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

"You are hardly involved compared to before, the fact you are here is proof enough," he muttered, undoing the first buttons of his purple shirt, just to breathe a bit better as he gazed outside the window.

The sun was high in the sky, Sherlock did not like it, he missed London's gloom.

"You don't have to chase the famous Sherlock Holmes any more, there is nothing left of that, no cases, no distractions," he muttered quickly, his voice distant.

"Nothing to prove any more."

He waved his hand slightly: "What an empty life you must have now."

Hot damn! Sherlock! Did he really had to do that? It was already worse enough he was wearing that shirt. "The purple shirt of sex" Jim had decided to name it, however he did not said that out loud. He tried to look away, but Sherlock's movements just begged to be watched.

He stood up, walking over to Sherlock who was now standing staring out of the window. James went standing behind him, but he made sure he saw Sherlock's face. "Being here makes me life less empty then it might look" He confesses. "And I believe I'm only now starting to know the /real/ Sherlock Holmes." His hand slid up over Sherlock's back and he rested it onto his shoulder, patting it slightly.

Sherlock had no idea he was frowning at the sunny weather outside until he felt Moriarty's hand on his shoulder and he started.
His whole back seemed to freeze, and it hurt to turn to look at the other's man face.

The confession felt more intimate than it should, it was a stranger on Sherlock's ears, especially coming from someone like Moriarty.
He had to put it in context though, he tried, but it still didn't make any sense.

"You are delusional if you think I will provide companionship for you..." he hissed, his eyes moving on the other's face, he was not going to fall for sweet words.

"There is nothing real in what I am now, you made me this way..." he smirked, realization hitting him.
"I am your creation."

How ironic.




(I had to add the purple sex shirt of doom XDDD sorry XDD )

As Sherlock turned James let his hand slide with the turn, now resting it on Sherlock chest. Not for too long though, he strokes it a few times and gets his hand off again.

"I might be delusional Sherlock, but I'm not blind." His eyes narrowing to support his words.
"Sherlock..." He hesitated "You might feel like that now but I assure you by the time I leave, you'd realize what you've been missing out. You'll be able to see the point in this." Did he really had to spell things out to him like that? Because if that what was needed, well, he wouldn't be afraid to do so. In fact, he decided to accept that self made challenge.

He opened his mouth again, ready for a full explanation when someone knocking the door interrupted him. "Lunch is served" He said with a devilish grin on his face while he walked towards the door, gracefully swinging it open.

((hahahha i loved it ))

The hand burned on his chest, but Sherlock considered it a challenge not to pull away.
He looked at Moriarty as he spoke, but it did not help him to draw any sort of conclusion.

"You are completely mad," he commented, frustration quite clear in his voice. He wanted to know what was going on, but to be truthful, he had no idea what kind of questions to ask either.

He looked at the waitress as she pushed the tray inside and bowed politely. "Thank you," he said unfeelingly, watching the delicious food without any sort of interest.

Something lingered at the back of his head, Moriarty had been about to say something. Damn it.
"You should eat before it gets cold," he said simply, considering whether he should have a shower in the meantime.

James was actually starving. The food served in the airplane wasn't really his thing. Once again he gave the waitress a fair amount of money and then friendly gestured her to leave. He licked his dry lips as he took out a plate, filling it with chicken, rice and vegetables. Though, he never lost Sherlock out of sight.

"You want some?" He knew the detective would decline his offer, but it was worth the try.

Sherlock's mouth turned in disgust: "No thanks," he said simply, and then smirked. "It would defeat my purpose," he added then, "If I was trying to poison you."

He moved towards the bathroom. "I will have a shower, if you promise not to leave before I am back," he said nonchalantly.
It was a game now.

"You wouldn't poison me before you knew the exact purpose of my visit." He manged to bring out.

"I'll try not to sneak in" And with a wink he watched Sherlock disappear into the bathroom.

James finished his plate before Sherlock returned from his shower. He could only fantasize how Sherlock would look, having hot water running over his fir body. FOCUS! He had to snap himself back to reality. This wasn't the time nor the place for those kind of fantasies. He gets up, moving over to the bed and removes some of the roses. He took one of them, breaking of the stem to make it shorter. He then slips it into the pocket of Sherlock's jacket.

That being done, he lowers himself onto the bed, allowing his eyes to rest until Sherlock would return. However he was starting to drift off...

"You underestimate my need for revenge," he replied briefly, but he knew Moriarty was right.
There was more to this and it wasn't just his plan. It annoyed him though.

Sherlock had to wonder about the irony of the situation, he'd never thought he'd be taking a shower a few meters away from Jim Moriarty.
It made little sense even in his logical mind.

