"When you told me you wanted to role play, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind."
Jim Moriarty glowered at his character sheet, which stated ‘Filrock the Magnificent Elf Warrior”. Despite his character’s cheerful disposition and +3 sword, Jim was not a happy elf. John Watson, his partner, simply chuckled, glancing over his own sheet, which stated ‘Hiphip the Jolly Healer”.
The two men sat at odd ends of John’s bed, a 16-dided dive resting in the centre of the duvet. Their night had started off greatly: pizza, classic movies, and the promise of hardcore cosplay sex. Alas, the latter had proved to be misleading, and Jim had been pushed into playing a knock-off version of Dungeons and Dragons - ‘Caves and Unicorns’. John was loving every second, mainly due to Jim’s disappointment.
"I draw my sword and attack the devillish unicorn." John announced. "I need a 5 or higher to score." he rolled the dice.
Jim sighed deeply. “Who gives a-“
"Six!" John beamed. "Critical hit!"
"Your texts need to be clearer, John." Jim grumbled.
"I thought I made my point."
"No. Simply saying ‘do you want to play in my bedroom’ isn’t exactly transparent."
John laughed. “It’s your turn.”
Jim groaned. “Fine. What can I do?”
"You can finish off the unicorn by hitting it with your sword, or you can run away."
"Fuck that. Can I kill you?"
"Difficult shot. I have +7 armour. You’ll need a 15 to get me."
Jim picked up the dice and threw it at the wall. It rolled under the bed, out of sight. Jim launched across the bed and captured John in a sloppy, desperate kiss.
"I win." Jim smirked.
Don’t get attached to unpopular ships because you will run out of fic and die
imagine your otp caught in a sharknado
Thanks to insomniacsinthetardis for finding this and sharing it.
(I can’t remember what prompt that was because this question has been in my inbox for about ten years, but I feel like writing a prompt tonight so I hope this is okay!)
Jim Moriarty could never resist being the centre of attention. Hanging on the arm of his favourite sniper, Moran, he pranced down the aisle towards his groom, while trumpets sounded and confetti was thrown everywhere by relay systems in the walls of the registry office.
For someone that was usually so secretive, Jim loved to make a scene. John Watson, the criminal’s partner, had allowed it on condition that no semtex, bombs or weapons were to enter the building. Jim had reluctantly agreed. No-one sat in the seats. The minister, the couple and Moran were the only ones present at the tiny but extravagant wedding. They hadn’t needed guests, not really, since Jim had no real friends and John didn’t care. The latter stood at the altar, dressed in his finest outfit (an Armani suit that Jim had bought him for the occasion), simultaneously smiling and rolling his eyes as Jim strutted down the aisle.
“Hello, Johnny.” Jim purred as soon as he got to the altar. He let go of Moran and pulled John into an entirely inappropriate kiss, resisting the urge to rip the Armani off John’s skin.
The minister coughed quietly, waiting until the two men separated before he said: “Are you ready to proceed?”
“Sure. Make it quick.” Jim’s eyes roved over John’s body, as if the kiss hadn’t satiated his hunger for the man. John blushed a deep red, trying to avert his eyes from Jim and failing.
Outside, Sherlock Holmes prowled around the edges of the building, trying to see through the windows. He knew John was in there, but had missed the arrival of the other party through having to hide from a sniper on the roof. Now that that was dealt with, Sherlock peeked through the windows to try and get a good look at whoever John was marrying. His brain sorted through several options, but none of them matched the criteria. Apart from Mycroft, who else would have snipers at their wedding? Sherlock sincerely hoped John wasn’t getting married to Mycroft. Imagine the Christmas dinners.
Sherlock could clearly see into the main hall. John was holding a man’s hand, though the man had his back to the window. A tall blond was stood next to the window, scanning the perimeter like the sniper on the roof, and Sherlock had to duck down into the shadows to avoid his gaze. When it was safe to look, the ceremony had moved on, and the two men had rings firmly placed on their fingers. It was done. Sherlock wanted to yell out and stop… whatever this was, but he saw the gun on the blond’s hip and thought better of it. He also noticed that John’s face was flushed, and when John glanced at the man in front of him, his eyes sparkled with a passion and love that Sherlock had never seen before. Whoever John was marrying, he was truly in love with him. Sherlock felt a little - maybe more than a little - jealous.
