I am not dead, are you? (SherlockXMoriarty PostRBF)

Amazing?

The word rang in his head, and his cheeks flushed.

It was surreal.
He didn't want to think about that, he didn't want to admit it was true.

Reality was literally kicking him in the face.

"I owe you?" he snapped, his mind wrapping around that, a shadow of logic seemed to appear. "You bloody well jumped me! I owe you nothing! That was my second ever kiss, you- you-"

What was he supposed to say?

"-arse," he finished, but Moriarty was already gone.

He groaned, turning around angrily and beginning to sulk.

He tried not to think about the guilt he felt.
He tried not to think that he could easily join Moriarty in the shower and resume that interesting activity.

He was not going to let Moriarty have control over his body as well.

He let the shower wash away everything just happened. His body needed to calm do. He was still turned on, but he needed to let things sank in for now. Sherlock wasn't used to these things, he needed to keep that in the back of his mind.

He heard Sherlock insult him, though. But.. Second kiss? SECOND kiss?! Wait.. what.. who was his first? Irene Adler?? No no.. She assured him they didn't kiss... John?! Doctor John Watson?! James's lip twitched at the thought. No.. that couldn't be. He needed to know. He stepped out of the shower, didn't bother getting dry.

With the towel wrapped around him and dripping wet he stepped into the room again. "Second kiss?" He asked straight away.

Sherlock took advantage of the time Moriarty was away to get a grip on himself. It was easier once the other was out of sight.
He was a logical being, he was rational, he could rule over his feelings.

He did not care for 'sins', he did not feel dirty, what he could not really understand was how he had enjoyed it so much. He had kissed a person he loathed to say the least, after all.

"You must be a exceptionally talented lover," he said matter of fact when the other came back in the room. It was the most probable conclusion as to why he had enjoyed it so much, and to why he still felt a twitch in his pants saying him half-naked and wet.

He had never noticed before, but James Moriarty was handsome.
Ah, he did remember a time he had thought that, when it was still a game, just a game.

Sherlock was sitting by the bedside table now, a cigarette in his hand, he was playing with it, knowing if he lit it, the smoke alarm would go off.
He was playing with his addiction, feeling the need for tobacco was grounding him.

He registered the question only when he had already replied with something else, his eyebrow rose in curiosity.
"Did you expect me to have more experience in this kind of things?" he asked.
He knew that a grown man still a virgin was not that common, he hardly cared about those labels though.

"You have no idea how much of a lover I could be." He ruffled his own hair, making small amount of water drip onto the carpet. He stared at Sherlock.

"It was John, that first kiss, wasn't it? Wait.. just don't answer that, Of course it is. It's /always/ John." Jealousy coloring the tune of his voice. He knew it was John, it had to be. Who else? It was the only person close to person... The kind of closeness he'd always longed for.

Sherlock had a vague idea, but he reckoned it was probably wrong considering his lack of experience.
He stared back, but he wasn't looking at the other's face, it was his chest that got his attention, then the tip of his dark hair barely brushing his neck and then the way the muscles of his abdomen dipped under the towel.

Maybe he was a bit gay, he noted.
However, to be gay for his enemy was wrong, very wrong.

He teared his eyes away from the other's crotch when he heard John's name.

Guilt tugged in his chest.

For a moment there, he had forgotten how much he missed John.
How much he missed his old life.

Realization hit him suddenly.
Moriarty had indeed managed to make him feel better.

But why?

He groaned at his thoughts jumbling up again, the jealous tone going completely over his head.
No one was jealous of him anyway.

"John is the only person I have ever loved," he said simply. "But it's hardly as you think."

He noticed Sherlock's gaze was everywhere but on his face. Not that he minded, he'd just love to drop that towel. He leaned into the door opening, observing Sherlock. It wasn't until now that he noted the cigarette. "Tut tut smoking. I've got something much better than nicotine." James walked over to his bag, but not just to get his clothes. He got out a small vial. In one motion he tossed it onto the bed. "My own creation, less destructive than a cigarette, much more pleasure." He shrugged walking back over to the bathroom.

Just before he entered he looked at Sherlock again. "John WAS the only person you ever loved." He winked and walked through "Still welcome anytime." He said playful, before shutting the door.

He grabbed the vial, watching its contents, he would be damned if he trusted something of Moriarty's fabrication, but he had ingested much dodgier concoction in the past.
He hardly had anything to lose, he reckoned, sniffing the contents curiously.

"How did you-" he stopped himself, of course he could manage to bring this kind of things through security, it was James Moriarty after all.

The correction Moriarty left him with lingered in his mind for a while.
John was the only person he had ever loved...

