Welcome to the Mind TARDIS! ON HIATUS!!!
I've got a prompt. I've seen many a fic where sherarity happens and turns Sherlock to the dark side. Now I know that it sounds silly and is highly unlikely, but can you write a sherarity fic where Moriarty ends up turning good?

(Hmmmm I can have a go! I haven’t written Sheriarty in aaaages! Thank you for the prompt - hope you like it!)

Jim lay in his bed, a cigarette between his lips, the smoke curling and undulating up towards the ceiling. The window was slightly open, and the cool night air felt good on his bare chest. Sherlock was sleeping soundly next to him - the detective was curled up like a little cat, breathing softly and infrequently. It really was like watching a pet sleep - one second you think they’re dead, the next second they breathe and you’re relieved. Sherlock didn’t often sleep, but when he did, Jim liked to watch him. It was relaxing, seeing the erratic man be calmed by something as simple as sleep.

Jim took a long drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the bedside table. He paused for a second, letting the smoke out of his lungs in a long, slow stream, then swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. He didn’t want to sleep - his brain was too alive for something so mundane - and he didn’t want to watch Sherlock either. Instead, Jim crossed to the window and closed it, just for something to do. He ended up staring out at London, watching the tiny cars flash past with beams of light streaking behind them.

If he squinted, he could just about see Buckingham Palace, right over in the distance, along with Big Ben and the Eye. Following a random road, he eventually saw the Yard, then Hyde Park, then Baker Street, where he was confident in knowing that John Watson was sleeping soundly in his own bed. Jim smirked. He wondered if Sherlock missed his little toy. He doubted it.

Jim only looked at Baker Street for a second. He followed the road right towards his own block of flats, eventually ending up staring at his own face in the reflection of the window. For a moment, he didn’t recognise himself. He looked too happy, too positive to be Jim Moriarty. Moriarty was a cold, ruthless killer - a man who had killed his first victim at merely 13 years old, a man who had done untold things to be in his current position. But this was Jim staring back at him - the Jim that wanted to shed the Moriarty exterior and be someone he’d never been. A proper human being.

Jim whirled around to face Sherlock, who was still sleeping. He shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of those contaminating thoughts. He was Moriarty! He would always be Moriarty! That was his life, that was his purpose. To be a criminal, to devise schemes and plots, to be, as he was so often called, the Napoleon of Crime!

Jim paused. He knew that was his fate.

So why did it make him so sad?

Sherlock stirred under the covers. He rolled onto his back, blinking his grey eyes to get rid of the drowsiness. “Jim? Are you alright?”

"Fine." Jim snapped. He caught himself, took a slow breath, then replied normally with a smile: "I’m fine."

If prompts are open I've got a holiday one for you... I the vein of Dickens "A Christmas Carol" can you write Moriarty as Scrooge?

(I can’t even with this prompt. I had so many ideas for it, but this one kept coming up… sorry if it’s not what you’re expecting. Hope you like it!!)

At first, Jim thought that one of his prisoners in the basement had escaped. A rattling of chains shook him from his sleep, and a cold, icy wind blew across the room despite the windows being shut. Jim groaned, glancing at his alarm clock – it read 12 o’clock. Midnight. Jim sighed, muttered something about insomnia, and promptly went back to sleep.


Jim sat up again. “Who’s there?” he reached for the gun under his mattress.

A bright white light appeared before him, morphing quickly into a human shape. The body got clearer – it was a corpse, the twisted face grey and distorted. Water dripped from the body, only to disappear before hitting the floor. The ghost looked no more than thirteen years old, but it moved and sounded as though it was much older, and as it moved towards Jim, it waved a bundle of chains in its withered hands. “It is I, Jim… Carl Powers… the boy you drowned!

Jim frowned. “Carl?”

That’s riiiight…

“Wait, hang on… If I drowned you, why do you have chains in your hands?”

'Carl' paused. “You want to worry about technicalities? A ghost has just appeared in your room, and you want to worry about props?

Jim smirked. “Alright. Why are you here?”

I am the ghost of your past…” ‘Carl’ announced ominously. “I’m here to show you the true meaning of Christmas…

“Um… this is unnecessary. I know the meaning of-”

SILENCE!” Carl boomed. “I am going to take you to the past, and show you the error of your ways!”

Jim’s vision went white – he felt the bed disappear from beneath him, ‘Carl’ grab his arm, and his feet land on a smooth, slippery surface. His vision cleared, and he could see the pool where Carl died. He smirked.

“I remember this place. Did you know, I came back here about a year ago with some friends. Well, I say friends-”

SILENCE!” ‘Carl’ roared.

“Touchy.” Jim raised an eyebrow.

The door to the pool opened. A small, black-haired boy of about thirteen wandered casually into the pool, his hands in his pockets and a twinkle in his eye. A larger boy – Carl – followed behind him, looking wary. Suddenly, the smaller boy – now recognised as a younger Moriarty – whirled round and injected a syringe into Carl’s arm. He kicked Carl into the pool, holding his head under the water until the bubbles stopped.

“Wait!” Jim frowned. The scene before him froze, and he turned to ‘Carl’. “That’s not what happened! We were in a class of people – it was much cleverer than this!”