On their cue, the two men kissed passionately, and the minister turned around to go back into his office. The blond by the window smirked as the kiss lasted for more than a moment. Sherlock felt tempted to check his watch. When they eventually parted, they turned around, and Sherlock saw the mystery groom’s face clearly for the first time. A chill slid down his back, and his blood ran cold.
Jim Moriarty and John Watson left the building hand-in-hand. Moran started the car, and they had one final kiss before going their separate ways. Sherlock watched from a distance as Moriarty drove off, and John started walking back home.
“Congratulations.” Sherlock called.
John whirled around, his eyes widening as he noticed his friend. “Sherlock!”
At John’s yelp, Sherlock’s anger and jealousy and betrayal rose to the surface. He had half a mind to run over and steal that gaudy ring off John’s finger. He could melt it down or throw it in the Thames, get rid of it in any way possible. But John was vulnerable right now; did Sherlock really want to hurt his friend? He wanted to hurt that bastard Moriarty, not John. If John was happy, then what purpose would petty theft have? They could deal with this later - they would deal with this later. Sherlock fought through the new feelings and steeled himself to run back into the shadows, leaving John stunned and confused on the pavement.
(You’re so adorable! Thank you darling! I’m so sorry this has taken so long - seriously it’s been months since I got this - but thank you for sending it!! I hope you like this!)
“Defense, call your witness.” the judge droned. He kept his eyes on the man in the grey suit on the bench, who was chewing gum and smirking at him.
The barrister defending James Moriarty stood up and said: “Defense now calls Doctor John Watson to the stand.”
John Watson’s eyes widened. He glanced over at Moriarty, who had slightly turned his head so that he could see John out of the corner of his eye. Moriarty grinned. He kept chewing his gum as he turned his gaze back to the judge.
“Doctor John Watson, please approach the stand.” the judge gestured to him.
John took a deep breath. He could feel everyone’s eyes staring at him. The journalists in the observation seats furiously scribbled notes down in their books - Dr John H. Watson, middle-aged, wearing a black suit and a profoundly aggravated expression, stands up and prepares to provide his account of the Moriarty crimes. Dr Watson is most well-known for his dubious relationship with Mr Sherlock Holmes… love or friendship?… this is sure to be the statement of the century… and even more bullshit. John stood on the podium, feeling very exposed despite the wooden shield between him and the gallery. The jury stared at him; the judge watched him and Moriarty closely; the barrister smiled almost kindly at him. Moriarty just grinned. He looked like a snake waiting to guzzle an innocent animal that had wandered into its path.
“Hello, Doctor.” the barrister smiled. “Let’s proceed. How long have you known James Moriarty?”
“I haven’t known him in the sense you mean.” John said. “We met last year, at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. I didn’t know who he was until we met for a second time, which was a few weeks after that.”
“And where did you meet him the second time?”
“By the pool.” John’s arms broke out into goosebumps. He felt a cold chill on his spine. “Moriarty drugged me and strapped me to a semtex bomb. He tried to kill me.”
“And this was the man who did all that?” the barrister pointed at Moriarty, who was still chewing his gum innocently.
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Doctor Watson, how would you describe James Moriarty?” the barrister asked.
“In a professional capacity, I’d say James Moriarty has a psychological condition. He’s obsessive - obsessed with Sherlock Holmes, in any case. He’s a murderer. He’s a kidnapper. He’s… he’s insane.”
“And those are your own words?”
“Mine and Sherlock’s.”
“Are you sure that this was the man that met you by the pool?” the barrister asked.
John frowned slightly. Where is this going? “I’m positive.”
“And there’s no chance that this man could have been a decoy? An actor? A man paid by Sherlock Holmes to pretend to kill you?”
