Schizophrenic Spider

Thomas Lynch Jim Moriarty. Hi~ [BBC Sherlock-Jim Moriarty. Extremely limited activity, unlikely to persue new verses or partners.]

[asksylar]

No.

What did I do this time?

[theconsultingspider]

I know you. Whatever you were about to do, don’t do it.

You still have to replace my carpet.

[asksylar]

More than Jim would’ve liked, no doubt.

AKA: Things said that show Jim loves Sylar

[theconsultingspider]

[theconsultingspider]

The door busted open and Noah Bennet tumbled in-hands tied and glasses broken,unconscious. Sylar came in than, breathing hard and throwing down a pipe by Noah's head. "How about the guy who 'keeps touching your things'?"

Jim eyes moved from the limp form on his floor, a black bruise forming on the bespectacled man’s head, to the long, lithe man framed in the doorway, breast heaving. His head stretched to the side, exposing the veins and tight tendons in his neck.

“I suppose it will have to do,” he sighed. Bennet, after all, had really been the only man properly able to track Sylar, whereas the rest sort of just flailed about guilelessly and hoped to land where the serial killer happened to be. “He better not be bleeding on my hardwood floor.”

[theconsultingspider]

“You have an exceedingly poor memory,” Jim commented neutrally. He walked to Sylar, glancing up at the perched man, barely raising his chin. It was strange how that expression- looking at someone through your lashes from beneath, eyebrows looming- could look either becomingly innocent or terrifyingly murderous.

What sort of idiot could know the entire history of an object by touching it but couldn’t remember that clocks soothed him? He had worked as a watch repairman for fuck’s sake!

Then again, Gabriel. Sylar and he had more in common than even Sherlock would divine.

[asksylar]

“When you have as many abilities and knowledge crammed in one brain as I have, less important things tend to retreat to farther corners..” He said with a smile, but in truth it was because he chose to forget. He didn’t want to remember that he’s so fucked up sometimes. To remember that he was Gabriel Gray and thats what started the ticking to sooth him. 

“Ah, I brought your favorite wine.” He said, hopping off the railing and, for once, manually pulled the wine and two glasses from the basket. This date was because Sylar did something without abilities-so unconsciously Sylar-and no doubt planned by Moriarty- he was not using his abilities because of it.

[theconsultingspider]

“Poor you,” Jim scoffed, mocking. As if. He was fairly certain that half of Sylar’s forgetfullness was either a purposeful refusal to acknowledge certain events or a complete blocking out of trauma. For all of his ‘advancements’, Sylar was a black hole of psychological problems.

Not that Jim should talk.

Jim quirked an eyebrow as Sylar sidled nearby, accepting a glass and holding it steady as the taller man poured, watching Sylar’s face instead of the wine slowly filling its receptacle. He took the first sip without moving his focus, eyes slightly narrowed.

Subservient Sylar. How many people saw him that way? More than Jim would’ve liked, no doubt.

[asksylar]

out cold and barely breathing: "Idiot. If you were so desperate to get out of my timeline you were going to freeze yourself until I died you might've done it somewhere I couldn't find you."

 Shivering as body healed/defrosted-Sylar groaned and-surprisingly yet not-mumbled and gripped Jim as he lay unconscious.             —-“Didn’t…. Bennet ambushed…. Shanti virus.”                           Random words trying to tell what happened, but his head lulled to the side with another painful groan. 

[theconsultingspider]

“I get notice when you hold still,“ Jim shot back with a roll of his eyes, irritated at the wanton destruction of his property. Not that he minded the men. They were mercenaries, had known nothing except that they needed to fetch Sylar. His actual payroll was quite small, really. A handful of employees.

The superpowered psychopath didn’t have much of a pattern of movement, but he certainly did tend to keep moving. Twenty-four hours of purposeful stillness was unheard of.

[asksylar]

“That’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said~” He chuckled, pulling his wet shirt over his head and destroying it with radiation so Jim wouldn’t bitch about a wet carpet.

“How long have you had the tracker in me?” He didn’t bother asking where it was cause Moriarty would never tell him that. Nor tell him it was because he feared Sylar might take it out. Well, not feared-but the closest thing to fear Jim could feel.

[theconsultingspider]

“Who even remembers,” he answered neutrally. Honestly with the amount of time travel Sylar did for his own amusement, Jim wasn’t all the intent on caring. It wouldn’t be the same for both of them anyway. 

That wasn’t even considering how often Sylar froze time and went about his merry way. It was interesting to note that the tracker had come in handy once before- therefore that point had been further in Sylar’s timeline and not Jim’s. Twat.

[theconsultingspider]

Back to basics, eh, boss?

