Taking Residence.

By: Texmex007

A.N: so this is a Sonfic AU, focusing on the Johniarty ship. I don't see enough of this ship-like, seriously. In this AU, John has the ability to occupy other people's minds, like a telepath. He finds Jim's mind one day as Jim is on the playground at his school, and decides to occupy his.

Don't like, don't read

Disclaimer* I do not own 'Hello', it belongs to the band Evanescence, and I do not own any character in Sherlock.

Enjoy.

I wish I were never born.

The first time Jim Moriarty had that thought was over three years ago. At first, it had made him nearly dry-heave right then and there in his seat. Surely, it was not a normal thought that a seven year old should be having-especially an exceedingly brilliant one, at that. For the first time in his life, he had allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for at least a class period.

Not like anyone would ever know-even care, for that matter- since the whole time he'd looked as if he were perfectly fine; serene on the surface and kicking wildly underneath.

Now as a ten year old boy, anxiously watching the clock tick his life away and waiting for the dreaded recess bell to ring just to get it over with, the thought resurfaced from the depths of his mind once more-a thought that was as common as thinking about what to eat for dinner.

As if I'm actually going to be able to eat something tonight he thought with a grimace.

Dinner wasn't really a common pastime in the Moriarty residence anymore-not with his father suddenly back in the picture after three, blessed years of peace.

From the corner of his eye, he watched the teacher, a bland and altogether faceless young woman send a "warm" smile his way (he already knew deep down that teachers were only paid to act as if they cared) as the bell rang harshly above him. He slowly stood up from his desk, carefully waiting until all the other school children had already filed out of the classroom, leaving him as the only child left.

"James," said the faceless teacher, "You know you cannot stay in here all recess-go play outside."

It's Jim, thought the Irish boy as he concealed his hatred from being called his "proper" name-a name given to him by an extremely less than proper man who was little more to him than a sperm donor- in the form of a smile. What was worse, he looked like a spitting image of the man-the dark brown eyes, the dark brown hair, his nose…

He had his mother's chin, though. Besides that, he looked to be a chip off the old, drunkard block.

He slowly sauntered off to the playground, quietly making his way to the swing sets-the only place he could have some peace and quiet, even if it were to last for only a couple of minutes. He sat down in the empty seat and didn't bother to push off with his feet-he was perfectly content with just sitting in suspended air. He was used to this-this broken silence that shrouded his outlook on everything.

"Hey you freak! Come and play with us!" called out a snide voice from his left.

Jim didn't need to look to know who was talking to him-it would be Carl Powers; the most idiotic, thick-skulled, and arrogant person Jim had ever met. Ever since day one, Carl had never given Jim a break, always picking on him for his small stature and intelligence.

Looks like the rainclouds have come to play again, thought Jim with a smirk. It made him feel somewhat empowered to bestow unbeknownst nicknames on those he abhorred-it kept his mind sharp, his emotions controlled, but above all, it kept him amused.

"Hey," said Carl as he now towered over Jim in his seat, "I was talking to you, you piece of trash!"

Jim knew better than to remain quiet, so he spoke.

"What do you want, Powers?" muttered Jim as he stared down at an ant scurrying nearby his shoe.

If only you were that ant, Powers, thought Jim as he smiled on the inside, I could step on you and watch as your entrails spread across the pavement and stick to the bottom of my shoe.

Wouldn't that be lovely?

Carl pulled on Jim's hair until Jim was forced to make eye contact with him, "Look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you." Once Carl got what he wanted, he sneered, "Now don't you want to play with me today?"

"No," said Jim flatly, "I do not want to play with you."

"Well too bad," said Carl as he jerked Jim out of his swing and onto the dirt floor, "because I do."

Jim looked up from where he was on the floor, not daring to stand just yet. "What do you want to play?" he asked through gritted teeth. He already knew the answer-it was always the same game.

"Let's play cops and robbers," said Carl, "I'll be the copper, and you will be the dirty, rotten robber."

"Okay." said Jim as he slowly got up, taking only a couple of seconds to dust off his trousers and jumper.

"I'm only giving you twenty seconds to run," warned Carl, as he closed his eyes and turned around, "so start running."

Jim stood still for a little while, staring into the taller boy's backside.

"One, two, three…" counted Carl, his voice droning on and on as Jim continued to stare.

If only I had a knife to twist into that spinal column of yours, thought Jim disappointedly, then you would learn to understand that it is never wise to turn your back on me.

"Eight, nine, ten…"

With a small sigh, Jim looked around the playground to find refuge. He sprinted over to the edge of the perimeter of the playground and dove behind a thistle bush, just in time for Carl to turn around and start his search.

"Where are you, you filthy criminal?" shouted Carl as he checked behind the jungle gym, "come out and face the justice system!"

Jim cringed as he listened to Carl insult him and call him names from his hiding spot. He already knew it was a matter of 'when', not 'if'' Powers found him. Sure enough, he spotted Carl talking to another boy who was pointing in his direction.

