A/N: Another Sheriarty from my friend and I. Please read all the warnings in the summary before continuing. We appreciate feedback!
He returned to the scene of the crime. Moriarty strutted across the rooftop of Bart's hospital with his hands clasped behind his back and Westwood jacket billowing in the breeze. He had such fun last time he had been here with Sherlock, forcing the other man to fake his death, and it would be faked he knew. Moriarty liked to see it as a small competition, who could fake their death with the most class. He won, of course, not many people could fake shooting themselves through the head.
He was waitng for Sherlock to come for their next little 'meeting' when they were in need of a release. Well, when Sherlock needed a release and Moriarty would happily give it to him because not only did his encounters with Sherlock bring him great yet dark pleasure, but he was also able to hurt the detective, and Sherlock would more than willingly take it. Moriarty smirked to himself; it was cute the ordinary man still feared him.
He did a hop and a skip and then planted himself on the same ledge he had been waiting on the first time he lured Sherlock there. Several minutes passed before the consulting detective appeared.
"Always late, you are." Moriarty stated coolly as he noticed the second man; uncharacteristically timid, but pensive as always.
Sherlock offered no insightful remark or witty rebuttal; he simply tapped the ground with his foot and looked down at the scuff marks he had made in the gravel.
"Aren't you going to say hello to me?" Moriarty sang. He knew already that Sherlock's silence was an attempt to protect himself.
He clearly thought it better to say nothing than indulge his opponent; after all, anything he said would be received as provocation on Moriarty's side.
"No?" He tried again, tilting his head and pouting. "You're quite cold aren't you? You'd think after last time we'd be on friendly terms by now." Moriarty played on. His lip curled into a smirk of hateful endearment. "Well, this is never going to work if you carry on being boring." He mused, swivelling around on the spot with his hands in his pockets. "You really are ordinary." He provoked, glancing up at the steely detective. His silence was angering Moriarty and he made a threatening swoop toward the man, leaning forward and grinning dangerously.
"Where will we go?" Sherlock finally responded; regretfully alarmed by Moriarty's volatile mannerisms.
"Why, how about Baker Street?" Moriarty suggested in a sickeningly sweet tone clearly constructed to make Sherlock feel more on edge, and indeed the detective stiffened.
"You know we can't" Sherlock said as he clasped his hands behind his back and suddenly became fascinated by his shoes "John is home" he muttered.
"Oh, so what" Moriarty said frivolously as he waved his hand in dismissal. "We won't disturb him, well…" he smirked and moved closer to Sherlock, running a finger down the detective's chest "that is if you can contain yourself" he whispered in the detective's ear. "You know how excited you can get…"
Sherlock cleared his throat nervously and took a step back; Moriarty pouted in mock hurt and placed his hands over where his heart should be.
"You wound me, you really do" the criminal whined.
"John can't find out about this. That was the agreement" Sherlock reminded him, a little shakily Moriarty noted, as the detective looked off into the distance.
Moriarty placed a gentle hand on the side of Sherlock's face, a faint scar from their last encounter still visible on his cheek. Sherlock did not look around at first, and it was not until Moriarty started caressing his hair, no, practically pulled at his curls did the detective give the other man his full attention.
"Why, huh? Why is it always about precious little John?" Moriarty asked softly, and Sherlock knew that tone was more dangerous than any ear-piercing shout. Suddenly he gripped Sherlock's hair tight and pulled the detective closer towards him "It should always be about me, after everything I do for you…"
"You're right!" Sherlock said, fear now imminent and he hated himself for it "You're right, I'm sorry"
Moriarty smiled as he released the taller man "Aww that's alright, I forgive you" he went to gently stroke Sherlock's arm once more, and the detective tensed once more in suspense, but to his surprise Moriarty did simply offer some much needed comfort, and Sherlock unwillingly felt more at ease. He was once again in the criminal's web.
"I'm just saying, you know…" Moriarty went on, dancing backward again and hopping up onto the ledge. "I'd only have to drug you again if we went to my place… coz' you know how it is… we all have things we need to keep hidden." Sherlock looked from the corner of his eye at Moriarty.