This is how I remember it.” ‘Carl’ pouted. “And anyway, it still demonstrates a point. You must change your vile ways, Jim! Many others will be hurt – Sherlock and John and Moran and-

“I get it.” Jim rolled his eyes. “If I say that I’ll stop, will you leave me alone?”

Well, yes, that’s how this works.

“Good! Then I promise not to murder anyone else.”

'Carl' grinned. “Excellent! Then my work is done.

Jim’s vision went white again, and he found himself in bed once more. ‘Carl’ was gone. Jim grinned up at the ceiling.


I have been waiting for you to reopen prompts. Here is my super special prompt. The doctor and rory land on mars and make out or something. Okay jk jk but I couldn't resist. My prompt for real is Moriarty is shot (non-fatal) and Molly is patching him up. (I ship them. I ship them so hard. Luna I ship them so hard that tit almost hurts.)

(Damn, I like that first prompt ;) BUT YES JIMOLLY 5EVAR! I adore their relationship – I wish we could have seen more of it in the show :/ oh well :) I hope you like this!)

Jim staggered to the front door, clutching his bleeding arm with his hand wrapped in a blood-stained handkerchief. His vision swam as he gently let go of his arm and pressed the flower-decorated doorbell three times urgently, clutching his arm again quickly. Jim scowled at the door. Tonight had been a bloody – literally – disaster, and he wanted to punch, set fire to or kill something just to stop his head swimming. He leant his back on the door, breathing the night air deeply – and the door opened almost instantly, making Jim fell backwards into the hallway.

“Jim!” Molly gasped. She frowned down at her boyfriend. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

Jim pouted at her. “Just help me up, Moll.”

Molly chuckled and bent down to pull him to his feet. “What happened?”

“Ugh.” Jim spat. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s tragic, really.”

Molly laughed. “Alright. Go sit down. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Jim nodded and shuffled to the living room, sitting slowly down onto the sofa. He sprawled across it, careful not to bump his bleeding arm, and stared at the ceiling, waiting for Molly. The room was nice and warm – Jim felt his eyelids slipping, and forced himself to stay awake. If he fell asleep now, he might bleed to death, and that would really annoy Molly when she had to clean the sofa. The girl in question walked into the living room with a small green box, tutting at Jim’s pose.

“Sit up straight.” Molly sighed. Jim complied. She sat next to him and started sorting through the kit. “How did it happen?”

“Some moron got in the way.” Jim moaned. “Seb must have been asleep or something – God, I’m going to kill him when I get home! I was right there, Seb on the building opposite. I was negotiating with my mark, about to close the deal – and BANG! Some idiot decides to shoot me. Me!”

Jim hissed as Molly pressed a ball of cotton wool onto the wound. She pressed down hard on it, smiling slightly as she said: “And the mark got away?”

“Obviously.” Jim sighed. “Now I have to start all over again.”

“Did you see who shot you?”

“No, Molly, I was a little busy bleeding to death.” Jim growled.

Molly lightly slapped his hand. “Don’t be a drama queen, Jim. You’re going to be fine.”

Jim stayed silent, glowering at the floor. Molly took away the cotton wool and started gently wiping the wound clean with a tissue, making sure most of the blood was clear before putting another cotton ball onto the shot and wrapping a bandage around the skinny arm. Jim watched her work with dark eyes.

“I’m glad I chose you.”

Molly raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m glad I chose you to be my confidante.” Jim smiled. “You’re useful.”

Molly grinned. “That’s the closest I’m ever going to get to a compliment, isn’t it?”

“Correct. Cherish this moment, Molly Hooper.” smack! “Ouch!”

Johniarty! When John gets abducted and brought to the pool, Jim tries to convince him to join his side, and is both furious and surprised that he denies him vehemently. He's used to getting what he wants.

(Second prompt of the day because I’m a lazy arse that has writers block. Oops. :D thank you so much - I hope you like it!!)

John groaned, the bright light hitting his brain badly as he opened his eyes. His head felt groggy, his limbs heavy, and he could smell a strong scent of chlorine wafting in the air. His hands were tied with a thick cable behind his back, and his chest felt compressed - a bomb jacket? Holy shit. The bomber. John tried to move his head, but his cheek connected with a cold metal blade - his eyes flicked up, and John’s blood ran cold as he saw a man standing before him, grinning manically. 

"Hello, Johnny boy."

John groaned quietly. “Who are you?”

The man looked hurt. “I’m offended! You don’t remember me?”

John’s vision focussed - the man was dressed sharply, like the knife in his hand, his hair slicked back and his jacket perfectly tailored. His face was familiar, but John couldn’t place it - had he been at St Bart’s with him? He was about his age… older than Sherlock, but still looking quite young… John shook his head.

"Can’t remember you."

The man sighed, dropping down to sit on his haunches. He lazily trailed the knife across John’s jacket, avoiding the ominous wires that poked out from the chest. “My name is Jim. Jim Moriarty.”

John blinked. “Jim from the hospital?”

Jim grinned. “There we go! Clever boy.”

John’s skin crawled at the lilting voice. He tried to stand up, but the knife was instantly at his throat.

"Stay down, boy." Jim warned. "You’ll hurt yourself."

"Where are we?" John ground his teeth.

