Moriarty, real name [REDACTED] was a prolific criminal kingpin active from [REDACTED] to [REDACTED]. With hands in the drug trade, war profiteering and many other illegal activities, Moriarty ran a profitable "criminal management" business up until his death in [REDACTED]. Shortly before his death, Moriarty enacted a takeover of the Ministry, holding several members of the INTERPOL force as well as several civilians present hostage. He then vanished from the premises, along with three children, [REDACTED] Duke, [REDACTED], and [REDACTED]. Two weeks later, Director [REDACTED] confronted Moriarty in [REDACTED], resulting in him losing an eye and the death of the mastermind. The children's involvement in [REDACTED] was deemed under duress and all records sealed.
Due to his [REDACTED] abilities, Moriarty was nearly impossible to investigate or prosecute. From witness statements, we have complied an approximate image of his appearance.
Part Two. Content includes kidnapping, threats of violence, actual violence, swearing, forced to hurt, dehumanization, mutilation, noncon touch (nonsexual), autocannibalism, branding, and torture. Moriarty is co-owned with @space-is-out-there! Let me know if I missed any tags.
Lesson two. Respect.
"Welcome to my humble lair!" Moriarty announces, as if Fiona is supposed to burst into applause at the sight of dingy dungeon walls. Instead, she nearly breaks a wrist trying to pull the chain she's cuffed to out of the wall. "Where is everyone?! Where did you take me?!"
"A- wouldn't you like to know and B- to my home!"
"A- Yes I would and B- fuck you and your dungeon house," the girl snaps. Moriarty cackles at that, flashing perfectly white teeth as Fiona looks around in a sudden panic. "What did you do with my wand?!"
"I assure you it's unharmed. I'm just saving it for when you earn it."
What-
"I was wrong about Mark," Moriarty says, waving a hand dismissively at the thought of his son. "I thought he might have what it takes, but... I'm still in the market for a protégé."
Fiona's expression is incredulous. "No way I'm doing that! You're even more insane than I thought if you think I'll EVER work for you!" She pulls even harder at the chains, but they don't budge.
Moriarty rolls his eyes. "They use those chains to wrangle dragons, you know."
Fiona stops pulling and glares at him. "So what, then? Are you planning on just keeping me in here forever?!"
He scoffs, like she's an idiot. "No, of course not. If I can't convince you, I'll merely erase your memory and mind control you!" He pauses, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. "...Or I'll kill you and feed you to the rats. Depends on my mood."
Fiona wipes the horrified look off her face before that statement can sink in. "Great. So there's no option where I, say... stab you in the back?"
"Not unless you want to be tracked to the ends of the earth by my men and fed the skin of everyone you care about," Moriarty responds matter-of-factually.
Fiona feels ill. "Thanks for that image."
"You're welcome, love!" Moriarty chirps, and claps his hands together. "Now, if we're going to get along, there are some ground rules you should know about. Follow them, and your apprenticeship will be relatively pain-free. Disobey, and there will be consequences. Number one-"
Abruptly, he is standing less than a foot away from her, and she startles on instinct. He clicks his tongue. "Don't hesitate. Hesitation makes you weak- and you can't run a criminal empire like that, can you?"
She opens her mouth to speak and he holds up a finger to silence her. She's so surprised that she says nothing, her mouth agape- and Moriarty claps. "Rule number two- respect. You may be next in line to run this place, but I am your boss. You follow my orders, when I give them. You may call me Moriarty when we're alone; boss or sir when in public."
She can't help herself. "What are you calling me?"
"Whatever the hell I want," he says.
She wasn't sure what else she expected.
"Rule two-and-a-half- look me in the eyes when I speak to you." Moriarty snaps his fingers, catching her attention from an extremely interesting mold spot on the floor. "Manners are important- we can't have anyone thinking we're uncivilized, can't we? We're not barbarians."
"Yeah, just criminals," Fiona mumbles.
"That's no excuse to be rude," Moriarty retorts, snaps his fingers, and her cuffs vanish. As Fiona rubs her wrists, he taps his watch. "Hmm... that's all I have for now, so... Time for training!"
"I don't want to," Fiona says. Just how far can she push him...?
"Too bad."
That answered that question.
"Now are we going? Or am I dragging you out one chunk at a time?" Moriarty asks, looking at his nails as if her answer didn't really matter. (It didn't.)