"I don't think I can stop.." he whispered to himself, it still hurt to be away, he still missed him.
Maybe in a different way, maybe it was getting better, but Sherlock never stopped feeling utterly empty.

Why did Moriarty care anyway? Another step to his destruction? Even though he was just a shadow of himself?

He tipped the vial's contents in his mouth and laid back on the bed, waiting for the effects to kick in, or kill him, he didn't care that much.
He just needed to stop feeling.

Once inside the bathroom he leaned into the sink, burying his face into his hands. He sighed deep before ruffling his hair again. He got dressed, but not in a suit. He was wearing formal black jeans with a with t shirt. He didn't felt the need to wear a suit at this point anyway.

As he walked out of the bathroom he found Sherlock on the bed. Even before seeing the empty vial next to him, he could tell he had drank it. A grin occurred onto James's face. An evil grin. It would take about half an hour before this "drug" kicked in. It just simply numbs out some senses and flickers on others. He'd get a bit delusional and might see the things in technicolor. Though, it did no damage to the brain or whatsoever. "Well, for being your enemy, you do trust me a lot" He stated, just as Sherlock said to him earlier. He went sitting next to Sherlock on the bed "How are you feeling?" He said in a soft voice, while his hand stroke some of Sherlock's curls out of his eyes.

"I don't. But I don't trust anyone anyway," he said without opening his eyes. He tried to swat the other's hand away, but he didn't really put any effort in it, placing his hand back down on the bed.
Anyone other than John anyway.

"What are you going to do anyway? Rape me?" he muttered sarcastic, he would probably enjoy it anyway considering what had happened a few minutes before. "There's not much you can do to hurt me any more, your list must be running thin..."

He was starting to feel different, his chest and mind felt wide.
"Better..." he muttered, arching his back and groaning as he relaxed.
"A bit tipsy..."

"How have you not been able to figure things out yet, Sherlock?" He stared him in the eyes once more. "I don't want to hurt you." His voice was pure honest, this was a confession. His heart seemed to skip some beats as he spoke along. "I want to love you. I aim to please, not to destroy." He chewed the inside of his lip. He'd never been this open about his feelings towards the detective. But what he felt and said came straight from his heart, even though even his mind knew throwing it out like that wasn't an advantage. But what did it matter? A heavy feeling pressed down on his chest, as if he was nervous.

He changed subject, he couldn't stay on this because he'd and up serenading the detective. "You'll feel a bit dizzy soon, but in about 20 minutes you'll be able to enjoy it more." He explained.

"And rape is only one word away." He joked. But he'd show Sherlock up from down right here, right now, if he was allowed to.

"You are impossible to figure out, you are so bloody changeable," he said, his mind in a pink haze, it felt nice, he didn't say things, he just thought them and they would magically pass his lips.
Effortlessly.

"It is impossible to take your words seriously when you say something and then the opposite... it's not just your words, it's your body, your heart..." he explained simply.

"You are clearly pulling my leg," he exclaimed, his eyes still tightly closed, not even taking into consideration that the confession could be true.
"You destroyed me, why would you want to love the shadow of what I was? And there was hardly anything to love before. Not even John loved me. No one ever loved me," he muttered simply, as if he was commenting the weather.
It didn't matter at the moment.
He had come to terms with that a long time ago, that he was unlovable, untouchable.

"Rape is the crime of forcing another person to have sexual intercourse with him... it implies the other person is not willing," he said simply, he really wasn't thinking straight, but his mind was working, giving him words to say that hardly made sense.

"You're wrong Sherlock. I'm meaning every word. You want to know the real reason I made you kill yourself?" He paused.. Should he? Well it was too late now... or he could still make something up. No... No he /would/ tell him right now. "Sherlock I... I wanted to be alone with you. And just you. No one else. I wanted... want to spend time with you to prove how much I care. I want to take back a piece of whatever's left of that little box that beats in your chest. I want you all for myself, at least for a brief moment." It all came out in one long sentence, his heart racing against the surface of his chest. "I.. I like you." He added, to conclude the whole confession. His voice occasionally stocked and he had swallowed nervously. He just sat staring at Sherlock. In a nervous habit he licked his dry lips. "I envy John, I'm jealous. He get to spend so many time with you. Time I wanted, time I have now." As he finished up his speech a shiver ran through his spine. He noticed he'd stopped staring into Sherlock's eyes and he was plucking onto the sheets.

"And you wouldn't conciser it against your will?" He eventually asked, trying to lighten up the dark mood he'd just created.

Sherlock's eyes opened at the confession, finally trying to take the other's words seriously.
His eyes were wide and unfocused though, the drug already compromising his senses.

