Sherlock preferences

moriarty - Anorexia oneshot

A/n- I remember seeing a comment a while ago where someone wanted one of these chapters for every character I do. I am happy to oblige. Once again, however, I do administer a trigger warning. I do not take this subject lightly and if anyone wants to talk to me about anything, feel free to privately send me a message on my page. I am a very good listener/advice giver in these sorts of situations xxx
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You felt your body quiver against the cold leather of the chair you perched in.  The cold brought you comfort... The cold was your friend. It was a reminder that you hadn't consumed a proper meal since Christmas Day; even then, you were successful in concealing the fattiest foods in your napkin and discreetly dropping them for the dog. Your knees were brought up to your chest and tucked away under the huge jumper which hing over your frame like a cloth shielding a marble statue in a museum. In many ways, you were like a statue. Your skin was cool and completion a milky white. The only thing that was different was your figure... You traced your elegant fingers across your stomach, unable to feel it's concave structure. You pinched at the skin and winced with disgust.

You sighed deeply as you scanned the room. The skeletal backbone of your Christmas tree seemed limper than usual; it's sad needles dropping to the floor in scores. Jim was meant to throw it out today but he was busy with a triple assassination... Suddenly, you heard the familiar clink of brass in steel and Moriarty pushed open your front door. His suit hadn't faltered an inch from when he left the house. It's straight, pressed seams and edges still clung sophisticatedly to his thin frame. That word swam around in your head.

Thin...

"So, beautiful" Jim purred as he dropped down onto the sofa beside you "how has your day been? Have I missed anything interesting while I've been away?" He leaned closer to you, attempting to grasp your waist but you pulled away with a sharp intake of breath. Your chest tightened like an iron corset round your ribs, threatening to shatter and puncture your heart.
"What's wrong gorgeous?" Jim investigated, eyeing up your face, trying to gauge what was wrong.
"Nothing. I'm fine" you lied, unconvincingly as Jim tapped his palms on his lean thighs and tutted in thought.
"I bet you're just hungry! I'm absolutely starving a triple assassination never fails to work up an appetite" he grinned with a psychotic suaveness which brought a golden hue to his otherwise Ivory skin. You gritted your teeth and swallowed nervously before stuttering
"Yeah... That's it."
Jim instantly hopped up and grabbed his phone
"Chinese good with you?" He asked casually as he swivelled his hips, throwing his phone from one had to another, showing off his delicate wrists as they emerged from his suit sleeves.
You could do nothing but nod submissively as he dialled the number
'No...' You thought to yourself  'no, no, no, no, no!...'

- 15 minutes later -

Jim took a whittling knife from his pocket and allowed the blade to flutter briefly under the kitchen lights before using its sharp edge to slice open the card packaging. He poured a good pile of noodles onto a plate and slid it towards you, smiling. You poked at the pile of food in front of you. The oriental aroma caused tears to prick up behind your eyes and a hint of bile to bubble at the back of your throat. You were floundering and you knew it... You tried to bare it for as long as you could but when your body began to physically wretch from the thought of inhaling all those calories, you fled to the bathroom. As you ran, you you heard Jim call out your name:
"(y/n)? (Y/n)! Are you alright kitten?!" The hollering was soon muffled by the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut. The beating of your heart in the silent bathroom rattled round your chest. Dragging across your ribcage like a snare drum. You threw off your jumper, ripping it slightly as you frantically shed the cashmere. Your yoga pants went too, they were thrown to the floor as you pulled the scales out of the sink cupboard. Your mind was buzzing with thoughts as you stood on them
'112?... Still?... But, I was 119 last week... I've only lost 7 pounds?...'
Your internal monologue was so overwhelming that you barely heard Jim knock against the door.
"(Y/n)? Are you ill? Can I come in?" You gasped and heaved your weak body up against the door as a barrier but as he spoke, you hesitated for a moment, just a split second, but that was all your boyfriend needed to push his way in. The sight he was met with struck him down. Through the blinding light, stood no longer a renaissance goddess but an impressionist interpretation. Jim could do nothing but stare at your body -which really did not help- and bring his hands into a loose prayer position across his mouth, swallowing with a terrified weakness.
"Stop looking at me Jim..." You spluttered as the pricking tears permeated their way through, saturating your cheeks with a faint rosiness which had been absent for a good few weeks. "I know, I'm hideous.."
Jim said nothing initially, he just approached you, arms outstretched, ushering you into his embrace. His arms cradled your fragile body, rocking you from side to side and caressing the ribs which you had convinced yourself could not be seen. Smoothly, he began to speak, his warm Irish voice burning your ears like whisky burns the throat.
"What are you doing...?" His purr was almost fringed with desperation as he latched eye contact with you. Your bottom lip began to quiver as he gave a sympathetic half-smile.
"I can't help being fat Jim..."
Your boyfriend sighed a long, saddened yet understanding sigh and further entranced your gaze.
"This again?... What's this? Your third relapse?... I know this is mainly my fault. I should know the signs by now I'm sorry..."
Your tears began to increase now, dripping off the bridge of your nose and onto his Westwood suit.
"No! Jim don't you dare blame yourself. You can't change how I see myself... And how I see myself is fat..."
Jim felt crushed at the statement. His harsh, ruthless reputation began to melt away as he cradled you tighter, cupping your small waist and not disconnecting when you flinched. His touch flooded you with fear and warmth simultaneously and you couldn't help but smile just a little.
"(Y/n)... I know this isn't going to 'cure' anything but, I'll say it again... You, are the most gorgeous, beautiful, stunning, intelligent, talented, brilliant woman I have ever met -and pretty skilled with a machete if I may add-" he winked cheekily and continued "I know I can't stop this on my own, neither can you. We need each other!... If, at the moment, you see yourself as fat, fair enough... But I have to tell you that the image you have if yourself is not true in the slightest! You are thin! But no less of a woman to me..."
Jim's gentlemanly nature was oozing from every pore and made you feel secure and loved. His smiling face infected yours and, even though he had not altered your perception of yourself, your mindset and shifted.
"So... You don't think I'm fat?..."
"I KNOW you're not kitten" he whispered in your ear, his warm breath sensually pricking up the hairs on the back of your neck. "And I would go to the ends of the earth to prove it to you."
Jim them stood back a little, unbuttoning his suit jacket and slinging it over your shoulders. His secondary warmth radiated through your body like a heater in mid-winter.
"Come on... Let's go and watch a movie. I'll let you put your clothes back on first though." You giggled as he raised an eyebrow and smiled holding up your oversized cashmere sweater.
"Thank you Jim..."
"No problem beautiful..."