"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming," Fiona grumbles, rising from her spot on the concrete floor. "Although I am interested in how exactly you'd train a dismembered protégé."
"With great effort!" comes the cheerful reply.
----
"First, I’m going to teach you a very important part of running this operation," Moriarty tells her as they stroll into a warehouse. She has no idea where they are- planewalking definitely broadens one's options for evil hideouts, she supposes.
Most of the goons that catch sight of them avert their eyes and scurry in the other direction. She wishes she could too, but Moriarty has a grip on her shoulder- she swallows her discomfort and pipes up. "So it's not just fancy suits and maniacal laughter?"
"No, those are just perks," Moriarty responds without skipping a beat. "Respect. Respect is important. There’s someone here who has disrespected me. We’re going to make sure he doesn’t do that anymore."
"What'd he do?" Fiona quips. "Stole your ice cream money? Broke your Action Man?"
"Someone’s been skimming off top of their transactions," Moriarty says, and gestures to a scrawny man being held by two guards. The man flinches when Moriarty makes eye contact with him, and cowers when the mastermind strides forward to speak. "Thought you could fuck me over, did you?!" He leans in to yell in the man's face. "DID YOU?!"
"Seems to me like he already regrets his situation," Fiona says quietly.
Moriarty steps back to stand next to her and draws a knife out of his jacket pocket. "He skimmed off the top of my money so I say... we skim off the top of his head."
Fiona looks at him blankly. Moriarty rolls his eyes and clarifies. "Cut off his ears... and make him eat them."
The man blubbers and starts to cry. Moriarty flips the handle towards Fiona expectantly, who flinches as if it might jump and bite her. She stammers. "Are you sure this is… necessary?" She grasps for something, any excuse to get out of this. "It just- uh- seems like a lot of effort to deal with all of this personally..."
"This is what we call a teachable moment! You see- if you don’t make people respect you, they'll just take it as permission to walk all over you."
"Can't you get respect by, you know… treating people like people?"
"No," Moriarty shakes his head. "That only works in la-la land... and in Philadelphia. AND I DON'T SEE ANY CHEESESTEAKS, NOW DO WHAT I ASKED!"
She reels backwards at his screaming, and unconciously takes a few steps towards the captive instead, who is whimpering and sobbing. Like a switch was flipped, Moriarty grins widely and gives her a thumbs-up. "Go on!"
Her throat is bone-dry. Her voice comes out hoarse. "My hand is shaking."
"Rule number one," Moriarty reminds her. "It hurts more when you hesitate."
It's like her arm is detatched from her body. It moves on its own, drawing the blade closer. It cuts cleanly, and the distant thought occurs to her that the knife must be very sharp. Blood drips off the blade and onto the floor, stark red against the gray.
Blood pools on the ground and stains her fingers. There's an incessant loud noise droning on in the background, and Fiona resists the urge to cover her ears.
Moriarty is clapping. "Is this how proud parents feel? I never got this feeling from my kids." He gestures for the guards to drag the man closer. He hasn't stopped screaming. He stops, briefly, to swallow, when she places the severed ears into his mouth, and then Fiona doesn't see what happens, because she's vomiting onto the floor.
She retches and gags and sobs and by the time she comes back to herself enough to think, the man is gone, and Moriarty is clapping her on the back, talking at her as if she's in any state to pay attention.
"Honestly, it looks like you were dressed by a pedophile with a doll fetish- oh wait! You were."
The world swims before her eyes, and she takes in a deep, shuddering breath. Shoves the images in her mind away. Stands up straight. Don't think about it.
"I think you would look good in a suit," Moriarty muses.
Fiona can't stop a laugh from escaping. It wasn't particularly funny. Her voice comes out sounding like it belongs to someone else. "Matching outfits? Really?"
"Please. Female crime bosses have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. I’m helping you." Moriarty takes her hand and swings it between them like a loving father. "Now let’s go shatter that glass ceiling!"
----
Several hours later, Moriarty sits at his desk. Fiona, for her part, is standing in the corner doing her best to avoid attracting his attention. Doing her best to keep her mind blank. She shifts uncomfortably in her new suit- not because it doesn't fit, but because it's a mirror of Moriarty's outfit.
The mastermind spins around in the chair like an excited toddler, beaming at her. "You did excellently today- I'll give you a reward. Come here."