"You hang around with Sherlock Holmes." Jim smirked. "Can’t you deduce that?”

John rolled his eyes. “I hang out with him. I’m not actually him. Oh, and he’s going to be furious when he finds out where I am… wherever this is.”

Jim leaned forward, taking the knife away from John’s neck and slipping it into his pocket. “Do you know who Sherlock is? Really?”

"Yes." John smiled. "He’s my friend."

Jim’s mouth twitched into a genuine smile. “Oh, Johnny! You make me laugh.” he sat down properly, crossing his legs and facing John like a child staring at his teacher. “I could be your friend.”

"No chance."

"Aw, you’re no fun." Jim pouted. "At least let me try and persuade you.”

John smirked. “No thanks.”

Jim glanced at his watch. “We have about fifteen minutes before Sherlie comes to collect you. We might as well talk the minutes away.”

"There’s nothing to be said."

Jim sighed, leaning back on his elbows. It was oddly sensual, the deep dark eyes glittering at John from a seductive vantage point. John gulped, glaring at the tiles on the floor. Jim smirked.

"Enjoying the view?"

"No." John growled. 

Jim laughed, then turned serious. “You could join me, you know. Leave Sherlock. I’d like that, actually.” Jim mused. “A good marksman, and a good doctor too. You have heart, John Watson. A rare quality in people these days.” Jim sat up properly, his eyes boring into John’s skull. “Join me.”

"I’m not joining you!" John barked. "Get off your fucking high horse and leave me alone!"

Pause. Jim’s eyes stopped glittering - he crawled forwards, his top teeth bared like an angry dog. He pulled the knife out of his pocket. “You know, I’m used to getting what I want.” Jim sighed. “I always get what I want.”

"Is that why you kill people?" John asked quietly.

Jim smiled widely. “Only if they get in my way.”

Johniarty in a Teepee? Like OTP...

(Smooth, Lucy, smooth ;) <3)

John wriggled in his sleeping bag, glaring up at the roof of the teepee. “Can we get out now? It’s boiling in here.”

Jim frowned. “No. You said you wanted to go camping.”

"Yeah, in the woods or something, not in the living room!" John rolled his eyes.

Jim chuckled, snuggled inside his own sleeping bag. “I’m hardly going to let you sleep in a forest, John. Besides, this is fun!”

"You forget that I was in the army. I’ve slept in worse places than a forest."

Jim smiled. The two of them were silent a moment, listening to the silence of the safe-house. They lay in the middle of the rather small teepee, huddled in boiling hot sleeping bags, with two mugs of cold tea set at their feet. Jim wriggled closer to John, resting his head on John’s shoulder. 

"What are you doing?" John murmured.

"Going to sleep."

"You never sleep before midnight. It’s ten now."

Jim shrugged. “Maybe I’m tired.”

"No, you just want to lie on me."

"Show me your proof." Jim smirked, nuzzling John’s neck with his nose.

After a moment, Jim got bored. He unzipped John’s sleeping bag and exited his own, slipping in beside John and zipping the bag back up. They were squashed together, even when they both turned onto their sides and faced each other, Jim’s face squashed against John’s broad chest.

"This isn’t going to work." John muttered sleepily.

Jim smiled into John’s shirt. He could just about feel John’s heartbeat on his cheek - it calmed him down, making him sleepier. “I dunno. I could do this all day.”

"It’s night-time."

"Shut up, Red Pants."

First of all, I love the way you write ** Keep making some Sherlockians dream. A prompt for you: MorMor discussing because one of them doesn't want a baby, but the other does. Fluffy ending or not, it's up to you.

(Dreaming is all we have left :’) BUT ONLY 2 MONTHS UNTIL THEY START FILMING AGAIN WSDFGHJKL /ahem/ I hope you like this!! Thank you so much!)

Jim’s eyes flashed dangerously. He played with a flick-knife, letting it gleam in the light of the office one moment before pressing it lightly to his lips for another. He smiled statically, trying to keep calm as he said: “You know my position on this matter. You knew before we got married. So why are you bringing it up again?”

Sebastian tensed up, imagining the knife plunging into his throat – Jim could do it, he wasn’t afraid to do it… Seb’s hands made claws on his legs. “I want one.”

“You want one.” Jim’s voice was flat, as if Seb’s admission made the whole conversation tedious.

“Yes. I know that you don’t, but-”

“The matter is non-negotiable.” Jim sighed.

“Boss, please-”

“No, Seb!” Jim slammed the knife down on the desk, glaring at his sniper with deep, dark eyes. “I forbid it!”

“You forbid it?”


Sebastian glowered at the shorter man. “I just want one. You’re my husband – you’re meant to support me!”

“I’m not tied to anyone.” Jim replied ruthlessly. “Not even you. Maybe by law, but you know by now that the law bends around me, not I to it.”

“Jim, you wouldn’t even have to see him!” Seb sighed. “He-”


“Yes, he. Problem?”

Jim smirked. “You want a boy. I bet you’ve even named him, given him a little life inside your head.”

Seb smiled, not daring to answer. Jim stared at his husband, trying to read his mind like that Holmes could. Seb broke the gaze, looking awkwardly around the office – he resented the fact that he had to make an appointment to see his own spouse. Then again, Jim wasn’t exactly the conventional husband (nor was Seb). Jim picked up the knife again and flicked it open, admiring the glimmer on the metal surface.



