seen from New Zealand
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OwO For a moment I thought there wouldn't be a drawing today. I hate drawing backgrounds so I apologize for that lol.
Something cute something cheesy a kiss under the rain, good thing that our boys had an umbrella (They stole it from Mycroft lol)
No. 520
Quite Irritating
James Moriarty x fem!oc (But could be read with Reader-Y/N too)
Summary: Moriarty kidnaps Sherlock's new partner as leverage. Unfortunately for him, she thinks she's funny.
Or: Phoebe gets kidnapped. Moriarty gets annoyed. They both discover that teasing each other is surprisingly entertaining.
Phoebe Kriegman had been kidnapped before.
Well, perhaps not personally kidnapped—lucky her. But she had investigated quite a few kidnapping cases herself. She had interviewed victims, questioned suspects, reconstructed timelines, and spent countless hours listening to families explain, through tears and panic, exactly how much they wanted their loved ones back.
She had even once spent an unfortunate evening inside the boot of a car while investigating a particularly stupid smuggling operation.
That one had been entirely her fault. In her defense, she had been curious.
But this was the first time someone had actually kidnapped her, specifically and pretty much obviously because they wanted to get to Sherlock Holmes.
Nothing new.
Sherlock did have a remarkable talent for making enemies, and Phoebe had learned that rather quickly after working with him. Still, she couldn't help finding the whole situation somewhat flattering.
Apparently, she was important enough to be used as leverage against Sherlock Holmes. That had to count for something.
She shifted slightly in the chair, testing the restraints around her wrists for perhaps the tenth time. They were secure. Annoyingly secure. The room itself was equally unimpressive: bare walls, a few old pieces of furniture, a window she couldn't reach, and a table that had seen considerably better days.
It was exactly the sort of place she would have expected a criminal organization to use, which was almost disappointing. She had expected something a little more dramatic from the man who had apparently been making Sherlock Holmes's life considerably more difficult.
Speaking of the man, Phoebe glanced toward him.
James Moriarty had been watching her for nearly five minutes without saying a word.
Phoebe had noticed. Obviously. It was difficult not to notice when a man stared at you as though you were an especially interesting mathematical equation. There was something oddly deliberate about the way he looked at her, as though he were trying to solve a problem that hadn't been explained to him yet. It was almost flattering.
Well. Flattered again.
She decided that she had given him enough time to continue whatever silent psychological experiment he seemed to be conducting and let out a long, exaggerated yawn. “Would you mind telling me how long this is supposed to take?” she asked, her voice carrying an almost ridiculous amount of casualness considering she was currently tied to a chair.
Moriarty finally looked up properly. His expression remained perfectly composed, although there was a faint spark of amusement in his eyes. “You're remarkably calm.”
Phoebe glanced down at the restraints around her wrists before looking back at him. “I've had worse afternoons.”
That seemed to interest him. “Have you?”
“Once,” she replied, nodding solemnly.
Moriarty's eyebrows rose slightly. “While being kidnapped?”
“Technically.” Phoebe paused, thinking about it. “I was investigating something.”
“Of course you were.”
She laughed softly. “I have a tendency to investigate things.”
“I'd noticed.”
There was something about the way he said it that made Phoebe study him more carefully. His suit was immaculate, his posture relaxed, and his voice was almost conversational. There was no visible tension in him whatsoever, which was rather impressive considering he was sitting across from a detective he had just kidnapped. Most criminals she'd encountered had at least the decency to look nervous when speaking to her. Moriarty, however, seemed completely at ease.
Phoebe leaned back as much as the chair allowed, studying him in return. “So,” she began, drawing his attention back to her, “James Moriarty.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Yes?”
“Are you going to tell me why I'm here?”
A slow smile began to spread across his face. “I think you already know.”
“Oh, I do.” Phoebe smiled back, entirely too pleased with herself. “I'm bait.” She couldn't help herself. She laughed. “You wanted Sherlock to come looking for me.”
Moriarty said nothing, but his eyes remained fixed on her.
“And considering how much effort you've apparently put into this,” she continued, “I'm guessing you already know that he will. Which means I'm probably not in any immediate danger.”
Moriarty's eyes slightly narrowed.
Phoebe immediately laughed again. “Oh, I've annoyed you.”
“No.”
“You have the face.”
“What face?”
“The one people make when they're reconsidering their life choices.”
For a moment, Moriarty simply stared at her. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed, a quiet, brief sound that seemed almost foreign coming from him. Phoebe blinked, apparently surprised that she'd managed to get an actual laugh out of him.
“Well,” she said, smiling to herself, “that wasn't so difficult.”