“What? No! That’s Moriarty!” John’s voice rose nearly to a shout.
“It is true, is it not, that your relationship with Sherlock Holmes was influenced by the events of that night?” the barrister kept the smile on his face, though now it was more menacing.
“That has nothing to do with-“
“Your honour,” the barrister turned to the judge. “it is possible that Holmes staged the alleged ‘incident at the pool’ to become closer with Doctor Watson. This man,” he pointed at his client. “could merely have been a pawn in Holmes’s scheme.”
“No!” John barked. “You’re wrong!”
“Do you have any evidence, Doctor Watson, that this man is Moriarty? We have proof of Richard Brook’s background, but not Moriarty’s. No history, no past reported crimes. Richard Brook is real.” the barrister smiled triumphantly. “Moriarty is not.”
John’s jaw hung open. The reporters and journalists were in a frenzy, shouting and scribbling notes and trying to snap pictures of the flummoxed doctor. The judge banged his gavel on the table, crying for order. The barrister sat down, looking pleased with himself.
John looked over at Moriarty. The professor looked back at the doctor and smiled. He winked, forming a little heart shape with his fingers and thumbs. John glared at the man. He mouthed the words: you bastard, but Moriarty simply laughed and mouthed back: gotcha.
(Thank you so much for the prompt! Haven’t written Johniarty in ages :D I hope you like it!
Based on: http://watson-and-the-oddly-specific.tumblr.com/post/42917707272/epicluna)
John cautiously looked around the flat. “Sherlock? Sherlock, are you home?”
No answer. He was alone, thank God. John collapsed into his armchair and pulled out his phone, clicking onto the “messages” icon.
Hello. Is this Louisa? It’s John Watson, we met earlier in that cafe across from the theatre. <SEND>
John took a deep, shuddery breath. Louisa From The Cafe had been beautiful - her soft brown eyes had instantly captured John the moment she’d looked up from her take-out latte. Her rosy lips had curved into a bright smile as John fumbled like an idiot with the change the vendor had given him, and then those lips laughed as he spilled his tea all over himself in his haste. John shut his eyes, just thinking.
His phone buzzed. John clicked the little envelope on-screen eagerly, but then he saw the message and his face fell.
Sorry, Johnny boy. It’s Jim from IT. Remember me?
John glared at the screen. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. Suddenly, he wished Sherlock was here - if not to protect him, but to offer some witty responses that he could text That Bastard back.
I get one number wrong and it’s you. Great.
The reply came almost immediately. A stroke of fate, one might call it. I would say the hand of God had some meddling but sadly I had no part in this. -JMxx
John might have laughed at that had he not been so annoyed (and hadn’t been talking to a maniac serial killer). What purpose could fate have? I thought I was texting a girl, thinking I’d be with her tonight.
So it’s sex you’re after, Doctor Watson? That can be arranged.
John felt an odd tingle on his spine. It’s not your business what I’m after, and I’m not arranging anything with you.
It would get quite the rise out of Sherlock, don’t you agree?
You can’t honestly see me agreeing to have sex with you! John did laugh at that. The idea was insane! But then John realised - Jim really was insane. He was fucking crazy. It really wouldn’t be out of character for him to do something like this - to arrange for them to… John hurriedly typed out another text: I like danger, but I’m not stupid.
Are you afraid you might hurt little Sherlie? Nonetheless, it is a proposition, and the offer is ALWAYS open. xxxxx
John felt sick. This has nothing to do with Sherlock, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention him. We’re two separate people. Oh God, what did he just send?! That was practically an invitation!
Then prove it to me, Doctor Watson. Show me you aren’t his little pet.
John could almost hear Moriarty’s drawling accent as he read those words. I am my own person. I don’t need to show you.
I think you forget who holds the bigger gun here, Doctor Watson.
John didn’t like Moriarty calling him that. Still, it was better than “Johnny boy”. He took a deep breath, then typed: Fine. When and where?