Moriarty was a great liar, and it would be the ultimate plan to have Sherlock fall for him, just to then destroy every each piece of him.
"You made me hate you, do you think I can go back from that?" he exclaimed, sitting up, god, he was dizzy, whatever he took, it was powerful.

"Couldn't you just ask me on a date? Like any other human being!?" Of course things weren't that easy. They were not for him, they were never for Moriarty.

"I cannot believe you are human enough to like someone, to care for someone, to want someone, to hurt for someone," he muttered, his brain cells seemed to be working faster than usual, but he had no control over them.

"Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to hurt me so bloody much?" he protested, his eyes moving on the other's face.

"And now taking advantage of me, making me feel... wanted, messing with my head," he shook his head, "No, it wouldn't be rape because you showed me feelings I cannot recreate on my own, you made me forget about loneliness for a second, and it's a bloody drug."

He was pouring his heart out to this man, he just ripped his own heart out and laid it at Sherlock's feet. And he kicked it, as if it was a rusty can crossing his path in the streets of london. He felt his lip twitch and his hands were shaking. His eyes watery, but he would refuse to let any of these upcoming tears fall.

" I made you hate me just enough to make you want me. I wanted you to notice me, to pay attention to me. I would have asked you out on a million dates, but would you come?" He didn't even need sherlock to answer that last question, of course he would have declined every attempt Moriarty would have done.

And there it was, his very own tear dropping onto sherlock's hand. " I didn't mean to hurt you like this. It made my suffer to see you this torn, it still does. But I want to make you better now. Like before, even you can't deny you forgot about this all, even just for a second."

" This is my life Sherlock, this is what I do, what I've been fighting for my whole life." He found the guts again to look into Sherlock's eyes, though he would let his own travel over the man's upper body occasionally. " I'm not taking advantage of you and I'm not messing with your head. /You/ are experiencing, experiencing things you never though excited. I'm only here to show you those things. Show you what you're missing out on." He spit everything out. Not sure why, but he couldn't stop himself. His throat felt sore and dry and a little cough came out. Still nervously pulling on to the bed sheet he sat looking at the man opposite him.

Sherlock was speechless, it wasn't about what Moriarty was saying, it was about how he could read his reaction on his face, in his eyes, in the way he moved nervously in front of him. The man had never been so unguarded, so real.

"You had my whole attention since the beginning Jim, it's amazing how you missed it," he muttered surprised, it turned out the great James Moriarty could be insecure? "You are the one who to made me hate you! I was bloody smitten with you at the beginning!"

The tear on his hand felt like fire, it hurt somehow, and his hand reached out, he grabbed the other's shirt, fisting the fabric.
He looked up at him with dilated pupils.
"I am not denying anything, but how can I trust you? How can I give you something I've never given to anyone else?"

He looked at his hands, then back at him.
"This is not fair, Jim, it really isn't. I am still in love with John," even though now it felt like a lie, now that he wanted someone else, the someone that had separated them in the first place.

"John john john" he said in a silly voice."It's always him isn't it?!" He had to bit his tongue to stop him from saying something he'd regret later. "See Sherlock.. That's what it all was for. That exactly. And you might still feel something for that doctor, but I'm slipping in between." He stopped, a frown wrinkled onto his face. "Let me rephrase that, I already have slipped in between." His voice now sounded serious, deep and rusty. He ran his hand through his own hair before lowering himself more towards Sherlock.

"Hos?" He whispered into the man's ear. "I want to prove you I'm trustworthy, but how?" Sherlock just had to name it, he'd do it.

"And you've gave me more than anyone else had ever been able to, perhaps now on purpose, perhaps without being aware if it, but oh, you have." A sweet smile had worked his way up to james's lips as he thought about his previous spoken works. Sherlock had given him so much; distraction, affection, even frustration and doubt he counted at. Something Sherlock had been able to give him. But most of all the feeling of love. He was both physically and mentally attacked to this man ever since he laid eyes on him. He'd been able to mess up moriarty's mind just by saying simple words... And that indeed was something he'd never been given.

"Of course it's always John, he's the one who saved me, he's the only one who ever accepted me, who wanted me as a friend," he muttered, it hurt to think about him now, he knew he wasn't the good man John had wished him to be.

He gripped further at the fabric of the other's shirt, his head resting on Jim's shoulder for a moment. "Very well... Give me the name and location of everyone left in your organization, " he hissed. "Give me everything that's left of James Moriarty, all your secrets."

He looked at him in his heightened state: "Do that and I'll give you the only thing I have left. I will have sex with you, I will let you do to me whatever you want," he whispered, his voice dipping lower.

James breathing stocked and his eyes visibly widened. This was the same as committing suicide, Social suicide.