Moriarty leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows against his knees. There was something different in his expression now. The amusement was still there, but underneath it was something else. Curiosity, perhaps. Interest. He had expected a frightened detective, someone who would spend the next several hours trying to negotiate her way out of the situation. Instead, he had been given Phoebe Kriegman, who seemed almost determined to treat her own kidnapping as an amusing inconvenience.
“I think,” he said slowly, “I'm beginning to understand why Sherlock finds you useful.”
Phoebe considered that for a moment before smiling. “And I think I'm beginning to understand why he finds you annoying.”
Moriarty's eyebrows lifted playfully.
Phoebe's smile widened innocently. “Very annoying, actually.” There was a pause. Then Moriarty smiled again.
And although Phoebe didn't know it yet, that was probably the moment he decided he wouldn't let her go quite as soon as he'd originally planned.
“You know,” he said, changing the subject slightly, “most people would be considerably more frightened.”
Phoebe merely shrugged as much as the restraints allowed, looking almost thoughtful for a moment before answering, “Most people don't have to deal with Sherlock Holmes on a regular basis.”
That made him pause. Moriarty gave her a small head tilt, followed by an almost imperceptible shrug, as though reluctantly acknowledging that she had a point. Phoebe caught the gesture immediately and smiled, looking rather pleased with herself. “Honestly, compared to him, you're doing rather well.”
Moriarty stared at her for a moment, his eyebrows rising into that signature expression of theatrical disbelief. “Are you comparing me to Sherlock Holmes?” he asked, sounding almost offended by the suggestion.
“Yes,” Phoebe replied without the slightest hesitation, grinning as she held his gaze. There wasn't even a trace of uncertainty in her answer.
“And I'm winning?” Moriarty asked, suddenly very serious, as though the question were of the utmost importance.
“Oh, absolutely,” Phoebe assured him, her smile widening.
His expression immediately brightened with unmistakable satisfaction. Moriarty dramatically placed a hand against his chest and gave an exaggerated little sweep across it, as though wiping away an imaginary bead of sweat.
“Oh, thank God,” he sighed, his relief so theatrical that Phoebe couldn't help bursting into laughter. “For a moment there, I was worried.”
“You should be,” she managed between laughs.
Moriarty glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Should I?”
“Absolutely. Your ego is already enormous. Imagine what happens if I keep complimenting you.”
He gave her a thoughtful look, pretending to consider the possibility. “I suppose I'd become unbearable.”
Phoebe laughed again. “Become?”
For a second, Moriarty simply stared at her. Then he laughed too, shaking his head as though he couldn't quite believe he'd somehow found himself having this conversation with the detective he'd kidnapped. She was peculiar. Incredibly peculiar.
He walked toward the window, one hand sliding casually into his pocket. He could feel her gaze following him across the room, and after a moment, he found himself becoming just a little too aware of it.
Phoebe had been watching him for nearly the entire time, her expression carrying that same peculiar amusement she seemed to have about absolutely everything.
Moriarty glanced out the window for a moment before deciding it might be better to give her something else to think about. “Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “I should simply let you go.”
Phoebe blinked, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. “Really?” she asked, and there was something almost disappointed in her voice.
Moriarty looked over his shoulder at her, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Yes.” He let the word linger for a moment, watching her reaction.
“Why?” Phoebe asked, sounding almost genuinely curious. There was even a faint pout to her expression, as though she were trying to understand what she'd done wrong. Wasn't she being a good hostage? She had been cooperative enough, hadn't she? She hadn't screamed, hadn't tried to make a run for it, and had even provided him with reasonably entertaining conversation. Frankly, she thought she deserved a little credit.
“Because you're quite irritating,” Moriarty replied, turning slightly toward her. “You know that?”
Her eyebrows lifted, and for a second she looked almost surprised by the accusation. “Oh.” She paused, considering his words before adding, with remarkable sincerity, “Sorry.”
Moriarty stared at her. “You're not.”
Phoebe's lips curled into a smile as she shook her head. “No, I'm truly not.”
Moriarty sighed, finally turning away from the window completely so he could face her. He folded his arms loosely across his chest, studying her.
Phoebe simply smiled back at him, perfectly content with herself. And somehow, that smile irritated him even more. Or perhaps that wasn't quite the right word; he was beginning to suspect that fascinated might be a much more accurate word.
Before he could properly process what he was doing, Moriarty found himself walking straight toward her. Perhaps it was simply curiosity, or perhaps he had grown tired of standing across the room. Whatever the reason, his feet carried him closer until he was standing only a short distance away from her.
