going to stand in a little field of despair,” Jim explained with flair, pushing Sebastian’s wheelchair into the living room. It was just as Sebastian had remembered. The greenish gray couch that he used to dig coins out of, the fireplace that was never used. Jim even managed to recreate the desk that his father had gifted to his mother before things went downhill.

“When did you even find time for all of this?” Sebastian asked with a choked cough that he used to hide the tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“I make do,” Jim explained vaguely, setting the trained killer down in the middle of the room. He stepped out for a moment to return with a flower from the path. “This is what normal people do, isn’t it? Give flowers to people who don’t give a horse's ass what happens when they’re dead? Give me rat’s poison for all I care. I’m dead.” Setting the flower down on Sebastian's lap, he stepped back like he hadn’t just poured his heart out to his sniper. In the only way that Jim knew how, that is.

“I put flowers at your grave,” Sebastian said remorsefully, with what could have been called spite. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You also put a cartilage of bullets in with the boutique,” Jim rolled his eyes, taking a step around the room. Everything had a light sheen of gasoline and lighter fluid soaked into the fabric. The smell was not as bad as Jim had originally assumed. Sebastian didn't even seem to notice.

“Well, I didn’t think you would be happy if I blew my own brains out over your headstone.”

Jim was livid at this statement but hid it well. So well, that Sebastian thought his boss was mad that he didn’t go through with it. “Maybe I should’ve kept a bullet, eh?” he laughed sadly, trying to keep his hurt hidden. He could play if off as a joke if Jim inquired further.

Sebastian looked so small in his wheelchair. He was draped with a thick blanket over his lap to keep his legs warm, his upper half was swadded in two different coats as well as three different shirts. All did nothing to hide his sunken eyes or sharp edges. His hands no longer moved, they were so thin compared to what they used to be. Everything about the sniper was like a horribly altered mirror of his past.

The anti venom would not make it in time.

As the silence grew on, Sebastian wished he could shift in his seat. He felt so exposed being scrutinized by Moriarty like he was now. Despite being on the other side of the room, Jim never took his eyes off of Sebastian. It looked like he was waiting for an apology. For what, Sebastian didn’t have the faintest clue.

He coughed loudly enough to get out of his own head, “Maybe two or three just to have made sure? Seeing as you came back unscaved and all with just the one.” Even he could admit that was a poor jest. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. The same as it had been, minus the cobwebs and bullet holes. “As last words go, mine are not the worst I’ve heard.”

“What was?”

“Something stupid about not fearing pain. Don’t remember much about the bastard who said it, though.”

“And do you?” Jim asked softly that if they weren’t the only two people in the small room, Sebastian might have missed it.

“Do I, what?” he feigned ignorance, glancing at Jim from the corner of his eye.

“Fear pain?”

“Used to,” Sebastian said honestly, feeling his eyes grow heavy. “But after a while, I got used to it. It was what came afterwards that always scared me.”

“What could scare you?”

“Raging, crying, acceptance.” It was Sebastian’s turn to glare right back at Jim. “A pool of blood but no body. An empty casket. The stillness of life like nothing had changed when everything had.” Sebastian wasn’t yelling and that was what shook Moriarty the most. He spoke in such a calm, measured tone. Jim’s own words used against him. “Waiting for something to happen like an abandoned dog.”

Sebastian tilted his head in a mock shrug. “I’m expendable, you weren’t.” He finally looked down onto his lip, counting the petals of the flower. “I didn’t think you were coming back…and accepting that fact….”

“Well, I’m HERE NOW!” Jim said in a loud cheer, throwing his arms up into the air. He looked more bizarre than he usually did. The lack of blazer and tie made him appear insane beyond any sort of control. “So stay and watch me make the world, MINE.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the scene before him. All of it was just ridiculous. His inevitable death, the reconstruction of his childhood home, Jim’s hair without its slick, and his sudden joyful outburst. The consultant criminal knew exactly what to do to make his final moments better. Sebastian could not have asked for a better send off.

His laugh left his open maw and spilled into the space before him, taking up each and every corner it could get its hands on. It was deafening, like a roar that could shake the whole newly built building. Tears streamed down his face, collecting on his jaw and thick stubble from the pure hilarity. He was practically shaking with it.

