A/N: I'm a newbie to this whole fanfiction thing so I thought I'd give it a go. Absolutely any and all constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.
Jim Moriarty is not a soft man. Not in the slightest. That's why he wasn't quite sure how to react when he became attached to the bookshop owner down the street. It had started as a purely fleeting interaction, but, as Jim is a man who enjoys a good book, interaction between the two became more frequent. Perhaps it was the fact she had no reason to fear him, but still seemed to be able to innately tell when he was getting angry and knew it wouldn't end well. But then again happy customers are important.
Maybe it began the afternoon he made a fleeting comment to her that monsters hide under seemingly harmless exteriors. His face conveyed the underlying meaning. The smile on his face was slightly twisted. Any sane woman would have asked him to leave her shop. Realized she was walking on thin ice. But Julia, the fearless little shopkeeper she is, simply smiled sweetly and informed him every monster has a weakness.
"For some," she began as she placed books onto a nearby shelf. "It's things. They hoard them. Others, they just want the power. To prove they can be in charge. Then there's the third group. They do what they do to protect someone. They're the most terrifying. They hurt for love."
He was taken a back for a moment. For a split second he wondered which category he fell into. Things probably. Westwood costs money. But after that day, he felt as if there was a mutual understanding between the two. She knew that somewhere inside Jim, there was a monster. And Jim knew he could never do anything to purposely hurt Julia. Slowly, he began to find himself being drawn into the small bookshop. He found himself actually settling into one of the armchairs to chat with the bubbly shopkeeper. And then one afternoon, he found himself inviting her to dinner. He was shocked that the words had come from his mouth. He was even more surprised when Julia said yes. She wasn't afraid of him. She told him so during their chats. She also let him in on her suspicions that he was a thief. He let out a low chuckle at that.
"Darling, I'm something far worse," fell from his mouth before he could stop it. She stiffened at that.
"What, a killer?" she joked half-heartedly, eyeing him.
"When it suits me," he shrugged, unsure how bright telling her this was. But she had a fake name, Gregory Ross, and actually seemed intrigued by it.
"So not usually then?" she asked, slowly becoming more confident in herself, but still not sure if this was a sick joke or the sick truth.
"Only when work requires it. Or when I'm bored, which is admittedly often." His soft Irish accent made the words sound far less terrifying than they were.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked. It was an odd question for someone to present so calmly.
"You know what?" he laughed. "Don't think I will." And that's when she truly surprised him.
"Why not? How do you decide who isn't murder material?" Jim stopped for a moment. The question rolled through his brain as he tried to think of the answer.
"Well," he began. "How useful they are to me."
"In what way am I useful?" He bristled at that. She was different for some reason.
"I don't know," he answered. "You're just special, I suppose. No urge to kill you. You should be honored really."
The duo went to their dinner. And after that dinner, Jim Moriarty found himself unsure for the first time in a long time. Love was useless to him. A girlfriend would simply get in the way. Despite this fact, he imagined Julia being his. And as time passed and another date occurred, she became his main concern. He kept one of his men watching her all the time. He couldn't let anything happen to her. Despite the fact he was a monster and she was everything good, he found himself drawn to her. No matter how far he was, he thought of the petite woman who was in her London bookshop. One evening after consuming a little too much whiskey he had his men bring her to him. It was late in the night and he wasn't thinking. Their strange courtship had been building for two months at this point. Not quite long enough to kidnap her, but just long enough that Jim had to make a decision.
When she was brought into him home, she was wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a blue tank top. Her hair was all in a sloppy bun atop her head and her eyes were still full of sleep. She seemed nervous, but not surprised. She spotted Jim and sighed heavily as her eyes locked with his.
"Just who do you think you are?" he scoffed looking at her. She looked back at him, confusion evident in her features. "Don't give me that bloody look. Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am?"
"You're Gregory Ross," she answered. "Part time killer. Full time criminal."
"Yes," he scoffed "But do you know who I really am? I'm not Gregory Ross. I'll tell you that much."
"Then who the fuck are you?" she asked, her frustration building. But she stood her ground, watching Jim as he paced in front of her. Stalking her like a wolf would stalk its prey.
"I, my dear Julia, am Jim Moriarty," he roared. "World's only consulting criminal. People contact me with their problems. You know what I do? I fix them. You know how I do that? I inform. I tell them exactly how to fix their little problems. Sometimes, I even play my own games. I killed for the first time when I was a child. I feel no moral dilemma when I do. And when I'm solving people's little issues, I keep my snipers, yes I have snipers, on them. And if they try to say who I am, bam, they're dead." He slammed his fist into his thigh, coming to stand face to face with Julia. She still stood strong, though her delicate features were now shadowed with worry.
"You know what I want to know," he continued as he placed a finger under her chin. "How does a tiny little lady like yourself do this to me? I worry about you. Do you know how moronic that is? Are you scared yet, Julia? I want you around. James Moriarty doesn't need anyone. But lately I keep convincing myself I need you. How does the kind little shopkeeper feel about that? The woman who prides herself on treating others well is the only person the monster wants." And with that he crashed his lips to hers. He tasted tea and her late night chocolate bar. She tasted whiskey and smoke.
"You're mine now," he stated simply. "I get what I want. And what I want is you."
"I'm not afraid of you, you know." He raised an eyebrow.
"Really now Julia?" he asked.
"Really," she shrugged.
"You realize I can have you killed whenever I want? Whenever you've made me angry?"
"But you won't," she replied, straightening his Westwood blazer, needing the distraction.
"What makes you so sure?" he asked, feeling oddly content to have her straighten his jacket, such a seemingly domestic act.
"Remember what I told you about monsters?" He nodded lightly. "You, my dear Jim, are a mixture. You do what you do for the things and the power. But do you know what? I'm getting the feeling you may be a bit of the third kind as well."
"How so?" he asked with a smirk.
"You'll never hurt me. You'll hurt for me. But never me. Because I matter to you. You don't know why because you don't care for people, but I matter. And do you know what Jim?" His actual name falling from her lips sent a chill down his spine.
"What?"
"You matter to me too. Not for what you are. Not even for who you are, necessarily. But for who you are when you're with me."
"I'll hurt you," he answered. No use in lying now. "Monsters always do."
"I'm a big girl," she answered. "I think I can handle it."