Okay, first Mormor fic, with no beta (I was too lazy to get one in my tired state of mind) but hopefully some of you guys will like it!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock BBC or any characters affiliated with it.
FULL SUMMARY
They called him a psychopath and freak, unaware of how much it could hurt him. Most days Jim Moriarty wouldn't let it bother him, he'd brush it off and go back to his work. But some days, it'd hurt him, and in return he'd hurt himself.
At first the taunts were seldom, only a few were stupid enough to mess with the freak of the class, but after the "almighty" Carl Powers took notice of him and made his life a living hell, they wouldn't stop. Day in and day out the insults would hit his rock-hard exterior, and day in and day out Jim would become more isolated and more angry with the world, he'd hurt himself, physically and mentally, and day in and day out, he'd become more of what they called him, a psychopath. After years of torment, from his homophobic father and from school "mates", something in him broke. The broken Jim Moriarty is what most people know today.
PROLOGUE
"Jim, get your fagot arse down here!"
Sighing, Jim rolled off or his bed and descended down the stairs. "You're delightful today, aren't you, Dad?" Jim murmured this to himself knowing the consequences for back-talking his father. In a louder voice he replied, "Yes?"
"Don't use that tone with me, you shit! Now come here, Jimmie boy." Moriarty senior, also known as Thomas, held out his arms to his boy, most could see this scene as endearing, if you didn't know Thomas' true intentions. Jim drew closer to his father, weary of what could be the abuse this time. Just as quickly as his father took him into his arms, Jim was on the ground, pinned beneath his father. "Stay there, fag. You'll be getting a treat tonight." With a crooked and cruel smile, Thomas left his son, writhing in pain from the impact of the ground, to retrieve the rope.
He sauntered back into the room, content with what he saw; Jim sitting on the ground, staring down at his feet with a broken expression on his visage. "Ever heard of the chocking game, Jimmie?" At these words, Jim looked up at his father, pure terror in his chocolate brown eyes.
"Dad, please don't. Dad, dad, DA-." With the last plea to his father, Thomas grabbed Jim around the neck and started to tie the noose. Seeing as Jim was only 14 at the time, his father easily overpowered him, and, without difficulty, got him, to hang from the rafters.
"Hopefully you'll die with this one, boy, you little shit. It'll be a favor to us all." The last sentence was said as Thomas walked out of the room, whiskey in hand and dying son behind him.
Fuck fuck fuck, this isn't good. Jim, get yourself out of this mess! Damn it, why don't yo just let yourself die, Jim?! It's not like anyone will miss you anyway...Despite what he thought to himself, the fourteen year old boy cut the noose with his pocket knife. Gasping for air on the ground, Jim stared at the knife and wondered. Will it take the pain away? With this thought of somehow feeling better, Jim picked up the knife and let it glide vertically across his arm, the blood flowed freely, like a waterfall. Who knows how long he sat there? Probably for a half an hour or so, but to Jim it felt like a lifetime. All of the emotional, and physical, pain he felt daily slipped away in those moments. It was truly that day that broke Jim Moriarty.