“I love you.”

Jim sighed. “Don’t try and guilt me. You know that card doesn’t play.” Seb began to say something else, but Jim cut in: “Let me tell you this, Sebastian – I am not sharing you. Not with another person, not with an animal, not with a child. You are mine. Understand?”

Seb stood up slowly. He nodded stiffly, then wandered to the door, turning around slightly when he reached the doorway. “Is that your final answer?”


Seb twisted his mouth into a contorted smile. “You were right, you know.”


“I did give him a name.”

“Oh?” Jim looked up, exasperated and a little amused. “And what would that be, Sebastian?”

Seb smiled properly. “His name is Jim.”

So glad prompts are reopened! Sherlock's experiment goes wrong and he and Moriarty swap bodies.

(You have no idea how much fun I had writing this :D Thank you so much for the prompt – I hope you like it!)

“This is frankly ridiculous.” Jim snarled, tugging at his blazer sleeve. “I look like an elf!”

Sherlock was grinning at himself backwards in his full-length mirror, admiring his own arse. “I don’t know, I rather like this… Do you even eat carbs?”

“Will you please focus!” Jim growled.

Sherlock turned round, a huge, snide grin on his pale face. “I’m just trying to have some fun.”

“Well stop it. I don’t have time for fun. John will be home any second, and-”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up. “Johnny’s coming home? Ooh, this is brilliant!”

Jim strode up to Sherlock, staring into his eyes. “You are not seeing John in that body, or any body at all, so get out!”

Sherlock spread his hands in a show of helplessness. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Sherlie. It was your experiment, not mine. I don’t know how to change back.”

Pause. “I don’t know either.”

“That’s a first, Mr Consulting Detective.” Sherlock sang happily.

Jim gritted his teeth. “Yeah, well… you’re short!”

“And you’re sexy.” Sherlock turned to the mirror again, admiring his cheekbones.

Jim (the real Sherlock Holmes) groaned, wandering into the living room and slumping into his chair, putting his head in his hands. He felt weird, tingly even. This body wasn’t right for him – it was too short, too… fitted. His head kept wiggling on his neck like he was missing a spine – the trademark Moriarty oscillation. Sherlock (the real Jim Moriarty) walked slowly out of the bedroom, savouring every second that he was in his enemy’s body.

“You have very long legs.” Sherlock complained. “It’s like living inside a spider.”

Jim smirked. “You should know what that’s like.”

Sherlock grinned back, his eyes flashing. “You remembered.” he sat in John’s chair, making a big show of pulling his knees up and steepling his fingers, imitating Sherlock’s idiosyncrasies.

Jim wanted to be sick. “Yes, of course I remembered. I remember everything about you.”

“Aw, I’m flattered.” Sherlock sounded far from flattered – he was amused and slightly annoyed, putting poison into his words. He tried to oscillate his head, but it didn’t work, only making him seem like a bewildered giraffe.

Jim grinned at how stupid he looked. “Uncomfortable?”

Sherlock smirked. The front door opened, and both men froze as John called up the stairs: “I’m home!”

Jim glared at Sherlock. “Don’t you dare embarrass me!”

Sherlock assumed a look of innocence. “Why would I do that?”

John pattered up the stairs, glancing in horror from Jim to Sherlock. “What’s going on?”

Sherlock grinned and stood up. He walked over to John, putting a hand on his arm. Jim gripped the arm of the chair, glaring intensely at the contact between them. Sherlock sighed softly. “Nothing is going on, Johnny.”

John stared hard at Sherlock. “Your eyes are different. They’re…” he tore his arm away. “What the Hell?!”

Jim grinned. Good old John.

Prompt! The Master gets hyped up on coffee and candy. Moriarty has to deal with the hilarious aftermath.

(omg I love this prompt :D I actually wrote this at school today because I just love it :D thank you so much! I hope you like it!)

“Fascinating race, the humans. Did you know, they have invented a way to transport their voices over a cable, yet they haven’t found out how to teleport themselves? Fascinating!” the Master spoke fast, stumbling over his words. “Rather impractical, though. Like the way they stick bits of metal into their bodies – for decoration! Absolutely terrific!”

Jim Moriarty didn’t see how a telephone could be “fantastic” or body piercings could be “terrific”, but he smiled sweetly and nodded along, humouring the crazy alien sat at the Prime Minister’s desk.

PM Harold Saxon, more commonly known among the cosmos as the Master, was on his sixteenth cup of coffee – his eyes were rolling, and he was shaking violently, but he kept pouring himself more drinks, downing the dosage in one or two gulps. Jim stood up and prised the cup from the Master’s hand, setting it down on the desk – only to have it snatched up again by the obnoxious blond.

Jim sighed. “Master, I think you’ve had enough. Go to bed.”

“AND ANOTHER THING!” the Master called. “The humans have boxes, in their homes, that show them what’s happening on the other side of the world!” he stared at Jim incredulously. “They could use that technology to discover new worlds, but no! They use it to see what Kim Kardashian is wearing now!” the Master froze. “Not that I watch… whatever she’s from.”