"It's not that simple Sherlock. It's not just a name. It's a thousand names all over the country, all over Europe and the rest of the world." He explained. There wasn't just one name... There were so many. "Where would I start?" He simply shakes his head.

"Everything that's left of /me/ is everything you're seeing now. Nothing more, nothing less." He hissed back at Sherlock, his own hand now gripping around Sherlock's wrist.

Sherlock growled at the words, how very convenient.
"It might have been just a few people I had to give up, not a thousand, but those were the most important to me," he muttered angrily. "You still have no idea how much I have lost."
It wasn't just about love, it had been his work, his carefully constructed life, his purpose, his heart and soul.

"My only reason for living now is to destroy you, your organization, I have nothing else, do you realize that?"

He looked at the other's fingers around his wrist: "And you are making me /want/ you... Lust for you... It's sick," he hissed, pressing his forehead against Jim's, it was supposed to be aggressive, but it felt utterly sexual.

"You can't take destroy my whole network, unless you destroy me." He said, knowing that at this point Sherlock wouldn't kill him. His voice was nearly as deep as Sherlock's and his words sounded dimmed.

"I'm not making you want me. I'm not even /trying/. Those are your feelings, your assumptions." He felt Sherlock's head pressing against his own and the warm feeling he had earlier started to grow fierce again. "But don't get me wrong, Sherlock. I'm just lusting for you as much as you are for me." He whispered once more. Brushing his own lips against the detective's. "How much do you want me" James groaned against Sherlock's lips.

"That's exactly what I want," he hissed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I want you undone, I want you alone, I want you weak," his fingers grazing the other's jaw. "And then it's going to be just me and you, isn't it?"

He laughed bitterly at the irony of the other's words: "You are not even trying, you say?" Fingertips sliding down the other's neck as if some dangerous territory. "That doesn't make you less guilty."

The question confused him for a second, how much? How could he quantify this new stranger feeling?
Their lips brushing seemed to bring a new clarity, and he let go of the other's shirt, he gripped the other's waist, hands trembling visibly.
"I want you just as much as I hate you," he whispered miserably.

"You have me, alone and weak.. Oh so weak." He didn't seem to get his voice back up to it's normal tune. Perhaps because of the tension. "Yes. Sherlock. You... and me." He leaned his head into the man's perfectly shaped fingers holding him.

"Guilty? What am I accused of? Making you feel something? Turning you on?" He now was just teasing Sherlock. He licked at his own lips again, lightly biting at the lower one. He let out a broken exhale, pure excitement.

James runs his hand through Sherlock's hair, until he reached his neck. He slowly pulls the taller man closer towards him. "I assume that's an awfully lot." He sighed before pressing his lips onto the other's for the second time today.

"Not enough," he whispered, watching him closely as he leaned into his touch, it was mesmerizing in a way, he felt powerful. "Not nearly enough," he added huskily. "I want you to never go back to you work, I want you to have no option, just like me..."

He felt the other's body under his fingers, it was warmth, it was alive. "You are guilty of many things... to make me lust for someone..." He felt himself tremble. "I was not made for this, I never cared for these things..."

He dared not say anything, his body reacting on his own, folowing a path he had already memorized. He met the other's lips half way this time, his heart beating in anticipation, he wanted those feelings again, he wanted that excitement, the drugs had rid him of the few inhibition he still possessed.

"You can go back, Sherlock. No one ever said you needed to stay low profile this long." He managed to slip in between before letting their lips meet again.

He broke the kiss to starts a new one on the soft skin of Sherlock's neck. He nipped it gently, all the way down to his collarbone. Something about the scent and taste of this man's skin made him go wild.

He groaned against Sherlock's skin, making his warm breath hit his skin. He grabs Sherlocks hand, entwining it with his own and holding it up against his own chest so Sherlock could clearly feel how insane fast his heart was beating. "The body doesn't lie" He whispered when he met Sherlock's lips again.

"You would allow me to go back?" He asked, quite disbelieving, he had never thought it was an option, but even then, he knew he had no space in his friends's lives, how could he go back to haunt them? To put them in danger again?

His head tilted back when he felt the other's mouth dip lower, he bit on his lower lip not to moan too loudly, the stranger feelings envelopped him further, made him eager, and pale fingertips buried themselves in the other's hair.

He didn't want to think about what this all meant, he didn't want to think about Jim's heart beating wildly for him, just for him, it was too much, it was undoing him completely.
"Shut up," he exclaimed, frustrated, and he moved quickly, hands pulling and pushing Jim on the bed, under him, at his mercy.
He kissed him again, forgetting about himself as he pinned him down possessively, their bodies touching all over.