I hate tattle-tales, thought Jim bitterly; they make me want to slice their tongues out and feed them to hungry, stray dogs.

Pretty soon, Carl was standing right in front of him, leering down at him as Jim tried hard not to show his anxiety.

"I caught you, you dirt mongrel," whispered Carl as he picked Jim up by his shirt and shoved him over to the side, away from the bush and against the chain link fence, "now I'm going to make you pay for what you did."

"As a police officer," said Jim, finding his voice, "shouldn't you be arresting me? Just because you are the authority doesn't give you the right to hurt me, even if I am a criminal mastermind."

Carl narrowed his eyes at Jim angrily, "shut up, you're no mastermind-you're stupid." he commanded as he punched Jim in the face-hard.

Jim recoiled back into the fence, feeling the metal dig into his backside. This was what he had been waiting for-this beating.

"You know," said Carl as he knelt down and grabbed a fistful of Jim's shirt, pulling him close enough that Jim could smell Carl's sour breath on his face, "I really hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," grinned Jim as he examined his face through his reflection provided by Carl's eyes, "I can promise you that."

Without any warning, Carl punched him again in the face before shoving Jim to the side and kicking him in the ribs over and over again. Jim had thought he was prepared for the first blow, he thought that he had calculated the exact force and speed Carl would have kicked him, but it didn't make up for the amount of pain that was coursing through his chest.

He opened his mouth but he couldn't get his lungs to inhale the oxygen he needed. Another blow landed on his solar plexuses and it sent a sharp pain down his spine, from his thoracic region all the way to his lumbar.

I can't breathe. thought Jim, feeling a rush of panic overwhelm his senses as his lungs started to burn, I cannot breathe. I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't-

Calm downinstructed a young, male voice inside of his head, a soothing voice that was definitely not his own, I've already got help on its way-try to relax.

Who is this? thought Jim as he closed his eyes, damning the tears from falling out. He would much rather saw off his left leg than show weakness in front of someone as base as Carl Powers.

My name is John replied the voice-John, and your name is Jim. The teacher is coming now, everything will be okay.

Just like what John said, the sound of footsteps running across the grass sent Carl jumping back and away from Jim as he lie on the grass, holding his sides and relishing the oxygen his body had been deprived of.

The same faceless teacher was hovering over him now as Jim struggled to stand up.

"Are you okay, James?" asked the woman as she offered a hand. Jim glared at the hand and was able to summon enough strength to stand up on his own.

"My name…" he wheezed, "is Jim."

"What?" asked the teacher as she led him back to the building and towards the infirmary.

Despite his injuries, Jim heaved a sigh before muttering "never mind."

Later on that night as he lie in bed, he went through the day piece by piece until he was thinking back to John-the voice in his head that his brain must have created to make him calm down enough.

John…

I'm here, Jim.

Jim sat up strait in his bed, his heart pounding and his sides protesting from the sudden movement. He looked around the room, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

I'm in your mind, Jim said John, having read the Irish boy's thoughts, If you close your eyes and relax, I can show you what I look like-would you like that?

Yes answered Jim, closing his eyes and coercing his mind and body to relax. An image slowly came to his eyes as if he were peering in through a fog-the image of a boy a little shorter than him with blonde hair and bright, cobalt blue eyes.

It was like looking at an angel-if angels even existed.

I'm not an angel, said John, the image of the boy blushing brightly before adding, I'm a telepathist-I can read and peer into other's minds.

Jim was quiet for a moment before he spoke into his mind.

John, why are you here-here in my mind?

John was also quiet, contemplating on what to say.

I'm here to give you someone to talk to-so...Hello said John with a small smile. Jim found himself smiling back.

Hello, Johnny.

Two weeks later….

It became a regular routine for Jim to spend his lunch breaks sitting in the one of the swings, talking to John in his mind whom also seemed to have the same recess. He'd made as much use of John's time as he possibly could-talking about favorite subjects, worst subjects, and all kinds of funny things that Jim had discovered about the human mind through his daily interactions.

He loved listening to John talk about what he wanted to do when he grew up-the blonde wanted to become an Army doctor.

I want to save people and serve my country, said John as he tried to explain his reasoning, so I thought 'why not do both?'

Are you sure you aren't an angel, Johnny? asked Jim with a grin, knowing that his compliment would earn him a fiery blush from his friend.

John would never disappoint.

Jim never failed to impress John with his abilities of reading people, and talking about what people cherish the most, what they despise the most, and most importantly(to Jim) what they fear the most.

For John, Jim knew, he cherished his family and friends the most, he despised bullying the most, and he feared losing someone he loved, regardless if they were blood or not.

As he arrived home later that day, he walked into the house and straight into the middle of an argument between his Mum and that man.

Whatever they had been arguing about must have been extremely agitating, because Mum was holding her face in her hand, a dark red stain smearing across the bottom of her nose and mouth.

Blood.

"What's going on?" shouted Jim as he watched his father push past his mother and storm out the door and into the evening air. He walked over to his mother who was slumped over on the kitchen table and cradling her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I'm done," she cried, "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what anymore?" asked Jim, not really sure what his Mum was rambling on about.

