Jim Moriarty sat in the back of a black London cab, suited in Westwood, a laptop propped on his knees. He scrolled through John Watson's blog.
Oh wasn't he cute? Look at that little profile picture. That little face. So ordinary. So boring. So straight-forward and straight-laced. Even down to his short blond haircut. He was average.
Compare the adorably normal doctor to the tall, elegant, pale, unnaturally intelligent Sherlock Holmes and what a difference.
But Jim and Sherlock were the same. A single soul in two bodies. Sherlock had all the heroic traits, Jim all the villainous ones. Oh but Sherlock was far from heroic. Far from perfect. He had flaws that only Moriarty could access. He scrolled further down John Watson's blog and clicked on a random entry. He was greeted by a photo of Sherlock in a deerstalker. Look at that… look at him. Those brilliant eyes and behind those eyes a brilliant mind. A delicious mind. How I'd love to unpick every ounce of him. Maybe another time.
The corner of Moriarty's mouth twitched upwards into a devilish smirk. His marble black eyes were wide with both apprehension and curiosity. There was only one sure-fire way to destroy the great Sherlock Holmes, and that was to destroy his loyal dog.
The short chirp of Moriarty's phone broke him from his course of thoughts and he grinned menacingly as he listened to one of his cronies speak on the other end of the line.
"Sherlock Holmes has been sighted on the other side of London. John Watson is confirmed to be within 221b Baker Street at this very moment in time. What's the course of action?"
Moriarty clenched his right fist and took a few short, sharp breaths to stop himself from giggling in excitement. "Oh delicious, get him for me. Get Doctor Watson."
...
John put the kettle on and leant against the counter as he waited for the water to boil. It was quarter to ten in the evening and apparently Sherlock was out investigating a seemingly 'easy' case with Lestrade and Donovan.
Well it's taking it's time for something so goddamn easy, John thought to himself, pouring the water into a mug and grabbing a teabag.
A sharp ring suddenly sounded at the doorbell.
John narrowed his eyes in confusion and turned to walk down the stairs.
Well, it can't be Sherlock or Mrs Hudson, they've both got keys… Maybe it's just a bunch of kids again, trying to get a cheap laugh on a Saturday night.
Upon opening the door, John didn't have time to ask who the massively burly man in front of him was, for a shockingly sharp stab was felt in the side of his arm. John yelled in surprise and then blinked a few times as his vision went in and out of focus. Oh shit. What the hell? He'd been drugged.
"Geddoff me… Geddoff…" John slurred, as the strange man lifted him from under his arms as a dead weight and as good as slung him into the back of a car.
John couldn't struggle. He couldn't do anything… he could barely raise his voice.
"Wha… what…"
His voice become quiet in his ears and a few seconds later - after hearing the low whir of the car engine - he blacked out.
...
"Wakey wakey sleepy head. Time to get up Johnny boy. Come on now."
Moriarty stood over John in a secluded, dark and damp hotel room. John was lying on the floor exactly where Moriarty's worker had placed him. John stirred and opened his eyes gradually, taking in his surroundings before a look of complete and utter panic passed over his features.
"W- What the hell is going on?" he muttered, trying to lift himself up but failing.
"Shhh shhh shhhhhh, attaboy, lie back down…" Moriarty whispered, placing his foot over John's throat, his hard polished shoe pressing into the doctor's skin and forcing him back onto the floor with a thump.
"Be a good boy, Doctor Watson… I know you're so, soooooo much more obedient than Sherlock Holmes. Then again, I suppose everybody is. Am I riiiiight?"
"What do you want?" John mumbled, knowing that his voice was getting more and more panicky by the second. Where the hell was Sherlock?
"You know what I want. I want him destroyed. I want to chew him up and spit him out. But no, not yet. I have more interesting ways of asserting my power. So cute, aren't you? How funny, ordinary little man."
John flinched when Moriarty knelt down beside him and began to stroke his hair back. "You'd look good all vulnerable. Crying for Sherlock. 'Oh Sherlock help me! Help me! The nasty man is back!'" Moriarty laughed gleefully at his own impression of John and he began to rub his hands together in excitement.
"Ohh I'm going to love this."
"Get your hands off me!"
"Sssshhh. I've got trained killers onto Sherlock right now. They'll torture him if I so much as press a button on my phone. And believe me Johnny, I will press that button if you deny me anything… Easy."
John shuddered, turning his face away as Moriarty got closer, breathing hotly onto his neck and darting his tongue out to lick a stripe from John's shoulder to his ear.
"Please, don't…" John shut his eyes tightly, but he soon found that this made things worse. It heightened his senses, and right now he didn't want to feel anything. Moriarty's hands were callously touching him, undoing the buttons of his shirt forcefully yet skilfully.
"W- why would you do this? You're not gaining anything." John tried to keep the quiver out of his voice.
"It's fun. I like fun. Besides, I can't wait to hear what Sherlock thinks when I tell him you loved this."
John grit his teeth then shoved Moriarty as hard as he could, but to no avail. Moriarty pushed him back down, his hands now on his neck, poised and ready to strangle. "You don't want Sherlock dead, do you? Like I said before Johnnnnnnny boy, I could get him killed anytime I wanted to. Oh yes, that's right." His voice turned sing-song. "Niiiice slow death for Sherlock Holmes. Maybe you could watch, hmm? Would you like that?"
"Stop this."
"Ummmmm." Moriarty's eyes widened with insane threat. "How about… no!"
"Get off!"
"You're going to adore this. Oh my, stop struggling sweetie. You'll do yourself harm. And that's my job."
John felt weak and heavy, exhausted and powerless. Moriarty was all over him now like a spider on its prey. He started kissing and biting and then dragging his nails over the now exposed skin of John's chest.
John's eyes flashed open suddenly as Moriarty undid his belt with a surprisingly loud click.
"I like this part… It's the part where you realise it feels ohhh sooo gooood. Oh, you will enjoy it. And Sherlock will know about it. He will forever know about the time his loyal little pet begged and pleaded his arch-enemy for more…"
John was visibly shaking now, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He knew full well that Jim Moriarty was a deviously intelligent man who could get anything he wanted.