Again, John could almost hear the sneer in Moriarty’s reply: There will be a taxi outside your flat. If you tell Sherlock where you are going, he will be dead the second my name leaves your lips.
Downstairs, the front door slammed. John suspected it was one of Moriarty’s minions, but then Sherlock called “John?” and he felt safe again. He looked back at the text and typed out one last reply: I just marred a pleasant evening, didn’t I?
Sherlock was only halfway upstairs when John jogged past him, calling “I’ll be late home!” before disappearing into the night.
Moriarty, sat on his bed, grinned at the screen of his own phone. I look forward to seeing you. Don’t worry… it’ll be everything you want it to be.
(…then I shall write said drabble! Thank you very much - hope you like it!)
The living room was cold and the sofa wasn’t the most comfortable place, but Jim didn’t care as he brushed his lips against John’s, not kissing, just feeling. He trailed his hands under John’s shirt and dragged a cool finger up his spine, pressing on the grooves between the bumps and tracing lines beneath John’s shoulder blades. John made a delicious moaning noise; he pitched forward, kissing Jim forcefully on the lips.
"How long until Sherlie gets back?" Jim asked reluctantly.
"Not long." John murmured back. "So hurry up."
Jim grinned, moving his lips to John’s neck and sucking at the skin gently. He tore John’s shirt over his head before pushing the soldier down onto the arm of the sofa - John’s head nearly lolled off the side, and he grasped Jim’s bare shoulders tightly to keep himself balanced. Jim moved his head down, licking a long stripe along John’s belly before tugging the trousers down and mouthing against John’s pants bulge. John bucked up slightly, but Jim pushed him down, glaring up at his lover without removing his mouth.
John moaned. “Jim, just-“
The front door opened. “John? I’m back!”
"Shit!" John hissed. "Jim!"
Jim didn’t seem to notice. He kept working John’s bulge with his mouth, slipping his tongue between the fabric and the soft skin. John couldn’t help the throaty moan that escaped him - Jim had both his hands on John’s buttocks now, his cool fingers massaging them.
"Jim-" John choked.
Footsteps on the stairs made Jim pause for half a second before resuming - the living room door swung open, and everything dissolved into slow-motion.
"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock’s voice trembled with something like anger.
"Um-" John gulped. He wished Jim would remove his mouth from his erection, but the consulting criminal was practically humming against it now.
"Moriarty?" Sherlock growled.
Jim finally sat up and wiped his mouth. “Hello, Sherlie. I hoped you’d be home in time.”
"In time for what?"
Jim grinned. “Would you like to find out?”
(JOHNIARTYYYY yesss :D thank you so much! I hope you like it!)
Jim glanced over the display case. Bright and sparkling jewels stared up at him, each one reflecting rainbows onto the glass of the case. Jim tapped his fingers on that same glass as he looked over the rings.
"Can I help you, sir?" a pretty shop assistant smiled warmly at Jim.
"I shouldn’t think so." Jim murmured. He peered down into one of the cases - his eyes lit up. "Actually, you might as well be of use. Tell me how much that one costs."
"The gold Tolkowsky?" the assistant beamed like the Cheshire Cat. "It’s just under £9000, but if you get the platinum bracelet to match-"
"He won’t like bracelets." Jim waved away the offer. "So the Tolkowsky - carat?"
"Eighteen carat diamonds, twelve carat gold."
"And how much is the insurance?"
"Upwards of £1000 - it depends on what you want it to cover. Theft, loss, damage…"
"I’ll take anything you got, all of it. Just make it safe."
The assistant giggled. “Does he get into a lot of trouble?”
"You have no idea." Jim smirked.
With the ring bought, Jim stepped out into the street feeling rather proud of himself. He dialled a number on his phone, called his driver, and sat on a bench to wait for his car. Jim glanced at the neat little bag in his hands - he wanted to look at the ring, to double-check that it was still in there, but he restrained himself. Why look at it now when he could look at it on John’s finger forever?