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but it only seemed to make her cry harder. He decided to leave her alone and went upstairs into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He left his homework in his book bag and didn't bother to get undressed as he slipped underneath the covers and closed his eyes, childishly hoping that when he woke up, everything would be okay again.

Everything only got worse.

He was jarred awake at around 3:00 a.m. the next morning by a rough and calloused hand shaking his shoulder somewhat violently. He opened his eyes wide as he looked up at his father, frowning down at him. Jim quickly sat up in bed.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"Your mother is dead." said his father blandly, his breath assaulting Jim's nose.

Whisky.

His words injected themselves into Jim's skin and turned his blood cold.

"She-she's what?" asked Jim, "I mean, how? Why?"

"That's what people do, James," said his father, his tone taunting and dripping in sarcasm, "people die. Now go back to sleep-you aren't missing school."

With that, his father left the room and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Jim in total darkness.

She's dead.

If Jim knew John would be awake, he would've screamed for him then and there. That night, Jim pretended that it was raining, and that there was a leak focused on his pillow, and that was why it was so wet when he woke up.

The next day, Jim wore a perfectly plastered smile to school. He allowed himself to pretend as if last night didn't happen-it was only a dream-and so therefore, he had no reason to not smile. Even now, he was sure he was dreaming. He'd had these kinds of dreams before; where everything seemed so normal that you didn't know you were dreaming until your alarm clock went off and let you know that 'hey, all that happened didn't really happen!'.

It must be a dream, thought Jim as he looked around the classroom and saw that Carl wasn't going to be coming to school today. Everything is fine thought Jim as he slipped into his seat, ignoring his fellow students as they chatted idly about things that didn't matter-things that ranked as a zero on the important scale. His mother's suicide would rank a level one-hundred if he thought about it.

But he didn't.

Like clockwork, Jim sat down on one of the empty seats on the swing set and called out to John in his mind.

John?

I'm here replied John. Jim took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Is something wrong? asked John almost immediately, receiving all kinds of data from Jim's mind, buzzing through their connection like electricity. Once he read into all of Jim's thoughts about the night before, and that morning, Jim could see John's face fall.

Jim, I…

Would you care if I died? asked Jim as he twisted his seat into a circle, watching the chains above him intertwine until they reached his fingers. Before John could answer, Jim stopped and allowed the swing to spin back into place, closing his eyes as he felt the dizzying sensation seep into his bones.

Of course I'd care, Jim replied John quietly, I would care so much it would hurt, it would hurt very, very much.

Jim smiled.

Oh Johnny, thought Jim, what a funny thing to say.

It's not funny, retorted John, I'm serious-you shouldn't be thinking about dying, Jim. That's not right. Please, let me help you-

DON'T TRY TO FIX ME AS IF I'M BROKEN, JOHNNY screamed Jim, coming to a screeching halt in his seat, his eyes open wide and his jaw clenched, BEAUSE I'M NOT!

His mind was quiet for a good five minutes, and for a second, Jim would've thought John had left him. When John spoke, he had expected a retort, or something bitter. Once again, John Watson left him surprised.

I won't say that I don't think there isn't something wrong with you, said John carefully, but if that is what you want to think-what you want to feel-then I will be the lie living inside your mind so you can hide away from all the darkness that I can see is trying to reach you.

The sensation of tears rolling down his cheek felt foreign to him, and Jim had to reach up and wipe them away with his shirt sleeve.

I'm here for you, said John, so don't cry.

If it had been anyone else, Jim would've denied the fact that he was crying avidly.

Years passed by, their connection growing stronger and stronger, Jim always looking forward to the times John could 'stop by' in his mind and they could talk and see how each other was doing. Soon though, John had enlisted in the military, and was shipping off to training soon.

I won't be able to talk to you as much, Jim said John sadly as his mental image shook his head, I'm so sorry.

Don't be, said Jim, the Queen will be honored to have such a fine young soldier under Her command. Just don't forget to 'write' every once and a while-I'll never be too busy for you.

You got it.

Twenty-odd years later….

John never did 'write' to him after that.

Jim wasn't sure why-he never was able to figure that out. He was, however (thanks to his fantastic criminal empire), able to figure out that John had been shot in the shoulder while in combat and was currently housing with his arch-nemesis: Sherlock Holmes.

As he waited for Sherlock to enter into the room to not notice him in his 'gay' attire, his entire focus shifted from the brilliant genius to the familiar looking blonde to stroll in beside him, Jim's entire plan for the evening altered as the man's cobalt blue eyes landed on him and a spark inside his mind came alive for the first time in twenty three years, seven months, and four days (not like he was counting, mind you).

"This is Jim Moriarty, from I.T," explained Molly Hooper, the mortician as she signaled to Jim.

"Hmmph." said Sherlock as he stared down into a magnifying glass. But John only stared back at the dark brown eyes focused on him, a deep scarlet hue settling on his features.

"Hello." said Jim with a timid smile and wave.

Hello.