Jim Moriarty x rockstar!reader
A/N: this is my first time ever writing with moriartys character. It may be off from his true character and there may be human error. Apologise in advance.
The sweat dripped down, circling around your body as you continued to prance around the stage. By now the speakers had cut off any noise that wasn’t the beat or your own voice. The constant beat of your guitar bouncing against your abdomen and hips had started to become slightly sore. You flicked your head back, while grabbing your guitar, in an attempt to move the damped mess out of your eyes. The crowed was cheering, almost mimicking the ringing in your ears as you swallowed dryly. You where out of breath and worn out, but by God where you going to give the last verse your all. Finally, you stilled on stage, feet glued to a particular position as the lights faded to black. You panted hard unable to catch your breath, your lungs hurt, your eyes hurt, your throat hurt but holy shit, that was one of the best performances of your life. You’d spent months on this tour, and needless to say, your partner back in London didn’t seem to be too happy about it. He’d warned you how bored he’d be without your undivided attention. James had built your career. He was somewhat of a manger for you. When he first came up to you, you’d never recognised him. It was a cold evening, your fingers hurt twice as much as they did remembering the events
You where softly strumming on your guitar in the middle of London town centre, waiting for your friends to finish up with their classes and come and meet you. The unfortunate thing about going to a separate university was the scattered time tables. You weren’t causing too much attention to yourself, it was a busy day and at worst people would think you where a busker. You where only tuning your guitar back up, it was starting to sound pitchy and unpleasant and you needed it perfect for the bar later tonight. You weren’t just specialised in the guitar. You where a jack of all trades. Could play a lot of instruments. Thinking back that must of been what James saw in you. It had to be. It wasn’t long until you caught the attention of someone, despite it being a humid day he still wore a trench coat and scarf. A shorter man following behind him. They taller man seemed to stop when you locked eyes, hair being brown back by the wind. You found the nerve to atleast smile, he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. The fear finally stuck you when he headed quickly towards you, muttering to himself. He was analysing you. It didn’t take a genius to realise that. His loyal lap dog following short after. The shorter man seemed to limp, he stuttered on a few words but managed to keep a conversation with you going. The questions lingered in your head longer than you’d like to admit, and with the cloaked man looming over you. You felt trapped.
“My names doctor John Watson, and this is sherlock.”
You recognised him. How could you not. The Sherlock Holmes. They wernt there to hurt you. They where there to interrogate you. Johns words seemed to calm you once you realised who they where. Fortunately for you the conversation and answers didn’t last Long when you heard a groan from sherlock, who suddenly stormed off calling back behind him.
“They don’t know anything John. They havnt been here for that long. No change from the music. Even their fingers arnt reddened from playing their guitar. Well loose the suspect if we wait any longer.”
John sighed. It seemed as if he was used to being dragged all over the place. He thanked you before waddling back after sherlock. You groaned softly, you wernt a busker, but you didn’t dare say that out loud. Imagine telling a famous detective he was wrong. You sighed softly, running your fingers through your soft hair, taking a step back you heard a crunch. Instantly looking down, you seemed to pray you hadn’t accidentally stood on a pigeon. Thankfully, it wasn’t. However, what was there seemed somthing more important that the slight decrease in London’s flying rat population. A pendrive. It wasn’t there when you first sat down. And no one other than the detective and his faithful sidekick had been near you. You added up the dots rather quickly. It couldn’t be important, Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t of just simply dropped something right? You picked up the drive, looking around before shoving it into your pocket. Going back to your guitar, finally your friends came from around the corner. They all looked out of breath, it was reliving that they’d actually run to meet you. You loved your group of nerds. However the rest of the day was draining. You couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you. Not fully anyway. Even with your friends constantly around you there was always something just slightly off. It was later that evening when you met James. You where about to come on stage when a man in a gorgeous black suit came out, he had a soft Irish accent and smelt of mint and old books. He instantly caught your attention. His little smirk covered his face as he realised you where staring.
“Didnt mummy ever tell you not to stare my dear?”
