Willow: Finally, I'm getting James where I want him in this chapter. *blinks* I'm calling him James now?
Jim: Oh, dear Lord…
Willow: Ew.
Theo: It's not mutually inclusive that you have a fangirl crush on him and call him James.
Willow: *shakes head* Right. Um, story. I don't own Ja—Jim.
Light filtered in through a window and I blinked awake. James was sitting beside my bed. "Jam-James?"
"Good morning, darling." He sneered.
Clearly, today is a Jim day. I shook my head and propped myself up on my elbows, thinking about how I differentiated between the James Moriarty I liked—and had kissed last night—and the Jim Moriarty that almost made me run back to Mycroft Holmes and his creepy meetings in dark warehouses.
"I'm not talking to you right now," I told him. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
He scowled at me. "I have a thousand things better to do, and billions of better people to talk to." Something glinted in his hand and I dully recognised it as a knife.
"You— James!"
"Don't scream," Jim said in his singsong voice. "On second thought, please do."
I admit I woke up screaming. It didn't help that the real James—not nightmare Jim—was sitting at my bedside, looking down at me like I was speaking Klingon.
"What?" I asked defensively, sitting up.
"You were mumbling my name and then you started screaming." Realisation dawned and he smirked. "Were you having a nightmare about me?"
I had no intention of telling him that I frequently dreamed about him killing me, so I quipped, "You're certainly the stuff of nightmares."
"You wanted us to visit this wedding planner, Eva Cormac?"
"Yes."
"She's a con artist."
"Yes."
"A friend of yours?"
"Yes. I'm going to go make breakfast. Want anything?"
"Maybe."
I rolled my eyes and got out of bed. It was a bit creepy that he was there, and yet I don't particularly mind since he's not trying to kill me.
"I killed you in your dream." He smirked as he followed me down the stairs and through the hallways.
"I'm about to kill you in real life."
Jim sang, "No, you're not!"
I frowned at him and turned around on the landing. "James, I killed someone for the first time last night. Would you please give me a minute to compose myself this morning before you start making my world spin out of control?" My voice was sharper than intended, and far more bitter.
James took a step towards me, his eyes blazing. I shoved him away, but he caught my wrists and pushed me back, pinning my wrists to the walls above my head. His free hand pressed to the wall over my shoulder and his lips found mine.
Gentle is not a word to describe any feature of James Moriarty. I'm told you're supposed to see fireworks and remember long walks on the beach. I guess it makes perfect sense that when kissing him, I saw semtex and running from cops. And to be honest, I wouldn't change a damn thing.
He seemed way too experienced in this for a sociopath. Ehm, lemme think, strings of relationships with no feeling but a tactical advantage. Maybe that Molly girl from Sherlock's blog. Mm, my thinking skills were completely shot.
As to my own experience, I plead the fifth. Then, considering I was in England, I doubted that would go over very well.
Finally something clicked and I shoved him back, almost knocking him down the steps. "I will kill you," I sang as I skipped down the next flight. "Who the hell is ordinary now?"
To his credit, he wasn't even fazed. He stalked around the house in his usual manner, yelling into his phone over something he and the Colonel disagreed on—"No, I will not! You idiot, who's the boss here? Damn right I am. Oh, enough of the platitudes. Idiot!"
I turned away from the stove relatively successful, holding two plates of bacon, cheesy scrambled eggs with onions and green peppers, and toast.
"That actually doesn't look terrible." James admitted when he hung up.
"Always the tone of surprise," I mumbled as I set the plates down. "James!"
I'd turned to track down the tea—I drank my tea cold and sweet like the good American I was, much to James's horror—in the fridge and found arms slipping around my waist and lips pressing to the back of my neck.
"I'd say sorry, but really I'm not. I find you very attractive when you're threatening to kill me."
"Are you ever sorry?" I sighed.
"Not really, no."
"Not even about kidnapping me?"
He chuckled. "That," He murmured in my ear, "I'm the least sorry about."
I ignored the seductive edge to his voice. "Go eat breakfast."
"Boring."
"Don't make me sing."
"Oh, please, anything else."
I took relief in the silence that followed. Finally, I looked up from the last of my scrambled eggs.
"James… Did you know that you're not supposed to stir omelettes?"
His laughter rang out and I joined in good-humouredly.
Willow: Finite domestic filler fluff.
Theo: *gags*
Jim: Agreed.
Seb: What the—THEODORA MILLER!
Theo: Oops.
Willow: *hides behind pillar* I don't ship Mormor!
Theo: She does, she does, get her!