“Of course.” Jim smirked. He was beyond annoyed now. “Go to bed, Saxon.”

“Can’t. Shan’t. That’s a funny word. Shan’t.” the Master giggled.

Jim strode around the desk, grabbing the Master’s collar. “I’ve had enough of this.”

The Master swayed slightly on his heels. “What are you doing, Jim?”

Moriarty glared at the Time Lord. “You need to sleep, Saxon. Right now. The plan goes critical in two days’ time – I will not have any foul-ups. Do you understand me?”

“Whuh?” the Master blinked.


“Yes!” Saxon squeaked, paling under Moriarty’s penetrative glare.

Jim slowly let go of the alien, stepped backwards to straighten his suit jacket. “Good boy. Off to bed now.”

The Master fled from the room, wobbling on his shaky feet. Jim rolled his eyes when Saxon popped his head round the door again.



“The drums have stopped.”

Jim smiled. “Well, you know what they say. Don’t drink and drum.”

The Master blinked, the joke whizzing past his head, and retreated to his room, giddy with happiness – and caffeine.  

Can I have some Johniarty based on this quote? “When you have something you find interesting, you will use and abuse it so no one else will enjoy it as much as you did.”

(Of course! I’m so so sorry this is late – been so busy lately… anyway, thank you so much for the prompt, and I hope you like it!)

Jim sat silently on the kitchen table in Mrs Hudson’s flat, watching John put dirty clothes into the washing machine. His eyes roved hungrily over John’s back, flicking down to savour the curve of his arse before travelling back up to his neck. John finished putting in the clothes and stood up, stretching his arms – his polo shirt lifted up, revealing pale skin that didn’t match John’s face or hands. John turned round and jumped, startled, staring at Jim.

“How long have you been sat there?”

“A while.” Jim shrugged. He stood up and reached his hand out, trailing a line with his fingers along John’s collarbone.

John frowned. “Why are you here?”

“I was bored.” Jim smiled, running his fingers up John’s cheek and back down again, all the way to John’s shirt hem – quickly, he tugged John’s shirt over his head and tossed it into the washing machine. Jim grinned. “I thought you might be able to help.”

“I’m busy.” John sighed.

He closed the machine door and tried to walk away, but Jim shoved the blond backwards, making him slam into the washing machine. John winced – Jim grabbed hold of his arms, crushing their chests together.

“You’re not busy, I know it.” Jim said softly. He smoothed his hands over John’s chest, pressing gentle kisses to the soft flesh.

“This isn’t the time or place, Jim!” John moaned.

“I think this is the perfect place. Quiet, tidy… much better than that pig sty you call a flat.”

“Sherlock will be wondering where I am…” John murmured, ignoring Jim’s insult. “I have to go, Jim. He’ll be worried sick.”

Jim frowned. “Forget him.”

“I can’t. I live with him.” John chuckled.

He started to pull away again – but Jim suddenly lunged forward, biting his teeth into the fleshy part of John’s neck. John yelped, writhing under Jim’s grip. He kicked Jim’s shin, and the criminal finally let go, leaning back to admire the large red bruise on John’s neck. It was bleeding slightly, but not badly. John stared at Jim in horror.

“What was that for?!” John yelled.

“You’re mine, John. I own you.” Jim’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t forget it.”

“What?! Since when have you owned me?!” John barked.

“Since the first day. I thought you were interesting – the little soldier, brave, with a big heart.” Jim closed his eyes briefly – for a moment, he looked almost human. Then he opened them again, and the familiar manic glint was back. “I wanted you from that moment. I needed you.” he leaned in again, catching John’s lips in a deep but quick kiss. “Sherlock can’t have you. I’m going to keep you, John. You’re mine.” he repeated.

John gulped. “Mrs Hudson will be back any-”

“Shhh.” Jim grinned. “Don’t think.” he touched his lips to John’s chest again, moving tantalisingly slowly downwards towards John’s trouser belt. Jim glanced up, meeting John’s eyes and making him shiver. “You’re mine, John. Say it.”

John sighed, finally submitting to Jim’s touch. He leaned forward, murmuring into Jim’s ear: “I’m yours.”

I need a Johniarty break up Fic where Sherlock actually does something normal and takes John to the pub to drink away his sorrows and trying to cheer him up with pints of ice cream and his favorite movies.

(This turned out to be a lot darker than I originally planned. I wanted to write a Johniarty that wasn’t a set-up for Johnlock, therefore – this. Thank you so much! I hope you like it!)

Sherlock Holmes watched John thoughtfully as the blond drained his beer bottle, coughing loudly when he finished the drink. He slammed the bottle onto the table with more force than necessary, staring at the thing as if it had personally offended him.

“Better?” Sherlock asked softly.

John said nothing, staring blankly at the table. Sherlock kept quiet and left John to his thoughts.

The two men were sat in a nearly empty pub – the stereotypical bartender cleaned glasses and watched the TV on a table, while the stereotypical banker tried to throw darts into a picture of his boss. Sherlock and John sat in a booth seat, the depressing Thursday night pub atmosphere seeping into their conversation (or lack thereof). To make it worse, the jukebox was playing such ironic songs as “Bleeding Love”, “Jar of Hearts” and “Slipped Away” - none of which were helping John’s mood.