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
Jim looked up - a small, doddery old man was stood next to him, pointing shakily to the bench. Jim sighed. “No, go ahead.”
"Thank you so kindly, young man." the old man beamed. He sat down heavily, shaking out his feet. "I’ve walked a very long way today - it’s so nice to sit down after a long and refreshing walk!"
Jim nodded slowly, turning his head to the road. He wished his driver would hurry up.
"Ooooh, a ring box!" the old man squealed. "Is it for a lady friend?"
"None of your business." Jim scowled.
"Can I see it?"
The old man laughed, suddenly sounding eighty years younger. He thrust out an arm and grabbed the bag from Jim’s hand, running totally unlike an old man down the street. Jim leapt up and pursued him, cursing everything - he recognised that fucking laugh! They ran through the London streets, pushing past civilians and darting into and out of shops, eventually ending up in a particularly grungy clothing store.
"Give it back, Sherlie!" Jim growled.
The old man ripped his wig off, revealing dark curly hair. “Who’s it for, Jim?”
"Why don’t you deduce that?” Jim lunged for the bag, but Sherlock held it above his head.
"If I told you, you’d try and stop me." Jim smirked. "Figure it out, detective.”
Sherlock paused for a moment. His face went grey. “You can’t have him.”
"We’ll see about that. All he needs to do is say ‘yes’, Sherlie. One word, and Johnny is mine." Jim’s voice slipped into a purr. He liked that word. Mine.
(You haven’t been sending shitty prompts! :O I’m so sorry - I just haven’t gotten round to them yet! I’m writing this one right now - I’m so so sorry! I love you too!)
John sighed. “It’s only for a week.”
"Yes. You’ll be spending a week alone in Paris with him.”
Jim glared at John. “I forbid it. I absolutely forbid it!”
John sighed. He reclined back onto the bed’s headboard, shaking his head slowly as Jim Moriarty paced the bedroom floor, his arms crossed across his bare chest and a lit cigarette dangling in his fingers. He wore only his pajama trousers, and his eyes kept flicking to John to assess whether he’d changed his mind in the last two seconds. John himself was dressed only in his pants and jeans, and his mind was totally set.
"It’s not even that long." John sighed. "One week, not even that. Sherlock will solve the case in a matter of days - you know him. I’ll text you, I’ll call you - Hell, you can even watch me on the CCTV."
Jim stopped pacing. He took another long drag from his cigarette before crossing to the bed and stubbing it out on the end column of the four-poster. “You really think that’s enough?”
"Uh… I suppose…"
Jim crawled onto the bed, his eyes flashing. “That’s not enough, John.” he moved forwards until he was straddling the blond, running his hands through John’s hair and making his eyelids flutter. Jim’s voice deepened to a purr as he whispered: “I need to see you in the flesh. I need to kiss you. I need to touch your skin and taste you and make you mine…”
Jim bent his neck and nipped at John’s lower lip, lightly flicking his tongue against John’s inner cheek. John moaned, grabbing Jim’s face and pulling him deeper, kissing the madman until they both ran out of air and pulled away.
"Even now, John, I can’t get enough of you…" Jim continued, pecking kisses to John’s neck and face as he spoke. His voice went straight to John’s groin - he bucked his hips up, gripping Jim’s hair and guiding the criminal downwards.
"Do you ever stop talking?" John hissed through gritted teeth.
Jim chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. He went where John’s hand guided him, pulling back the thin material of John’s jeans and mouthing the fabric of his pants. He glanced up, and his dark eyes caught John’s blue ones. “Don’t leave…”
"I have to." John drew in a shaky breath.
"Do you want to?”
"Not right now, no." John grinned.
Jim grinned back. “Good.” he moved upwards, kissing and licking John’s chest. He loomed over John’s head, staring down somewhat menacingly. “I’ll give you three days. Then you’d better be back.”
"I promise." John nodded.
"Ah, Johnny…" Jim tutted. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep…"
And with that, Jim lunged down again, kissing his lover within a tight and protective embrace.
(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.”
"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.”