"Oh no, I'm not saying I don't trust you!" He leered, putting his hands up defensively. "But I can't risk you selling me out, you back stabbing little-" Moriarty silenced himself, biting down on his tongue and raising his eyebrows at Sherlock to insinuate that he was berating himself.
"I assure you I wouldn't-" His opponent seemed almost unwilling to let him break his silence now.
"I'm just saying… that we should go somewhere else." Moriarty's tone was almost sane, like a businessman making a deal- he was being agreeable. "Hey what about the palace?" He said with careless disregard, flicking his wrist and squinting across the buildings. "We could pay your big brother a visit!" He exclaimed, becoming elated.
"Please, Jim," Sherlock interjected, being sure to make eye contact as he said his name in an effort to extend a trustworthy incentive.
"We don't have a lot of time to do this…A hotel then." Moriarty said mindlessly, leaning back in a precarious manner with his hands once again in his pockets.
This made Sherlock start, the memory of being on the same ledge making him inexplicably fearful for his rival's safety. Moriarty noticed instantly and his eyebrows twitched provocatively as he purposely overbalanced before jumping onto safer grounds.
Sherlock exhaled and straightened up again. "The Zetter hotel is closest to us. It's a three minute drive by cab. But I suggest that we take separate cabs to avoid any chance of being seen together."
Moriarty stuck out his bottom lip and nodded to indicate that he was impressed by Sherlock's forethought.
"I will see you there then. Better not skip out on me though, mister." He provoked, clapping Sherlock on the back as he strutted past him masterfully.
Moriarty reached the hotel first and he tapped his fingers impatiently against the reception desk with a low sigh – why did ordinary people have to be so slow?
Eventually an annoyingly chirpy young woman came to his assistance and Moriarty had to seriously supress the urge to grab the pen she was holding and grind it painfully into her skin, but he restrained himself - he was there on business after all.
He insisted – with a fake identity of course – that he be provided with rooftop studio superior suit so they had a good view of the city. He did so enjoy being up high and looking down at the little ant people as they went about their boring lives and imagine what it would be like to crush each and every one of them. Plus, he knew that heights now had every reason to make Sherlock on edge and therefore made the detective even more compliant.
Moriarty took the card key and whistled a random tune as he strode over to the elevator and made his way up to the room. He trusted Sherlock would not be far behind – the detective would not dare cross him, not if he wanted to keep precious little John safe.
Once he reached the room, Moriarty flung the doors open extravagantly and waltzed into the room as if dancing with an invisible other.
"Perfect" he mused and clapped his hands together as he reached the middle of the room. "And a balcony too!" he said in a tone mixed between giddiness and insanity as he ran over and hung his upper body over the edge of the building as he looked down below, no consequences concerning him at all. "Oh, Sherlock's going to love this" he smirked to himself in a dangerous fashion.
He turned at the sound of the door opening and Sherlock shuffled into the room. Moriarty could see the detective's mind already at work as he made every relevant deduction and probably calculating any possible escape route.
"Are you impressed?" Moriarty asked, trying to distract the other man "Not even your brother could afford this much class" he chuckled.
"Yes, very nice" Sherlock said distantly.
Bored of not getting the attention he wanted, Moriarty finally moved towards Sherlock as he unbuttoned his jacket. "Now…" he said disregarding the garment in the middle of the floor "Where to begin?" he pondered.
"Indeed." Sherlock replied in a composed manner, his hands behind his back- for what Moriarty couldn't see was that he was unconsciously tapping his middle finger in his palm nervously.
"Off you pop then." Moriarty said casually.
The phrase struck a chord in the detective's mind and he forced himself to smile weakly as a strict divergence from the otherwise painful expression he would have revealed. He proceeded to take controlled strides toward the bed and sat on the edge steadily, then leant forward to untie his shoelaces.
Moriarty had been observing him with keen interest; at present, his feelings were delicate and mellow. In fact, he was so charmed by the detective's pensive movements that he thought to try something caring… that might stir his magnificent mind a little.