John touched his beer bottle gently, sliding it slowly across the table – Sherlock caught it before it reached the edge, glancing over John cautiously.

“Are you alright, John?”

“What do you think?” John sighed. He was more depressed than angry – he clasped his hands under his legs, looking the picture of a bewildered child. “Jim was my first boyfriend, you know? To be honest… he was the best partner I’ve ever had. Not just sexually. He was…”

John trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe James Moriarty. Sherlock could think of several – psychopath, heart-breaker, deranged; because who wouldn’t want to love John? But he kept his mouth shut, patting John’s arm.

John continued: “He said it was over. Just like that. He said he didn’t need a- a pet any-more.” John was shaking – with anger or sadness, Sherlock couldn’t tell. “So he packed my stuff and shoved me out of the safehouse. When I went back an hour later, he’d gone, and Moran was there to tell me to fuck off.” pause. “I’ll probably never see him again.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true!” John sighed. “Jim was the best boy- well, not really. He was a psychotic lunatic. But I had the best time with him, and I was so sure that he loved me back… I guess I was wrong.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “James Moriarty isn’t capable of loving people. He denies his heart too much for that. What you two had was a physical relationship with emotional benefits. You needed each other for that time – but he moved on. Now it’s time for you to do the same.”

“But Sherlock, you don’t get it!” John met Sherlock’s eyes at last. “I will always need him!”

“Then maybe you should learn to need someone else.” Sherlock suggested.

John glared at him. “If you’re thinking that I’m just going to let him go like that, you’re on the wrong track.”

“John, he’s not dead. He broke up with you, he didn’t die.

“Feels like he did.” John murmured glumly. “Feels like I’m dead.”

Sherlock ignored him. “Believe it or not, it is actually possible to move on from a relationship – you’ve done it before!”

“It wasn’t like this though!” John groaned. “This was the best-”

“Stop saying it was the best!” Sherlock growled.


“Because I thought you thought I was the best!”

John stared at his friend coldly. “Then maybe I was wrong.”

Prompt for whenever you get to it (I like forgetting that I've suggested one, then when it shows up HAPPIEST SURPRISE EVUR): MorLoki! Moriarty laments the fact that although he's an evil genius, he doesn't have superpowers like Loki does. Loki finally has to kiss him to shut him up. :)

(MorLoki is awesome! I love the villains when they get together, like MoriMaster :D thank you for the prompt – I love you, and I hope you like it!)

Jim sat in his office chair, scowling at his computer screen. Lines of code ran before him, flashing green onto his desk and face, making his face prominently eerily in alien light. Loki sat behind him on a large stack of brown boxes, making a paper aeroplane float through the air with his magic. Moriarty turned to him, keeping still on his spinny chair, and glared at the green-robed God.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Loki asked absent-mindedly.

“Whatever you’re doing. I’m trying to work.”

“You’re obviously not trying very hard.” Loki let the plane drop to the floor, not bothering to pick it up again.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Just keep quiet.” he stared wistfully at the plane. “I wish I could do that.”

“I thought you were working.”

“I am. I’m just thinking aloud.”

Loki smirked. “Alright. What do you wish you could do?”

“Magic. I want powers – superpowers.” Jim’s eyes sparkled, his brain whizzing through the seemingly infinite possibilities. “Super-strength. Invisibility. Mind control. Telekinesis. Anything, really, that is super.

“You are super.” Loki reassured him. “You are the cleverest and most cunning human that I know – smarter than the metal man, second only to me in plans of trickery.” Loki grinned. “We make quite a pair.”

Jim shrugged. “I suppose.” he picked up a pencil and stared at it, as if willing it to fly. “I still want superpowers. If I had an ability, most of my jobs would be so much easier. Take this damned problem.” he gestured to the desk, upon which was piled stacks of paper. “This could be solved in a matter of minutes if I had sonic speed. Or the Carl Powers incident, my first proper murder – if I’d had super-strength, maybe he need not have died. Or of course the Jefferson Hope case – mind control would have been perfect for that one.”

Jim growled, throwing the pencil onto the floor. Loki stared at him, watching as several emotions crossed Moriarty’s usually impassive face. Jim eventually settled down, casting a weary gaze over his office. Loki stood up.

“You know, the frailty of genius is that it needs an audience.” Jim continued his rant. “If you don’t have powers, you don’t get an audience. Simple.”



“Shut up.” Loki grinned. He pressed his cold lips to Jim’s soft ones, humming against the warm touch of the man’s skin. Jim pushed back, gripping his hands into Loki’s long hair.

Jim pulled back for one moment to say: “I’m not finished with this topic.”

Loki grinned back. “I never said you were.” and he pushed back onto Jim’s lips, locking them both into the kiss again.

Can you please write me some Sheriarty? Like, they team up to do an investigation and they're both trying to best each other.

(Sure thing! Sheriarty is awesome :D I hope you like it!)

Sherlock scowled at Molly and her boyfriend, Jim. They were making smoochy faces at each other, while John and Lestrade stood next to Sherlock, looking equally disgusted.

“Why did she have to bring him along?” Sherlock growled.

“Jealous?” John grinned.

