A/N: inevitable-destruction prompted, "Hi! so you're accepting prompts? What about (1)MorMor or (2) Sheriarty with the word is incomplete. (the two of them are also a valid option; one that could make this prompter very happy)" So how could I refuse? ;D
01.
"Seb, I'm boooored~; come entertain me!" Jim whines, calling out into his immaculate flat and hearing the crystal in the chandeliers above him ping with the vibrations of his high voice. "Now!" he adds sharply, for effect. The crystal rings in almost a cry, and it makes him smile smugly.
His favorite sniper appears in the doorway looking more than irritated and less than furious, so Jim takes what he can get.
"Will you do something for Daddy?" Jim asks sweetly, sitting upright in his chair and dropping his feet from his glass coffee table. "Will you come over here and let me kiss you? Kissing is always entertaining; at least for a while. And I like how you nip my lips and make me bruised and bloody when you kiss me too hard. I do so enjoy the taste of my own blood sometimes, and I always have you to help heal my mouth again when we're done." And he grins foxily, sly and seductive, and Moran rolls his eyes.
"Fine. Whatever."
"Yay!" Jim claps sarcastically. More demanding and serious, he points to his lap. "Now come straddle me, and keep your hands behind your back. I want to feel you all over while you only touch me with your mouth. And, of course, your arse, but that's just unspoken contact."
Moran sighs and does as he's told, and at least Jim's boredom is cured for the next hour until both their jaws ache and lips are throbbing and numb and their legs are cramping. But it's a good kind of hurt, and Jim wouldn't have it any other way.
02.
He stands in the dusty room, takes his own pulse.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. Thh- … thumpthump.
Always. Always a missing beat, like the gaping hole of a lost tooth in a child's mouth. A gap, a break in pattern, an irregularity.
Always. Always when they are apart.
John will be there. John will try to fill that space, will try to calm Sherlock's heart, will attempt to hold and piece him together.
But a piece is missing, always missing. Something is left out, like a clock without a cog, rendered imperfect and incomplete.
Incomplete, yes. Without him, Sherlock is incomplete. Sherlock needs him. And he needs Sherlock, that much is clear; he is obsessed with Sherlock, infatuated in a sordid sense, and when one isn't creating crime, the other can't solve it, bring it to justice. And without one breaking barriers in the crime, inching closer and closer to the solutions and justice, the other isn't motivated to carry on creating more, doesn't feel the incentive to continue soiling the law.
"Moriarty," Sherlock whispers when he is alone, and that name, that single word is enough to fill part of the gap in his incomplete soul.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. Thuh- … thump.