Phoebe looked up at him, immediately noticing the change in his position. A teasing smile appeared on her face as she tilted her head slightly.
“Changed your mind?” she asked, sounding far too pleased with herself.
“Unfortunately,” Moriarty replied, already becoming accustomed to Phoebe's complete lack of seriousness. At this point, he was beginning to suspect that she could turn almost any situation into a joke if given enough time.
“Keeping me?” she asked, tilting her head again as she looked directly at him.
There was something almost absurd about the way she smiled at him. She looked as though he were merely some friend she had been spending an afternoon with, playing a game to pass the time, rather than a man who had kidnapped her and was, quite frankly, one of the most dangerous criminals in London.
“Yes,” Moriarty answered simply.
Phoebe let out a dramatic sigh, dropping her shoulders as though he had just delivered terrible news. “Shame. I was starting to untie the knot on my wrists.”
Moriarty stopped. His eyes immediately flicked toward her hands before returning to her face. “You were?”
“No.” Phoebe burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking slightly as she tried to contain herself. “But wouldn't that be funny?”
He simply stared at her.
Phoebe's smile widened when she saw his expression, clearly delighted that she'd managed to catch him off guard. “You really are very easy to tease.”
Something in Moriarty's expression shifted. His eyes became something quieter, more deliberate, as a small, almost delighted smile appeared on his lips.
So that was it. She wanted to tease him. She had discovered that she could get a reaction out of him, and now she seemed determined to see just how far she could push it.
Rather than being offended, however, Moriarty found the realization strangely entertaining. “Oh,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping into something softer and distinctly pleased. “I see.”
Phoebe's laughter gradually faded into a curious smile as she watched him. “What?” she asked, her head tilting slightly to the other side.
“I think I've finally figured you out.”
“Have you?” she asked, smirking to one side. The expression revealed the faintest shadow of a little dimple in her cheek, and Moriarty found himself staring at it for a moment longer than he probably should have.
“No,” he admitted with a smile. “But I'm enjoying trying.”
For once, Phoebe didn't immediately have a joke ready. Her lips parted slightly, as though she had been about to answer, but nothing came out. Moriarty noticed immediately. Of course he did. His smile grew just a fraction, pleased by the tiny reaction he had managed to steal from her. There. Finally. A reaction he hadn't expected.
He straightened after another moment and reached for his cup of tea, taking it from the table as though the conversation had suddenly become considerably less important. “Maybe,” he said casually, taking a small sip, “you can stay a little longer.”
Phoebe stared at him for a moment, clearly processing the statement before her usual playful look returned. “Was that supposed to sound threatening?” she asked, one eyebrow lifting.
“No.”
“Because it sounded suspiciously like you enjoy having me here.”
And just like that, she was back in control. Moriarty could practically see the moment she regained her confidence, that familiar little smile returning to her face as she watched him for a reaction.
“I said nothing of the sort,” he replied, taking another sip of his tea as though the accusation were completely ridiculous.
“You didn't have to.”
Moriarty lowered the cup slowly, his eyes settling on her again. Phoebe was smiling, looking entirely too pleased with herself for someone who was still tied to a chair in the middle of an abandoned building. She had somehow managed to turn the entire situation into a game, and, despite himself, Moriarty had allowed her to do it.
For perhaps the millionth time that afternoon, he found himself smiling back at her.
And that, more than anything else, was beginning to irritate him.
Demon Jim plus my new signature:3
Got a new white gel pen, so that’s cool for adding highlights!
Should I draw more angel/demon Sherlock characters? And what would Sherlock be, as he’s not on the side of the angels, but he’s not…. ‘Evil’ evil? Y’know?
I saw a video of someone making bobbin lace and a comment said "when I'm feeling arachnid" and now I'm thinking of Jim doing that on his office lol
Jim weaving his web while organizing his criminal web
I should be drawing Sebastian, but I wanted to do this doodle with the twins and Sherlock :3 Hug him!
No. 518
Warmth
A Johniarty fanfic (John Watson x Jim Moriarty)
Originally posted on A03
No warnings, General audiences
Tags - Insomnia, Self-Indulgent, No Beta We Die Like Sherlock , Fluff , this author needed sleep but wrote this instead , author is most likely sleep deprived and is suffering from insomnia , hence the subject
Summary -
John has trouble sleeping after finishing a case. Restless, he goes outside for a peaceful walk. That is where he runs into a certain person.
Jim Moriarty (BBC Sherlock) Pride Flags for @israfelfrost!
Aro | Ace | Bi
Gay | Genderfluid | Lesbian
Enby | Pan | Trans
Enjoy!
is this anything