If I were going back to basics, Moran, [he seethes, spitting it out with an emphasis that quite clearly states that ‘Moran’ and ‘moron’ have no distinction in his mind] you would not be nearby.

[theconsultingspider]

The door busted open and Noah Bennet tumbled in-hands tied and glasses broken,unconscious. Sylar came in than, breathing hard and throwing down a pipe by Noah's head. "How about the guy who 'keeps touching your things'?"

Jim eyes moved from the limp form on his floor, a black bruise forming on the bespectacled man’s head, to the long, lithe man framed in the doorway, breast heaving. His head stretched to the side, exposing the veins and tight tendons in his neck.

“I suppose it will have to do,” he sighed. Bennet, after all, had really been the only man properly able to track Sylar, whereas the rest sort of just flailed about guilelessly and hoped to land where the serial killer happened to be. “He better not be bleeding on my hardwood floor.”

[theconsultingspider]

He did. The pain grounded him in a way little things did, particularly against the building maelstrom. It wasn’t enough to deter it, only to hold it off, but it would do for now. He’d collapse once Sylar disappeared. For now he was Superior.

Jim hm’d quietly, twisting his neck in a serpentine fashion to disengage Sylar’s fingernails before moving to the tower’s wall, peering down at the milling ant-people below. He was as passionless about them here as he was staring them in the face. Apparently that made him a sociopath. Fine.

Sociopaths survived.

(As if.)

Boring. Ah well. He turned back to Sylar. They were here for the well-timed ticking anyway, not the view. “Well?” Never taking his hands from his pockets.

[asksylar]

Sylar put the basket down and was already walking around. Looking at all the gears and feeling a sort of calm he always did when precise ticking was around. And one louder than the ones in his head seemed to put him in a almost lull. Like a large cat sun bathing. 

“I should have thought of coming here ages ago.” When he had his… ‘Episodes’ he planned on coming here to stop the psychosis and what not. Walking back, picking up the basket as he did, he dropped it by the railing and sat on top of it. “Sometimes I forget just how much you know. Even I forget sometimes that ticking of clocks can… Mess with me.”

[theconsultingspider]

“You have an exceedingly poor memory,” Jim commented neutrally. He walked to Sylar, glancing up at the perched man, barely raising his chin. It was strange how that expression- looking at someone through your lashes from beneath, eyebrows looming- could look either becomingly innocent or terrifyingly murderous.

What sort of idiot could know the entire history of an object by touching it but couldn’t remember that clocks soothed him? He had worked as a watch repairman for fuck’s sake!

Then again, Gabriel. Sylar and he had more in common than even Sherlock would divine.

[asksylar]

[yourdearestwatson]

Really  mature, Jim.

[theconsultingspider]

SO WHO WON I WON

[atruegentlemanthief]

Well if you’re half dead then that means you’ll be no fun to fight so I guess that answers my follow up question.

Lame.

[theconsultingspider]

No thanks you can go fight my monkey instead.

[atruegentlemanthief]

Point me to ‘em, then~.

If I win you have to buy me a drink.

[theconsultingspider]

Yeah sure you do that. Apartment 3B. Tell them ‘the halfdead one’ sent you.

[theconsultingspider]

I sorta want to play jim again but like. I have no one new to fuck with. And I’m too lazy to hunt. lol. k. MEH

[atruegentlemanthief]

theconsultingspider

Are you the vampire or the other one, I can never tell. You’re both pale as fuck.

[theconsultingspider]

I’m half dead does that answer your question?

[atruegentlemanthief]

Well if you’re half dead then that means you’ll be no fun to fight so I guess that answers my follow up question.

Lame.

[theconsultingspider]

No thanks you can go fight my monkey instead.

[atruegentlemanthief]

theconsultingspider

Are you the vampire or the other one, I can never tell. You’re both pale as fuck.

[theconsultingspider]

I’m half dead does that answer your question?

[atruegentlemanthief]

theconsultingspider replied to your post: “ooc;”:

/mindlessly pets face/

more like

[theconsultingspider]

THATS EXACTLY WHAT I MEANT

[theconsultingspider]

Although some see sociopaths as too emotionally deficient to experience the despair necessary to suicide, I see suicide as offering a viable option for some soc(...)

[theconsultingspider]

The door busted open and Noah Bennet tumbled in-hands tied and glasses broken,unconscious. Sylar came in than, breathing hard and throwing down a pipe by Noah's head. "How about the guy who 'keeps touching your things'?"

Jim eyes moved from the limp form on his floor, a black bruise forming on the bespectacled man’s head, to the long, lithe man framed in the doorway, breast heaving. His head stretched to the side, exposing the veins and tight tendons in his neck.