Then nothing. Silence.

Sebastian’s head fell to the side and stayed there. His face was still contorted into a full on smile, but it was soft around the edges. Calm almost, finally content. Like his laugh had filled the room, the silence was suffocating. His whole body stilled like a statue. If Jim didn’t know any better, he could have passed off the sight of Sebastian’s corpse as the sniper merely sleeping.

But he knew. No matter how forcibly he screamed, no matter which puppet puppeteered, no matter what he did. That man’s eyes were not going to open and recognize him.

Jim didn’t fall to the floor. He was more civil than that. He walked the last few paces to Sebastian’s wheelchair and kneeled down. The sleeping man looked so tired the past few days. Sebastian deserved his rest, Jim could allow him this. Could allow himself to do this.

He rested his head on Sebastian’s lap, bringing his arms around to hug at his waist. Jim traced the exposed skin on Sebastian's stomach, running his cold hands over the scars. Some he put there himself, but most were from long before they knew each other. Moriarty had long removed the memories of the days without Sebastian from his mind.

And not? Now he could allow himself to cry. If only for a second, a hushed moment. Before the home will be set to flame, Jim let himself witness this aftermath.

[dearsherlocked]

Bloodlust - A Sherlock One Shot

Well hello there! 

As you might know - or not - I kind of write in my spare time. I already published a Sherlock smutty fluff a little while back, you can find it here if you wish. 

Abstract: Y/N has come back to London after eight long and insufferable years. Banished from the city by Jim Moriarty, she begs the consulting criminal to let her work for him again. But there is something broken between them and there is this odd synergy that keeps them telling each other the truth... What links them? What happened in the past? To be forgiven once and for all, Y/N promises Moriarty that she will get rid of Sherlock Holmes for good. A question remain: how? 

Pairing: Sherlock! x reader

Warnings: for now, not much. I can’t say for later. 

It was a typical penthouse, more of less, with a clear view on House of Parliament, visible through the big windows as in just like the movies. The Thames was lively, some riverboat ride passed slowly, in which tourists flocked as the tide gradually dropped. The Westminster Bridge was still teeming with people crowded with surge. Some of them would stop to watch a young man perform a magic trick. Some more were photographing the Elizabeth Tower, all imposing under the rays of a sun that was slowly descending on the golden horizon, and if Y/N Y/L/N had not known James Moriarty beforehand, she would not have guessed that he had invited her at this exact hour to add a dramatic touch to the scene. 

It had been a long time since she had seen him and wouldn’t dare to admit she missed the man. But she had exhausted all her resources and would soon find herself in the streets, with nothing but the little black baggage she was carrying at all times with her. She looked around. The surroundings were devoid of any personality. She knew very well that this penthouse served only as a meeting point for the criminal consultant. He was prowling all over the United Kingdom, if not around the world. He was a ghost, more or less. James Moriarty was never in the same place. The cold and almost absent decor of the apartment gave it a sanitized appearance. She thought of what Moriarty's house might look like if he were given a place to live somewhere. Jim would probably pick bright colours, as he would flock the corridors of his home with the most eccentric paintings. Or maybe it would be the opposite? Did his impulsive personality fill his life enough to keep his surroundings sober and colourless? She was scared of what he might do to her, now that she was at his mercy. He was supposed to play dead. He took a big risk, setting up this meeting which meant that all wasn’t lost, at least for now. She could have hope. 

'Ms Y/L/N' said a voice nearby, interrupting her reverie. She turned around to follow her interlocutor. A man was standing straight in front of her, with an imposing posture. He looked at her harshly, waiting for any reaction from her. But she did not fear him; she had seen others, scarier, bigger men. ‘Is Jim coming or is he going to keep me waiting forever?’ She asked.

'Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet!' Exclaimed a voice behind the guard. This voice, Y/N could have recognized it among a hundred others. James Moriarty’s dark eyes lit up against the creeping sun of the room. This lost look in the infinite abysses, those eyes that said everything and did not say anything simultaneously, reflected the unstable personality of the character in front of Y/N. Because Jim Moriarty was a character indeed. He never allowed any facet of truth to emerge on the surface. He alone knew himself as nobody could. His many characters may have been part of his soul, but Moriarty was not part of any of them. As if he was able to divide his mind into many entities, only punctually suggesting some facets of similarity to his own individuality.

