Author's Note: Prompt by sherlolly-is-jolly on Tumblr. This is, I swear, the darkest thing I have ever written. I am quite proud at how it came out, but also completely horrified and disgusted with myself for continuing it as it got darker and darker. I terrified myself as I wrote this one shot, but I guess that if you can frighten yourself with your own writing, you aren't that bad at writing, eh? This is not particularly my favourite kind of fanfiction to write, but I must say that it was indeed an interesting experience. I can't say that I will do much of this in the future, but now I can say that I've done it once at the very least.
He knew something was off the moment he walked into the vestibule and saw Sebastian Moran sitting at the bottom of the steps, his Horhe pistol – which he had brought back from his recent trip to Russia – in his hand. A smirk formed on his lips as he looked up at Jim Moriarty.
"Pleased?" Jim asked.
"Brought you a treat," Sebastian said, standing up, "all the way from Bart's."
"A treat from Bart's, hm?" Jim smirked. "There are two ways this could go, both pleasing just the same. Where?"
"Upstairs." Sebastian jerked his head towards the stairs. "You can't miss it."
Jim snatched the pistol from the hands of his companion and looked up at him. "I may be needing that." He began to go up the stairs, the Horhe held to his side, when Sebastian's voice stopped him.
"Make it quick."
Jim let out a laugh, a short one that ended just as it started. "Yeah right, Sebby." Even with his back turned he could tell that Sebastian was still smiling. He began up the stairs again.
At the top of the staircase, he looked to the right and saw the door to his bedroom ajar at the end of the hall. Of course, he had realized this is where his treat would be, and he began to slowly make his way across the hall's crimson carpet, sliding the end of the Horhe across the crème coloured walls as he walked. He could already hear the muffled cries and they excited him, physically as well as mentally. He gripped the Horhe just a bit tighter as he reached the door, placing a hand over the middle of it and pushing it open all the away.
Molly Hooper let out a cry, the cloth tied around her mouth muffling it as she began to struggle with the ropes tying her wrists together. Her wrists were raw from the struggle. Her ankles crossed beneath the wooden chair, centred in the bedroom, sat right in front of the bed with the dark grey bedding. Her mousy brown hair was a dishevelled mess, and her eyes were wide and glossy, dried tears marking a path down her cheeks. She squeezed them shut, knew tears falling from her tear ducts.
With a smirk, Moriarty held the Horhe with both of his hands, one at each end. The safety wasn't off, but he didn't give a damn. He rolled it over and over in his hands, taking slow steps towards the struggling pathologist, whose cries got more frequent and louder with each step he took.
"It has been," he began, stopping in front of the pathologist and looking down at the pistol, "about three years – no, four – since we last crossed paths. You've seen me on the telly, of course." He held the tip to her temple, and her eyes squeezed shut.
Whining.
Jim laughed and lowered the gun. "I don't see why you're even trying. No one can hear you except me." He kneeled down in front of her and looked into her eyes. "Though I will admit, it's adorable."
More muffled whining. More cries.
He raised a finger to her lips to silence her, and could feel her hot breath on the top of it. "Shh. Shall I explain? You see it really had to be you. I had held some hope that Sebastian would have managed to capture the man himself, but it can't be that easy, now can it?" He stood back up, sliding the Horhe into the pocket of his suddenly tight grey trousers and turned his back to her, began to walk towards the wall opposite. On either side of the door weapons were displayed, knives and guns of sorts. He glanced them over and pondered which to use first. He picked a knife, a small, but sharp, one. His favourite. He grinned.
He continued speaking, turning the knife over in his hands to inspect it. "Sherlock will notice your absence at Bart's, of course, and will immediately be suspicious. It won't take him long to realized where his little pet – that's you, darling – has gone. The only trouble will be finding your hiding place. Until then, however–" He returned to his place in front of Molly and kneeled down. "– I can have some fun."
Her chest jumped with each staggering and panicked breath she took, the look in her eyes frenetic. A sort of wheezing came from her lips, but it only excited the criminal further. He rested a hand on her left shoulder and looked her up and down, then stood, and circled around the chair. Her eyes followed his movements, becoming frantic whenever he disappeared behind her.