“I suppose it will have to do,” he sighed. Bennet, after all, had really been the only man properly able to track Sylar, whereas the rest sort of just flailed about guilelessly and hoped to land where the serial killer happened to be. “He better not be bleeding on my hardwood floor.”

[asksylar]

Sylar deflated some, elbow sliding some and making him stand like normal. “….Not long.” He lied. Sylar had a complex of trying to be cool and badass and Moriarty enjoyed having him mess up and show his not so cool more ‘gabriel’ like side. 

[theconsultingspider]

Turning away, Jim effortlessly hid the pleased (mocking) smirk that curved his mouth. Sylar was, in all ways, better than Moriarty. They each had their illness, but Sylar was faster, stronger, smarter (irritating). Not to mention his… additional skills. Having power over the man in any way always pleased him in a way that it really shouldn’t have, by most social structures.

Then again, since when had Jim been the boy that did as he was told? (Oh, he had been once, long long ago, but his name hadn’t been ‘Jim’ then.)

“Shall we head out?”

[asksylar]

“We shall.”

Sylar grabbed the basket and walked over to Jim. Just because of the last little stint, Sylar grabbed the back of Jim’s neck and put his fingernails in just hard enough to leave marks but not enough to bleed and he teleported them to Big Ben.

Well, Moriarty might actually like that-but still. It was his way of saying ‘you’re a dick’.

[theconsultingspider]

He did. The pain grounded him in a way little things did, particularly against the building maelstrom. It wasn’t enough to deter it, only to hold it off, but it would do for now. He’d collapse once Sylar disappeared. For now he was Superior.

Jim hm’d quietly, twisting his neck in a serpentine fashion to disengage Sylar’s fingernails before moving to the tower’s wall, peering down at the milling ant-people below. He was as passionless about them here as he was staring them in the face. Apparently that made him a sociopath. Fine.

Sociopaths survived.

(As if.)

Boring. Ah well. He turned back to Sylar. They were here for the well-timed ticking anyway, not the view. “Well?” Never taking his hands from his pockets.

[theconsultingspider]

((Liiiike marrige thread and you saying nice things and tags about sylar in photosets annnnd yeah. I'mma be stuck in this tag for awhile. We have SO MANY PAGES like jesus fuck

Yes. Yes we do. …you never ever saw the thing I was gonna write you when you still had two Jims about that one gif you made where Sylar seems himself shooting Jim in the head. HAHAHHAHAHHHAHAH

…Well, theoretically it would’ve been a happy ending for Sylar. And the other Jim. Mine would’ve been dead, though.

[theconsultingspider]

The door busted open and Noah Bennet tumbled in-hands tied and glasses broken,unconscious. Sylar came in than, breathing hard and throwing down a pipe by Noah's head. "How about the guy who 'keeps touching your things'?"

Jim eyes moved from the limp form on his floor, a black bruise forming on the bespectacled man’s head, to the long, lithe man framed in the doorway, breast heaving. His head stretched to the side, exposing the veins and tight tendons in his neck.

“I suppose it will have to do,” he sighed. Bennet, after all, had really been the only man properly able to track Sylar, whereas the rest sort of just flailed about guilelessly and hoped to land where the serial killer happened to be. “He better not be bleeding on my hardwood floor.”

[asksylar]

Sylar grinned and teleported into the kitchen, basket in hand, and began to make sandwiches and putting other things like wine, fruit, and other various things he knew Jim would at least either nibble on or drink.

He leaned against the banister of the stairs, all lean muscle and dark charm, for Moriarty to finish his work and come down.

[theconsultingspider]

Jim reemerged twenty minutes later. He hadn’t bothered changing out of his suit. Normally he wore something a little less flashy so as to avoid being out of place, but nobody would be in the clocktower. An eyebrow curved at the sight of the man, clearly putting a degree of effort into making himself attractive to Jim’s eye.

“How long have you been standing there like that?” Posed.

[asksylar]

Sylar deflated some, elbow sliding some and making him stand like normal. “….Not long.” He lied. Sylar had a complex of trying to be cool and badass and Moriarty enjoyed having him mess up and show his not so cool more ‘gabriel’ like side. 

[theconsultingspider]

Turning away, Jim effortlessly hid the pleased (mocking) smirk that curved his mouth. Sylar was, in all ways, better than Moriarty. They each had their illness, but Sylar was faster, stronger, smarter (irritating). Not to mention his… additional skills. Having power over the man in any way always pleased him in a way that it really shouldn’t have, by most social structures.

Then again, since when had Jim been the boy to do as he was told. (Oh, he had been once, long long ago, but his name hadn’t been ‘Jim’ then.)

“Shall we head out?”

[elizabetbennet]

[theconsultingspider]

url graphic ➝ scottmoriarty