'I heard you were looking for a job,' said Jim, confident. The sketch of a mocking smile was drawn quietly to the corners of his lips. 'I'm flattered.' Y/N remained impassive. 'Tell me, Y/N, given how things ended up on the last job I got you, what makes you think I have something for you now?' Y/N shrugged.

'I guess you love me?' She suggested, without restraint, nonchalantly. She tried to decode the expression of the man in front of her. He beamed at her for a long time and behind those glassy eyes, Y/N felt herself engulfed into these bottomless irises. ‘God help me, I do,’ he replied calmly. He pointed his right hand at his face and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He raised his face and then smiled at the young woman. 'But I made you a promise a long time ago. Do you remember the promise I made you?’

How could she forget?

'Do you, Y/N?' Jim added, his eyes darkening, his voice softening. If looks could kill, Y/N was sure she would be dead by now. 'Yes.' 'And despite this promise I made -' he paused, took a deep breath and closed his eyelids gently. '- You show your face here.' 'Jim-' 'Do not Jim me!’ he burst. ‘You know it doesn’t work’ he added, calmly now. Y/N closed her eyes. Maybe it was a mistake. She had made the promise not to return to London. For years she had stood firm, honoured Moriarty’s order to make herself small in this big world. To be forgotten. Why did she think things had changed?

'How's being dead going for you?' She asked, changing the subject. Jim looked confused, a fraction of a second away. 'So good’, he replied with confidence, expiring at once, as he was relieved. She nodded. ‘I can do so much more now.’ ‘Any plan for a resurrection soon?’ He was certainly not going to reveal his plans. Not to her, nor to anyone. He just stood there, speechless, observing her. Studying her. 'You took a big risk, you know?’ She added. He raised his eyebrows, confused. 'Hiring her. She could have messed up on that rooftop.’ 'I had complete faith she would not miss.' 'She hated you.' 'Yes.' Y/N sighed. The conversation was going nowhere. She had to argue her case quickly, otherwise the giant behind Jim would not have any trouble taking her somewhere where she would be forgotten forever. 'I need the work.' Jim scoffed. 'What work?' 'Anything. Give me a kill list, anything will do. Just give me something.' She paused. ‘Please’ she begged.  ‘You're not worth my time, I'm afraid,’ Jim replied, looking at his watch. He turned his back. ‘I always was your best shot! Let me get rid of Holmes!’ Jim stopped. Even from behind, Y/N could guess his surprise. 'I can burn him, for once and for all. I’ll do it, Jim. You know I’ll do it for you.' He turned, slowly, letting each muscle move his body almost in slow motion. He put his hands in his pockets and walked towards her. 'Put me back in the field. Let me get near him. And if I succeed, just let me come back home.’ He looked surprised, but amused. Did she just dare her life to him? ‘And if you don’t?’ he asked. Y/N paused and stared at him. ‘Then you'll keep your promise. You get rid of me.’ Jim looked at the young woman. He put his face close to hers, watched her intensely. It had been a long time since he had looked at her like that. Ages. This feeling of closeness was lacking, she had to admit. With Jim in her life, she felt powerful, safe from everything. Protected from any threats. Moriarty finally took her head in his hands. The two beings looked at each other tenderly. Finally, he approached his lips and kissed her forehead. ‘I envy you, you know.’ Still staring deeply into her eyes, he kept talking, almost whispering, with a soft voice. ‘I admire your confidence. You think you’re the girl for this job. I’m moved. You’re so naive. Always has been.’ ‘Jim…’ He pressed his forehead against hers. ‘But I guess we can try. I have to admit, it’s a win-win for me. You succeed, I am thriving. You fail, I’m getting rid of you! It’s settled then,’ he laughed.  He undid his grip and started to walk away. ‘What’s settled? Jim! What is settled?’ she repeatedly shouted at the man. He stopped by the door and smiled. 

‘John Watson works at the Royal Hospital now.’

Y/N sighed. ‘Does he?’ 

‘You’ll hear from me soon, Y/N.’