So, there is this theory that Mary Morstan is actually Moran. I love it! So, I wrote a little something. Two fics in two days; I'm on fire!
Unbeta'd. English is not my native language.
Of course I own nothing but my immense Sherlockian love. Sherlocked love? :P
Jim Moriarty loved dark alleys. He loved meeting her there and giving her new assignments. Mary didn't mind really. As long as he offered her a job and quite a lot of money for her services, the place where they met was the last thing she could possibly care about.
Although, admittedly, meeting her employer was not so much fun as it used to be anymore. And Mary knew the reason: she had become attached. She remembering first seeing John Watson in the flesh as she was pointing a gun at him. To him she was just a sniper, ready to kill him or his best friend. To her he was Doctor John Watson, friend of the world's only consulting detective, a loyal fool under a genius's shadow. And now she was married to him. She carried his baby in her womb. She loved him.
Moriarty showed up, walking in confidence as if he owned the world. Mary did not dismiss the possibility that in his deranged mind he might actually think that he was the king of everything and everyone. Not that she really cared about what was in the mad genius's head. She just wanted to get this meeting over with.
"Hello, my dear," he said in a sing-song voice. He took her hand and gently placed his lips on it. Knowing the mind games that he had played with John and Sherlock, Mary wanted to pull her hand away from him and increase the distance between them. However, an assassin could be as cold hearted as cold-heartedness went. So, she did not react at all.
"I was going to ask you 'Missed me?' but if I use that phrase too much it's going to become a cliché. I don't like clichés. I like unexpected things, things out of the ordinary."
Mary's hand was still trapped inside Moriarty's, but she made no move to free it. She merely looked at him, her face an empty mask with no emotion.
"Speaking of unexpected things," he carried on, letting go of her hand, "I see that your relationship with the doctor has taken an interesting turn. I don't like that, my dear. Maybe my men will pay Johnny boy a visit."
Mary knew that Moriarty's threats were not hollow. If he wanted to destroy John, he would do it easily. And brilliantly. Jim Moriarty loved a bit of a show, she had soon found.
"Over my dead body," she said.
Moriarty grinned wolfishly. "That can be easily arranged."
"Try me."
The grin slowly melted off Moriarty's face. Coldness and insanity settled in his features. This was not a man to be crossed. And yet Mary dared to do just that. And she would do it again and again in order to protect John. Their marriage, their life together - everything was based on a lie. But to Mary it felt more real than anything in her life. And she was not going to lose it.
"You touch John," she said, "and I will kill you. You know how good I am. And know this too: I'm not Sherlock Holmes, Jim. I won't be part of your sick little game. If you harm John again, if you lay a finger on him...I will end you myself. And this time you won't come back."
Other people would have cowered before Moriarty's gaze. He looked more insane and more dangerous than ever. However, Mary stood her ground. John knew that she was not who he had thought she was, but he was still there with her. She would not lose him because of Moriarty. She would not lose him because a madman was bored and wanted to play games with the world.
When she realised that the afore mentioned madman had nothing more to say to her, she turned her back on him and began to walk away. "You're going to regret this, my dear," he whispered as she moved away from him. "You're going to regret it."
I don't even know what I'm doing. I sad that I would not write more fanfiction and have written three stories in two weeks!
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