"Tick tock." He tittered, kneeling down and gently wafting Sherlock's hand away from the task.
Moriarty untied Sherlock's laces with a strange kind of parental focus, and Sherlock had the mind to begin unbuttoning his own jacket before Moriarty looked up. His adversary was still wearing his shirt and trousers, Sherlock noted. Clearly this was how it would be from now on and part of him wished, though it made for fallible comfort, that his interloper wouldn't be so unpredictably kind to him. That way he would have fewer qualms about betraying him, when the time came.
Lost in his own mind, Sherlock only now realised that Moriarty was well beyond removing his shoes and had already begun to remove his last remaining garments of clothing.
"You know, it's funny really… you don't seem to be getting any better at this." He grinned teasingly, pushing lightly on Sherlock's bare chest to encourage him to lie down.
He obliged and considered how he might appear strong though this, trying to prevent his body from shaking under Moriarty's powerful, poisonous gravitas.
"I won't get rough this time… promise." He said slyly, his face turning stony and mean, as he looked Sherlock up and down.
Why did he have to be so capricious? Sherlock often had difficulty understanding humans and their temperaments as it was, but Moriarty was indignantly inhuman in all ways.
"Ooh you're tense!" Moriarty said loudly, wearing his confrontational smirk that often meant he was about to become outlandish again. "How about some music?" He enticed in an excitable voice; it was certainly a proposal, and not an optional condition.
With that, he made an eccentric movement with his arm and began to grin wildly and lay into Sherlock to the Edvard Grieg's, Hall of the Mountain King. Sherlock winced in confusion at the bizarreness, but Moriarty was undeniably on par with the suite.
"Do you get it?" He shouted riotously over the music. "I'm the king!" He laughed, "The king of the world!" He was being dangerous, and Sherlock was irrepressibly disturbed.
He grabbed the small device that controlled the music and cut it short before the final bridge- ceasing the spiralling, chaotic noise and restoring a shaken kind of calm.
"Please. I just want this to be a genial thing." Sherlock informed him, his eyes wide and his bottom lip lowered to reveal the child-like spacing between his first row of teeth.
"Genial?" Moriarty repeated with a sceptical scrunching up of his nose.
"Yes." Sherlock breathed out, revoking his gaze from his oppressor and glancing across the room. "Perhaps- perhaps this was a mistake… I think it would be wise for me to leave." He said meekly, clearly shaken.
The detective attempted to sit up, but Moriarty held him down- not in an aggressive way, however. In fact… he was being incredibly delicate.
"Alright, alright, I see how this is." He said in an admitting way.
"You do?" Sherlock wondered, turning his head a little to look suspiciously at the suddenly tame man.
Moriarty didn't explain though, he simply closed his mouth around Sherlock's collar and began to move his hand down with a silky procession.
Sherlock could feel his body trembling no matter how much he willed for it to stop. The faint quivers he knew were a strange mixture of apprehension - almost fear - and elatedness as Moriarty started rubbing his thumb delicately against the detective's inner thigh. Sherlock was not sure when in Moriarty's conquest both their lower garments had been removed, and that only highlighted just how much the manipulative criminal had brainwashed him into submissiveness.
Moriarty started his lip campaign by sucking almost tenderly on Sherlock's neck, but as he felt the detectives' heartbeat pulsating it only made him strike harder, faster, with ferociousness that a man who was completely lost to his lustful urges could only maintain. He smiled to himself, a smile of malice when a satisfied groan released itself from Sherlock's lips and his body almost appeared to fall limp to Moriarty's command.
The criminal moved his hand to cup Sherlock's member and carefully massaged the length in order to elicit another noise of content from the detective- this time a sigh of wonder, but also relief. Moriarty regarded how it was so fun to break in the new ones. Sherlock had no idea of the true mechanisms to get such a response from a deviant act, and so Moriarty knew he was completely in control. Although, only when Sherlock started to bled, would be satisfied with his venture – an act of love, passion and yet severe misconduct.