“Not in the slightest.” Sherlock sniffed. “It’s just distracting from the case.”

Lestrade and John glanced at each other, smiling. The five of them were stood in the St Bart’s morgue, trying to solve their latest case – a series of arsons that had left their victims badly burned and, of course, dead. Even John, with his years of training, felt sick at the sight of their half-melted faces, the eyeballs long-exploded in their sockets. Lestrade was rapidly turning green. Molly and Jim stopped talking in baby-language long enough to join their friends. Jim kept his eyes on Sherlock, grinning, while the detective ignored him deliberately.

“Um, Sherlock?” Molly spoke hesitantly. “Jim wants to help in the investigation. I said-”

“No.” Sherlock glared at the two of them. “I refuse to let him interfere.”

“I won’t be a bother, promise.” Jim smiled sweetly.

Sherlock’s lip curled. “What do you know about murder?”

Jim stepped up towards Sherlock, his dark eyes deepening. “More than you know.”

Sherlock felt a shiver go down his spine. Lestrade frowned. “I don’t want him working on this case either!”

“Please?” Molly simpered, smiling cutely.

Lestrade sighed. “Fine. Five minutes, the pair of you.”

Sherlock was livid. He turned to Jim, who beamed at him, then to the body, focussing on the charred features. “Alright. If you’re going to help, you might as well prove your competence. Let’s see what you can find out.”

Jim took his cue and walked around the body, analysing the corpse. Lestrade, Molly and John recognised the animosity in the air between the detective and the unknown man, and stepped to the side, leaving the two of them to their deductions. Jim finally looked up, a slight blush on his pale face.

“Ladies first.” he purred.

Sherlock clenched his fists. He took the comment in his stride, however, and started his usual monologue: “The victim is thirty-two years old, female and married. She wasn’t the target of the arson – that was a person who is currently unknown. There were thirteen other bodies found at the scene of the crime, any of whom could be the- what?” Sherlock glared at Jim, who was shaking his head, amused.

“Wro-ong.” Jim sang. “The profile? Correct, I’ll give you that. Yes, she’s a female, and you’re one year out of date, but that’s alright – I expect that from an amateur.” he grinned. Sherlock’s glare intensified, but Jim continued: “She was the target. The arsonist’s name is Wendall Lisbon. That mark-” he pointed to her left leg, where a tiny cross was engraved into the flesh. “-is his signature. He’s a serial arsonist.”

“How do you know that?” Sherlock growled.

“I have my ways.” Jim replied quietly, still grinning.

Lestrade walked up to Jim and examined the leg for himself. “Are you sure this is Lisbon’s work?”

“Ninety percent positive.” Jim nodded.

“Alright.” Lestrade legged it out of the room, already typing a number into his mobile. John and Molly followed him, shooting incredulous glances at Jim. Sherlock and Jim were alone.

“How do you know that?” Sherlock repeated his question.

Jim grinned. “Aw, Sherlie. If I told you, I’d have to kill you!” he leaned forward. “And I’d hate to break my toys the moment I get them.”

“Who are you, really?” Sherlock murmured.

Jim laughed. “Your best friend – or your worst nightmare.” he winked. “See you soon, Sherlock Holmes.”

And with that, Jim Moriarty skipped from the room, leaving Sherlock bewildered, angry and confused.

Le prompt! Moriarty develops an unhealthy fixation on John's red pants. :D

(Oooooh I love it!! ;) HAPPY RED PANTS MONDAY! Thank you so much – I hope you like it!)

Jim slowly opened his eyes, the quiet rumble of traffic filtering through the window. The room was dimly lit with grey light from the darkish sky above the building, and it was strangely warm for a British Autumn. Jim slowly came to terms with his surroundings – he was in John’s 221B bedroom, in bed, naked, with the covers pulled halfway up his chest. The best part of this? The also naked John, who was standing beside the bed, stretching his arms out calmly.

“Morning.” Jim mumbled with a smile.

John jumped and turned round, his face and muscles relaxing when he saw it was just Jim in the bed. “Morning.”

Jim sat up, reclining against the headboard. “What’s for breakfast?”

“No idea. Just woke up.” John shrugged. He made his way over to his chest of drawers, opening one of the compartments.

“I want eggs.” Jim announced.

“You can have them, if you make them yourself.”

Jim pouted. “Why can’t you make them?”

“Because I’m not your butler.” John rolled his eyes. He pulled out a pair of red pants from the drawer and slipped them on quickly before walking over to the wardrobe.

“But-” Jim paused. He felt his heart throb – that was unusual. His heart didn’t throb. Until recently he’d denied its very existence. But now it was definitely making some painful movements, and Jim knew exactly why.

John looked positively criminal in those pants.

Jim licked his lips, his head swaying as it was wont to do when he had a problem. John reached the wardrobe and swung the door open, his face screwing up as he considered his outfit for the day. Jim wasn’t looking at John’s face. He was staring at the outline of his member, the perfect curve of his arse, the waistband that looked just too easy to slip off… Jim leapt out of bed, his eyes fixed hungrily on John’s pants.

“Jim?” John frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Jim wasn’t listening. He slipped his hands around John’s back, pulling the man into a hug, then snaked his fingers into the waistband of John’s pants. John took in a deep breath.