You face flushed with embarrassment as you clutched your guitar case. Biting your lip hard and walking past him to get to the stage. To this day his little chuckle still rang through your mind.
After they lead you off stage you where taken back to your dressing room and completely spoilt. They made sure you had water, and an ice pack just incase and they finally left you alone. Once alone the realness set it and all you could think about was James. How mad you where at him. How you’d left London angry as he screamed about how he’d made you.
“I could just as easily take it away”
you mimicked under your breath. Fists clenching into balls.
“What was that, my love?”
It wasn’t until after your little solo that you ran into James again. This time he was outside when you left. You where planning on leaving with friends but the night hadn’t planned out this way when two of your friends had gotten so drunk they’d thrown up. Another vivid memory you’d never forget. The Irish man approached you, smirking a little wider as you kept your eyes of him
He spoke softly standing just infront of you, you wanted to know what he wanted. He knew it But the drawn out silences caused you to crack faster
You asked, trying to keep it polite. You wernt one to judge based on looks, but he looked important.
“Your preformance. I want to represent you, wouldn’t you like to be a star my dear? I could make you shine.”
“What was that, my love?” The sweet sound of his voice filled the quiet room as you turned to glare. The second you locked eyes your glare softened. You couldn’t stay mad at him, well you could, just not when he came out all the way from London.
“I didn’t think you’d ever leave London.”
“For you dear the distance was worth it.”
He tried to make a move towards you before you stood up, backing further away. He stopped in his tracks, chuckling and looking down.
He’d lied to you. About everything. You’d figured it out a few months after. All because of that stupid pendrive. You’d left it out in the open when James had first visited your apartment. It was quite a cozy small space. You’d put the kettle on and had a cup of tea while discussing what you where studying in uni. The man seemed very enthralled with what you had to say, and everything about you if we’re being honest. By the time he had left the pendrive was also gone. You didn’t think to much of it. A clumsy mistake, you’d misplaced it. That wasn’t the case. You’d found the pendrive in James’s pocket once again when he came to visit. Only it was accompanied by a second one. You bit your lip and placed them on the table while he was in the kitchen. He’d noticed they’d been moved. But didn’t hide them. He didn’t even pick them up when he left. He just left. It had information. Cases on Sherlock Holmes. Most importantly the victims of the London bombings. A full detail description of each and every single one of them And that’s when the knock came on your door. Sherlock Holmes himself.
“He’s stalking me! I don’t know what he wants but he won’t leave me alone Y/N! I never asked for this I never-“
“Jim. Jim Moriarty. He told me James... he told me everything. He had photos. Evidence. He took those pendrives. You’ve been using me as a messenger for months. Sherlock knew that if he faked an interest in me. You’d use me. And that’s what you did. I was secretly passing both of you those pendrives without even knowing. I was helping a criminal!”
James snapped out of his little victim role. He chucked and shook his head
“smart, very smart my dear. It’s a shame, my plans for you wernt over yet...”
You shook your head frantically, and grabbed your suitcase. Leaving soon after. The criminal didn’t even give chase. He watched you leave. He knew he’d hurt you.
You glared at the now foreign man stood there. Your gaze was burning into his soul. He was right. He made you. He could take it all away. But was it really yours to begin with. Moriarty sensed your thoughts by the look on your face and gently moved to put his arm around your waste, this time you didn’t stop him. You leaned into him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
“See, isn’t it so much better to be in daddy’s arms agian kitten?”
He was a psycho. he’d ruined you. He was a murderer. He killed people. He blackmailed people. But, he was different with you, he was kind and gentle, he’d helped you with you career. You where already in to deep. He wouldn’t let any harm come to you. In that moment. That was good enough. You locked eyes with jim Moriarty. Your Jim Moriarty. And gently placed your hot lips aginst his, pulling him closer by the jacket and slowly letting him claim you. You tried to pull away when you needed air but Moriarty just chased your lips. Even outside of work he couldn’t help the torture. When you two finally separated you looked deep into his eyes, holding his face in the palm of your hand.
“I love you Jim Moriarty.”
“I know you do my love. That was the plan.”