"I like it when you squirm" Moriarty leered, as he leaned back and prepared himself for the pinnacle of his crusade "I like that I'm the only who can make you squirm" he said in a low voice of pure smugness and pride before he finally thrust himself forcefully inside the humbly awaiting Sherlock.
The detective was half disgusted, half pleased with himself from the deep throated growl the action provoked. Moriarty simply smiled, knowing he was not even at his full capacity yet, and Sherlock was already succumbing to the darkness of his own desires.
So, the criminal continued to lunge his hips, back and forth, but in a rhythmic and systematic way that only he - James Moriarty - could pull off. Sherlock's back arched dramatically as he finally reached orgasm, a stage he had never reached before, and for the first time he did not feel shame in thinking it was damn good.
Sherlock had refrained from laying down flat on his back- clearly he was desperate to assert some kind of resistance, but Moriarty was strong in ways that overcame Sherlock's sensory threshold. He was so unused to being touched in such a tender way and particularly by someone as electrified as James Moriarty- he who could change his ways like the flick of a switch and boast danger and passion in one smooth movement. The man atop of him was almost like a ghost now. Not threatening or vexing; quiet, observant.
"Jim… I really don't-"
"Don't ruin it, Sherlock." The man hummed, "I'll hurt you." He giggled.
Sherlock gave up the fight.
And as soon as he did, a new sensation began to quell his racing mind. It was pleasurable, but not in the same way of solving a crime, or being with John, or even trumping Mycroft at deductions; it was entirely physical and bitter sweet.
The ghostly fingertips continued to dance over Sherlock's virgin skin and the detective had indeed succumbed to his dominator's silent insisting. He lay now with his legs either side of the fox-like criminal staring up at the canopy over the four poster bed. In an automatic response to instil comfort, he began to deduce things about the drape.
It had been made to look old and was regularly dusted. It was clear that from the consistency of the crochet, the stressed fabric was intentional, though to unobservant guests; it obviously served as a false charm. Clearly it was tourist bait; the red was consistent with the blue and white themed adornments about the room and the whole layout and decollate seemed purposefully, but unnecessarily old fashioned. Unusual, actually, seen as how the reception area and the exterior of the hotel were undeniably modern. Even the balcony adjoined to this very room was modern.
"Do you come here often?" Sherlock panted.
"You noticed my little setup for you then? Atta' boy, always thinking." Jim patronised.
"Why- would you go- go to all the effort?"
"Well you've always been worth a little bit of effort, haven't you?" He replied in a very ordinary tone.
However, he denied Sherlock as second response; raising one of his legs and crossing it over to encourage him to turn onto his front, and to the detective's own astonishment, he did so without deliberation.
"You're learning." Moriarty muttered.
Moriarty always suspected he would penetrate Sherlock one day in some form or other, but since he could not take a knife to a heart the detective claimed not to have, then Moriarty would have to take Sherlock's breath away possibly somewhat more inhumanely by taking away the man's right to call himself a virgin anymore.
As Moriarty started to smoothly insert his length, Sherlock had to bite back a cry of pain and control the tears which were already beginning to well in his eyes. Surely it was not supposed to hurt this much?
Moriarty just grinned to himself slightly as he knew the great pain he was reducing on the man below him, yet he himself felt nothing but pleasure and finally complete control as he had the great Sherlock Holmes now as a part of him, beneath him like some ignorant servant.
Sherlock finally let out a cry of pain as Moriarty managed to go the whole way. The criminal just shushed him and rubbed the small of Sherlock's back soothingly.
"It's alright, my pet" Moriarty cooed "It only gets better, I promise"
Sherlock buried his head in the pillow and nodded, but could not help the whimper which escaped his lips - it was a sign of pain, fear and questioning.
Then, Moriarty started his calculated moves, each thrust of his hips perfectly timed and paced so that he was gentle at first to give Sherlock a chance to ease into the pain, but then things started to become more quick and harsh.
Sherlock let out another cry of pain as Moriarty finally planted his seed, laughing joyously the whole time, a laugh which only heightened when Sherlock began to bleed.