"Tell me again what's going to happen?" you asked, wringing your fingers together.
"On this show? Well I don't know, they're just a group of friends and-" He smirked at you, now standing with your arms folded and face not letting up a smile. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Jesus (y/n), how many times do I have to explain it to you?" he asked, raising his voice enough to cast some guilt into you. His arms rested on the top of the couch, a beer dangling from his hand half full. He must've felt you staring, and he turned to look at you. You saw it, the fear reflecting behind his black eyes.
"Until you tell me this won't end in something bad happening to you!" you yelled back, the last of your walls breaking down, allowing the floodgates in your eyes to finally open and be released. Within seconds he was by your side. He didn't touch you though, not at first. His breath hung heavy between the wall of your hair covering your face and his crooked stance.
"I can't lie to you," he said, finally reaching out and touching you softly. "Look at me, please."
"No, I won't, I can't," you said, wiping your eyes. "You look like him right now, you're acting like him, you are him."
"I'm who?"
"RICHARD BROOKS. YOU'RE NOT MY JIM MORIARTY, YOU'RE RICHARD BROOKS! I don't even recognize my Jim in there anymore!"
You stepped further away from him, but he followed and wrapped his arms around you from behind. You stopped fighting his grip around you, and instead leaned into it. At least he felt like your Moriarty. You both stood in silence, that is until a chuckle escaped from his lips, high pitched.
"Why are you laughing?" you asked.
"Because this act has gotten even to you, I guess I'm just that good." You finally snuck a glance at him, and there he was, back again. The craziness was back in his eyes, and he had set down the beer. And oh, there was the high pitched laugh again. He was back.
"Don't do that anymore," you said, shoving him off playfully. "It's scary how fast you can change your persona."
"Scary or sexy?" He smiled cheekily at you and you rolled your eyes, even though you secretly loved it. "Hey, you're the one who said you wanted Jim Moriarty, well here he is." He raised his hands above him, and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around his neck and tousle his already untamed hair.
You two swayed together, lost in the moment with each other, until your stupid mind had to remind you of the stupid thing you were trying to forget about.
The possibility of his death.
You buried your face in his neck and he sighed, making his body reverberate beneath you. "Like I said, I can't lie to you. It will be dangerous." You clutched onto him tighter. "But the guys are surrounding me, just to make sure. And baby," you looked up at him, "it's Sherlock Holmes. There's nothing to worry about."
You nodded, only slightly understanding what he meant by that. You knew he had outsmarted Sherlock Holmes before, so there was a high chance he could do it again easily. And then he would be back in your arms, safe and sound.
That night you went to bed with your limbs tangled and hearts beating together, like it was your last night together. For all you knew though, it could be.
~
The next morning, Jim was up and out of the house before you had woken up. You made yourself tea to calm the nerves already building inside you, but it didn't help. The day moved slowly. You killed 3 people, one was even an ex boyfriend of yours who had recently turned his life around and become a good person, but that still didn't help.
Finally the time came, and you got into the cab that waited outside your house, and you rode it all the way to the designated destination - a building diagonal from St. Barts. One of Jim's men met you outside and took you up to your seating area. There you waited for the show to start, with shaking legs and sweaty palms. Finally, you saw them, up on the roof. You were offered binoculars, but you refused them as you had your eye set on Jim and didn't want to take your sight off of him for a second.
The seconds felt like hours in passing. You didn't hear anything, only watched them standing and circling around each other, presumably sharing banter. Then they moved closer, and you noticed that Sherlock had a couple inches over Jim, but you weren't worried.
"What are they doing?" you asked, watching them as they shook hands. "Is it over? Is he safe?"
Boom.
Something like a water balloon had popped up on the roof, and you let yourself believe that's what it was. A plain water balloon. A joke. A prank. A game. One figure stood standing on top of the building now and you let yourself believe it was Jim, your Jim. You ignored the fact that the figure was tall and had curly hair. You imagined Jim coming through the doors of your room any second now to hug you and kiss you and tell you he had won.
You hadn't noticed then that you were crying, or kicking the floor, or punching the wall. You didn't feel the scratches of his name that you left on yourself or the bite marks on your wrist or the tufts of hair in your hand.
Hands grabbed at you when you tried to launch yourself out the window, intent on going up to the roof and ending this stupid game of his. He wasn't dead. If he was, then you would be dead. There was no you if there was no Jim. Last night he had been so happy, so positive. And he had said that he couldn't lie to you.
Ha.
He had lied. He had lied about not lying to you. He knew he was going to die, and he didn't tell you. Your vision was red with anger and love and blood. You hated him for leaving you and loved him because how could you not? You screamed his name again and again, every fiber in your body joining in on the chorus. You felt lost, if that was even the right word to use. There was no way to describe the hole burning in your heart.
That night his men took you home. They were there to wait on you hand and foot, and you realized that they had known all along, and that Jim's last orders were to probably take care of you. You asked for a bottle of the strongest stuff, and that's what you got.
That night you drank. You drank until the characters on the TV were blurry and until you could feel the heat of Jim's body pressed up next to you on the couch. You drank until you heard his high pitched laughter and tenor voice, explaining the TV show to you again. "They're just a group of friends..."
A/N
HI I'm not dead unlike Moriarty!!!!!!!!
Sorry that was horrible of me to say lol.
Mumsy misses you guys. Mumsy loves you all.
BUT MY WIFE (YOUR STEPMUM) IS BACK @myfirstnameisagent SO YOUU CAN BET IM HAPPY AS SHIT!
And mumsy is literally in love with this guy... YOUR DADDY
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
GUYS IM REREADING HARRY POTTER AGAIN AND AHHHH I JUST FEEL SO AT HOME. (Where my potheads at?)
Random: When/if you retire, how do you imagine you'll spend your days? (Playing bingo and traveling and hanging with my fellow elderly. Also motorized wheelchair or scooter races would be fun! And bean bag baseball!)
"Don't get it right, get it written." - AllyCarter