"Oh, and there is so much that I can do here." He ended up in front of her again. He grabbed a hand full of her hair, feeling it pull at back of her head as he kneeled. He held the blade of the knife in front of her eyes with his free hand and her eyes became wider as she focused on its tip. "So. Much. To do." He rested the blade on her cheek, the tip just barely digging into it. She turned her head away, letting a cry out. He pressed it further against her cheek, and she tried to scream, but it was nowhere near as lout as she would want it to be. He dragged the tip across her cheek, just below her cheekbones, creating a crimson line, which soon began to trail with deep red.
Moriarty let out a pleased sigh, cocking his head at the sight of her blood stained cheeks, her glossy doe eyes; her tears mixing with the blood to create an orange stain across those lovely cheeks.
Another pleased sigh.
"You're doing marvellous, darling," he said, "Oh, but there is so much more to do."
He snapped the blade from her cheeks, and her eyes followed it down to the centre of her light blue blouse. He rested the tip there and looked up at her for unspoken permission. Though he knew she wasn't giving it, her didn't care and continued on with his thoughts.
"You don't need this, now do you?" He asked, dragging the tip down, tearing her blouse open as she once again began to struggle. "Darling, darling – the more you struggle, the worse your wrists will get." He looked up at her, once again, into her doe eyes, and gave her a surprisingly charming smile. "We don't want that, now do we?"
Her breathing quickened, and Moriarty set his hand over he bare chest and stilled. Her heartbeat was frantic, and he grinned, his arousal increasing and becoming more unbearable with each passing minute. He looked across her chest, where the remains of her top remained.
"You don't need the rest of it either, do you?" He didn't wait for her to respond. He brought the tip to the end of the sleeve on her left, tearing it until it reached the tear down the centre of the front of it. He did the same to the other side and pulled the tattered rags from her, leaving her in a simple white bra. She shivered, and Moriarty couldn't tell if it was from the bedroom's temperature or the shock she would inevitably experience. He settled for both.
"I was never done with you, darling," he said, slowly dragging the tip of the knife from her navel upwards. Her eyes squeezed together and her cries got slightly louder. "I never planned to let you go once you left me four years ago. Yes, I used you to get to him, but you were so helpful, my dear. So very helpful. I wanted to keep you around somehow. But then, of course, Sherlock and I had our little stunts, and that delayed my inevitable visit with you, or your visit with me." He stopped just below the centre material of her bra and looked up at her. "I'm sorry I took so long." He placed a hand over one of the cups to steady it as he tore through the middle, The two sides fell apart, and Moriarty cut the straps, making it fall off completely, landing around her waist. He slid it off her chair and dropped it to the floor next them.
"Let me tell you a secret," he said, tracing down her front with the blade, on and off cutting her skin, "I did fancy you. I mean, I couldn't just pick any ol' girl to be my toy. No, no. I had to pick someone special. If I hadn't wanted someone special, I could have picked anybody. That Sally Donovan probably could have done. There was another officer at each investigation who would have been brilliant. She was married, but her wife would never have known. She has had three sexual partners since her marriage a year ago. The slut." The blade reached the waist of her trousers and he looked up at her again. "May I?" Again, no wait. He unbuttoned her trousers and put the blade to one the bottom of one leg, cutting from the bottom up. "I would just slide them off, but you see, to do that I would need to untie you, and we both know that can't happen."
He finished, and pulled the remains out from under her, leaving her in just her cotton knickers. He nodded as he looked at them. "I like it," he told her, "the 'don't give a shit if you see my granny panties' look. I'll say, not everyone could pull it off, but you, my dear, certainly can. Quite right."
He looked over to his side of the bed and went to it, opening the drawer of his nightstand and pulling out a box. He opened it, and removed the dark red silk blindfold and grinned. "Now then," he said, turning and making his way back to his guest, "I honestly don't think I can wait much longer, darling." He kneeled down in front of her. "Let's step it up a notch. Oh, but it would be no fun if you simply knew what I was going to do to you." He began to tie the blindfold over her eyes, making sure that the bow in the back was the best that it could be. "Without your eyesight, all of your other senses are enhanced. The blindfold make sure that you are not only surprised, but also having more fun with this. Plus, it looks positively lovely on you." The tip of the blade paused at the waistband of her knickers and he waited a minute, only being urged to continue by the continuing tightening of his trousers.
"Shall we begin?"