It's a simple demand, and an enticing prospect. Moriarty waits for her, entirely unreadable, betraying no hints for what the "reward" will be.
Her legs aren't moving.
Moriarty smiles and repeats himself. "Come here."
She doesn't want to. "Can I- can I stay here?"
"Ah, that's very polite, asking for permission," the man nods, approvingly, before continuing, "You may not."
Haltingly, she shuffles over to him, defiantly stopping a bit away. Oddly, he doesn't seem to notice her hesitation- or, more likely, just chooses to ignore it. He draws her into his arms, running a hand through her hair, forcing her to look into his eyes. His voice is quiet. Hushed. "You're so tiny."
She blinks. Why-
Abruptly, he runs his fingers through her hair, down the back of her neck, and every muscle in her body braces for pain- but instead, he guides her to sit on the floor, resting a hand on her shoulder. Before she can fully process what's happening, he's tied a blindfold around her head, plunging her world into blackness, binding her hands in front of her-
She closes her eyes as she feels the telltale pinpricks of tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Please," she whimpers, but he only shushes her. All she can hear are his shoes tapping against the floor, and touch is the only sense she still has- but it's okay. It's going to be okay. She did what he asked. He said this was a reward. It's okay-
And then she feels something caress her shoulder.
Fiona flinches, her back arching against the sudden touch. Moriarty hushes her. She can feel his breath against the back of her neck. The tears spill over, soaking into the blindfold and running down her face, dripping off her chin. Moriarty stops tracing her arm and gently wipes her cheek with a finger.
She never gets used to it- every time she thinks she's getting used to the pattern, the awful cold feeling of his fingers all over her, he'd drag his nails across her cheek, she'd feel his tongue in her ear, kisses pressed to the back of her neck, and her whole body would spasm with shock, with terror. Moriarty holds her close, stroking her hair, her face, and for just a split second, she's back with her family- she can't bring herself to move away, she can't. Not even when the cold steel of a blade presses against her bare cheek.
"Hold still now…"
Pain. Sharp and white-hot, like fire magic. She bites her tongue to keep from screaming as the blade draws four shallow lines across her skin. She can feel the blood run down her cheek and her breath hitches, a sob tearing itself free from her chest. Moriarty hums, pressing a wet cloth against the burning sensation, and Fiona clutches at his suit coat, heaving shudering breaths. "What did you..."
The man shushes her. The washcloth is removed, and Fiona winces, but the fiery feeling has mostly faded away. In its wake is a peculiar sensation on her cheek- like exposed skin hitting air.
Ever so gently, Moriarty traces along her cheek, in a peculiar pattern that she can't quite place.
Pairing: No romance but the gang’s all here: Sherlock and John, mentions of Moriarty and Mycroft.
Summary: Moriarty’s bff goes to see what all the hubbub about the detective is all about.
Length: 903 words (allegedly)
Warnings: None!
AN: I’ve been playing around with writing “mean girls” and what not. I hope you enjoy!
–
Felicity held her tea in one hand and adjusted her glasses in the other before slipping it back into the pocket of her patterned trousers. She had to admit a bit of confusion as she stood examining the clues to a case yet solved on the wall of 221B Baker Street. She brought a manicured finger up to lightly trace where Sherlock Holmes had scrawled a note next to a snapshot of a shady-looking man. It was Jackson Sprawling, but that was for her to know and Sherlock to find out if he were as clever as she'd been led to believe. She heard the door close below her and smirked. The boys were home.
"Um, hello," a voice called from the door.
"Hello," she returned it politely but didn't turn to greet the man she knew to be John Watson. Her eyes continued to roam, and she turned, taking in the flat. It was a mess. The second set of footsteps reached the landing and stalled as well.
"Are you a client," John asked.
"No," Sherlock Holmes, the man Felicity wanted to see, stepped into the flat fully. "She's the woman who's been following us since Hyde Park."
"Very good," said Felicity even though she'd been following them long before that. Her eyes made their way to them but lingered on Sherlock. "You aren't as tall as I thought you'd be."
"Sorry to disappoint," Sherlock muttered. He was still on guard, but Felicity liked him like this. She stepped back and looked him over.
"How did you get in," John asked, and Felicity laughed.
"Too easily. You have no security at all. Interesting choice considering you let "clients" walk in off the street. You could be making millions by the way," she said.