“What are you doing?” he moaned.

“You are too delicious in this attire.” Jim purred like a lion seducing his prey.

“Jim, I have work today. I can’t-”

Jim grinned. “Cancel it.”

“I told you, I can’t-”

“Cancel it.” Jim’s voice became more forceful. He slipped his hands down further, making John arch against his chest.

“You’re mad.” John moaned breathlessly. “Completely and utterly mad…”

“You love it.” Jim hummed, tossing his lover back onto the bed.

I would like to request some Mormor fluff. Maybe they are on a job and Jim just wants Seb to pay attention to him and Sebastian is trying to work but keeps getting distracted by him. Sorry if this makes no sense.

(It makes perfect sense! I haven’t written MorMor in ages, so sorry if it’s a bit inaccurate. Thank you so much - I hope you like it!)

Sebastian lined up his shot. The air gun wasn’t exactly the best tool for the job, but when Jim Moriarty gave you an order, you didn’t exactly disobey. It was dark, so low visuals, especially with no moon or stars to guide them. Seb hefted the gun onto the ledge; he and Jim were laid on the floor, perched on the roof of a building not too far away from their target’s home. Jim was playing with a flick-knife, twirling it round in his hand, while Seb tried to focus on the task.

"Bored." Jim sighed. After he got no response, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. "Bo-ored." 

Seb groaned. “No offense, Boss, but shut up.”

"The target isn’t even home yet." Jim pouted. He rolled again onto his side - Seb wondered if he could roll the man off this building altogether - and stared at Seb. "You’re bored too, I can tell."

"Oh God, please, not another ‘deduction’." Seb scoffed. "You and that Holmes… you’re copying him again!"

Jim gritted his teeth. “I don’t copy Holmes!”

"Yes you do. The other day I saw you examining tobacco ash. Who does that?" Seb chuckled. "You two are more alike than you know."

Jim lunged at Seb - the hunter was quick, rolling like Jim onto his back and pointing the air gun at the deranged Professor. Moriarty straddled Seb, his hands twitching towards his throat. 

"Say that again." Jim dared the man.

Seb sighed. “Sorry. But seriously now, we’re on a job. Can this wait?”

"Nope." Jim lurched down and bit at Seb’s shoulder, leaving a faint red bruise. Seb jolted, but Jim held him fast - he allowed the man to keep the gun, but tore off the first few buttons of Seb’s shirt, eyeing the exposed skin hungrily. 

"Boss- the target-"

Jim sighed and glanced up - the lights in the apartment had come on. He let Seb go, and the marksman stood up, aiming and firing cleanly through the window of the flat. A shadow fell down, and Jim was quick to grab Seb’s arm and lead him off the roof, down the stairs and out of the street, keeping contact all the time.

Could you do a Sherlock Moriaty lover fiction <3 PLEASE xD love you btw

(I love you too! I haven’t done Sheriarty in a while, so thank you for the prompt, and I hope you like it!)

I’m waiting. -JMx

Sherlock smiled to himself as he put away his phone. John frowned at him and grabbed his arm before he could leave.

"Who was that?"

"An old friend." Sherlock shrugged. He swept out of the crime scene, leaving John and the Yarders confused. 

Lestrade glanced at John. “I thought he didn’t have friends?”

Jim Moriarty leant on the wall of the house, putting his phone back into his pocket. He smirked when he heard Sherlock’s footsteps on the concrete next to him.

"Danielle Westward. Nineteen." Jim smiled. "Asphyxiation. You’re welcome."

"I knew that already."

"Really?" Jim turned to look at Sherlock - the detective was smiling, hands in pockets. Jim shifted to copy Sherlock’s pose, stuffing his own hands into his jeans. He flicked his head up, making his hat uncover his eyes. "Do you also know who killed her?"

"Let me guess…" Sherlock stepped forwards, towering over the smaller man. "You?"

"Bo-ring." Jim sang. He pulled his hands out of his trousers and slipped them around Sherlock’s chest, stroking up the detective’s back. "Guess again."

Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered. “Moran?”

"Nope. You’re being deliberately stupid, aren’t you?" Jim grinned.

"If you’re trying to seduce me, you’re going the wrong way about it."

"Ah, so he says, but the trousers tell a different story." Jim glanced down gleefully.

Sherlock turned his pelvis away, pushing his face forward to make his nose press against Moriarty’s. “Shut up.”

Jim grinned and pulled his head up, meeting Sherlock’s lips with his own. They kissed deeply for a moment, hands trailing along chests and backs, shrugging off jackets and scarves and tossing Jim’s hat into a nearby bin. Sherlock finally pulled away, taking a deep breath. Jim smirked.

"Had enough?"

"We’re going to be caught in two minutes. John has just finished being stupid."

"You can’t possibly know that!"

"SHERLOCK!" John called from the front garden. "Where are you?"

Jim rolled his eyes at a smirking Sherlock. “Point taken. I’ll see you tonight.”


"Your room."


"But so worth it." Jim caught Sherlock’s lips into another kiss before pushing away and darting over a wall, disappearing just before John arrived.

"Who were you talking to?" John frowned.

"A friend." Sherlock picked up his coat and pushed past his friend, leaving him confused for the second time.