&#^ ?* ($(#& *$*#% My brain hates me!

WARNING! Torture, cursing, and dark dark thoughts

Blood on my Hands

Chapter 0-prologue

Jim looked down at his bloodstained hands feeling slightly repulsed. It was warm and sticky but not in the good way that cum feels coated on his skin but the grossness of when someone else sneezes on you. Jim always wanted to pull a gun out and shove it in their mouth for even attempting to get their bodily fluids on him without permission. The blood only held distain and messiness. If he was honest and being a genius he normally was, he did it because it made HIM happy. HE liked to see Jim's bloody hands and had licked them clean on more than one occasion.

"Feel the rush my dear." Jim sing-songed lightly to himself.

James Moriarty might have been the most dangerous consulting criminal and self-diagnosed evil mastermind with the only consulting detective and self-diagnosed sociopath as his arch-nemesis but his one pride in life was that smile. The smile that told him he had done a good job. That he had made HIM pleased.

It would surprise the rest of the pathetic world that Jim was not the Puppet master, he just happened to be one of the main characters. He loved his part, enjoyed every minute of it. Sherlock did to. The world was dull, so dull but HE made the boringness fade away. HE was the drug of choice for the two rival geniuses, who had struck up a rocky friendship years ago.

Jim didn't share much but for HIM he'd make the exception, or more of HE told him to and Jim did so happily.

Looking up from his still bloody hands the 'evil criminal mastermind' sat down against the nearest wall in the empty room. Blankly staring that the blood pooling around his latest 'victim,' who had various lacerations and bruises all over his body. A forty-five year old man who had raped his twin daughters at the age of eleven and continued to do so for years, the girls had finally reached out after one of them got pregnant. HE smoothly and gently dealt with the girls, helping the younger one get an abortion and relocate to a quiet town in the country. Then HE sent Jim out to rid the world of a man no one would miss. The scum of the earth cleaned by Jim, ordained by light, at least Jim's personal god.

It was just as it had been and will always be. HE finds those in need and sends out either his cleaner, Jim or his destroyer, Sherlock. Then the media is alerted and Mycroft ties it all into a neat bow to hand to Lestrade who feeds it to the public, without them ever aware that there is a single man who is judge, jury and executioner for most of the civilized world.

It was twelve minutes past one in the morning and Jim was in an abandoned building on the third floor. His dark suit splattered with blood from his lesson. It wouldn't have been fair for the rapist pig to leave this earth if he didn't learn something before he had departed. So Jim had taken it upon himself to teach the mad, but sadly the man only lasted three hours into the session. The cold wind of August drifted through the old building reminding Jim of the deceased man's moans of pain. A single fluorescent lamp shone in the dark room, obscured by a black out curtain over the window that fluttered with the breeze.

The warm blood started to cool on his hands as footsteps pounded in the distance and the door to the small room was thrown open. Sherlock stood in his tight pants and purple shirt that made the general population swoon over. The other genius frowned at the mess Jim had caused as he had joyously tortured and killed the portly man for his crimes against his daughters. Jim thought it was only fair the man experience some pain before he died.

"A bit much," Sherlock commented with a raised eyebrow but Jim knew the tall man couldn't give a flying flip. It was a job. Jim got rid of the sodding bastards, and then Sherlock came in and cleaned up after him, hence why he was sitting against the wall, waiting to clean himself up

Jim giggled manically. "Call it a crime of passion. I was passionately pissed at the bloody git."

Sherlock nodded but remained silent as he moved around the room to help Jim stand up. Jim let out another fit of giggles as his eyes landed on the cooling body and the look of horror etched into the man's dead face. It was so nice to hurt another, the screams of pain where like a symphony to his ears, and it made it all the better that HE was pleased about the man's suffering and it was a bonus that what Jim did actually helped other, but mainly made HIM happy.

That's why he did it. That's why his hands where coated in blood. For HIM

He briefly wondered how the dull world would react to know….to know the full truth?

Short little prelude into the big picture

Thanks for reading!