"Who says we aren't," John countered, making Felicity and Sherlock give him a look.
"I says." She smiled, then perked up. "Oh! I forgot to mention I haven't touched your landlady. He says you're funny like that, attached to your landlady. Weird. And I made myself some tea, I hope you don't mind."
"Sorry, who are you?" John looked between Felicity, who found a seat on the desk, crossing her legs, and his flatmate. Finally, Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"My brother is getting livelier with the people he sends to me, it seems," Sherlock scoffed.
"It seems that way," she repeated, appalled at the sentence. "Lord, you are quite daft in comparison to your brother."
"So you aren't with Mycroft," John asked yet another question. She looked at Sherlock, though.
"He can't shut up about you. But, and feel free to take this the wrong way, I don't get it," she admitted with a shrug. Felicity thought back to the moment that brought her there. It had felt like her and James, and then everyone else for the longest. All of a sudden it was non stop detective talk. The last straw was James leaving his dinner with her to solidify some elaborate plan for an amateur detective in London.
"James, why are you still talking about this Holmes? He's not even the interesting one with all the secrets," Felicity asked her friend who had yet to stop talking about this man. James grabbed her chin and made her look at him.
"And yet he's more interesting than you," he said. "And I'm beginning to like him so. Much. More."
More interesting than her? No, she'd have to see it to believe it.
"I mean, you've got a bit of something and I see the appeal I suppose, but personally? I couldn't eat a whole one of you," Felicity continued. She looked him over once again and licked her mauve painted lips, ending in a wicked smile as realization meet disbelief in Sherlock's eyes.
"He?" John echoed then looked to his confidant.
"Moriarty," Sherlock clarified. John went pale and gulped. Then he mouth screwed up and she could tell he wanted to wag his finger at her.
"I forgot he lets the children call him that when they play," she mused then turned to John. "Would you like my gun?"
"What?" John looked at her in disbelief.
"I can see you thinking seriously stupid plans of attack in your head. Maybe having a gun would help you calm down, yeah?" She talked to the doctor as if it was his first day of pre-school.
"Why are you here," Sherlock finally got to the point. He looked her over, trying to deduce things that weren't there: clues about his latest nemesis. She was a stylish woman with thick curly hair to her shoulders and golden brown skin. If she hadn't effectively stalked them, broke into their flat, and carried a weapon she could handle herself without, Sherlock would've thought she was a socialite.
"I just wanted to check out the man causing such a stir in these international waters." She shrugged again then changed topics, "I've got a live-in too, by the way. She's called Lizbeth. Terrible name, lovely thighs," Felicity whispered the last part and added a dramatic wink.
"I'm not a pet." John folded his arms defiantly. Sherlock didn't bother disagreeing.
"He hasn't sent you, has he? Going rogue?"
"Every person you meet isn't under his thumb, boy genius. The fight to be the biggest baddest megalomaniac in the land is a vicious one. Lots of one-upping. You'd enjoy it." She looked at her watch and stood. "Well, this has been something, truly, but places to go, people to kill and all that."
Felicity left Baker Street in thought. He would not be happy with her meeting Sherlock before he did. But this did confirm her theory.
Fiona had a bad time during those two weeks. Part one of until I run out of writing.
Warnings for minor whump, gun violence, forced to choose, and murder.
The first lesson of many. Don't hesitate.
"Pick one."
She didn't want to. The couple in front of her- bound and gagged, their teary eyes staring up at her- they hadn't done anything bad! They didn't deserve this-
"I'm being generous, giving you a choice. Don't make me regret it."
She couldn't- she couldn't- sentence someone to death? No, no, no- it was wrong, it was terrible. She couldn't. She couldn't choose!
Moriarty huffed, twirling the gun in his fingers. "I'm starting to regret it."
She begged him to just give her more time- couldn't they spare them? Give them another chance? She didn't want to, please don't make her, please-
"PICK," he snarled, bludgeoning her with the butt of the gun.
Sobbing, she pointed.
BANG.
Blood sprayed everywhere, and the remaining person's muffled sounds of horror filled Fiona's ears. But it was over. It was ov-
BANG.
More blood. So much blood. Too much-
"What did you do?! You said-"
He rolled his eyes. "You took too long. Do a better job next time."
Fiona stared down at the two corpses, feeling ill. She only took two steps backwards before she started to vomit.