The hot water helped him though, his muscles relaxed, his thoughts calmed down, and by the time he was wrapping a towel around his waist he was feeling quite empty.
It happened a lot these days, it happened a lot since the second he gave up his life.

He sighed, moving back towards the room, he was going to grab his bag and disappear back into the bathroom, but he realized something was off.

A rose was by his jacket and Moriarty was sleeping.

He found himself shocked by the scene and he felt his breathing catch in his throat.

The man looked helpless, and innocent, his face was relaxed, it was almost... beautiful.

It was unsettling to see him so unguarded.

Sherlock stared, he stared for long.

He felt like he was intruding on something sacred.

James woke up by the feeling of someone staring at him. He felt someone's eyes burning onto his skin. It took him a few seconds to realize he was in a hotel room with Sherlock Holmes, so it could only be him staring. He opens his eyes slowly, unaware of how long he had been sleeping.

"Excuse me, must of be the time differ-" He stopped there, noticing Sherlock was just wrapped in a towel his eyes widened. "Well hello there, sexy" He said in a seductive voice. Sherlock's hair still wet, it made it curl even more. James goes up sitting straight, leaning his back onto the bedpost. Keeping his eyes Sherlock. God.. this man was driving him insane.

Muscles froze Sherlock to the spot when he saw him stir, he saw it clearly, that innocent expression fading into guarded, changeable Moriarty.
Were they two different persons?

One part of him wished he could see that expression again.

He had been so focused that the other's comment took him off guard, he blushed, turning his back to him quickly.
"Just grabbing my things," he said, flushed, gripping his towel in the front, there was no way he'd let it fall now.

"You must be completely mad to sleep in the room of someone who wants you dead, how can you trust me at all?" he hissed, disbelieving.

He had noticed Sherlock's cheeks changing colour and he took that as a accomplishment. Somewhere he was hoping that towel did drop. But perhaps it was too soon for those kind of inappropriate things to happen.

"Mad? All the best people are." He replied. Why should he be afraid? "If you wanted to kill me so desperately, you'd have already done so." After all, he would be surprised if Sherlock would actually kill someone. That just wasn't much like him. Seriously hurt, perhaps. But kill? Never. He stared him down until he slips back into the bedroom.

James brushes his shirt straight again. Once more waiting for Sherlock to appear from behind that door. This time being there to lock his eyes on him before he could.

"Your ego is overwhelming... you think you are in between the best people of this world?" he shouted from the bathroom as he slipped into a clean suit.

He was back in the room soon after, wet hair the only reminder of his shower.
He found the other's gaze, but quickly retreated from it, he could still remember that face.

"Again, your trust in me is impressive. Rather foolish as well," he said staring at the slightly crumpled shirt.


((Gotta run to bed, sooo sleepy <3 I have no idea how this will evolve, but it's so much fuuuun~~~))

"Tut tut, Sherlock. You're a detective, not a murderer." He took that as enough of an excuse to blindly trust his so called enemy. With a simple sweep of his hand he patted onto the space next to him. Inviting Sherlock to sit next to him on the bed. Whether Sherlock would be comforted enough to accept his invitation, he didn't know, but it was worth the try.


(( I have NO idea either, but I'm trying my best to be a good Moriarty. Hoping i'm sort of working out with the script you had in mind. Goodnight! <3 ))

"Correction, I was a detective," he pointed out, as for murderer, he didn't think Moriarty needed to know what he had done in the time he had been dead.
As John used to say though, they weren't really nice people, were they?

"You have quite the trust in my being good... you don't seem to share everyone's opinion of me..." he said, taking a step closer, but then frowning at the place on the bed, did he trust himself to go that close to Moriarty?

"I am a psychopath, just like you," he said, looking down at him.



((You are doing great! I love how Moriarty is crazy but posed, it's exactly what I wanted <3 I think it's especially lovely how he is torn between wanting Sherlock and trying to move slowly... we can discuss plot ideas in the adverts topic we had if you want, because I am not sure how to develop this either but I have a few ideas... I think Sherlock needs to see different sides of Moriarty for him to be able to give up hating him, seeing him sleep was a great start I believe, you can see Sherlock is a bit more wary about him now, should we share ideas on that other thread though? My babbling is even longer than my post XD))

"And here I was thinking you preferred the term high-functioning sociopath." He grinned.

"Fine. You want to kill me?" He was now sounding dead serious. He frowned as he spoke those words. "Kill me." His lips barely moving, but the words came out clear enough.
"I'm sitting right here in front of you, there's a gun in your bag. What more do you need?" He insisted. James's kept his eyes locked on Sherlock's, how he loved staring into those beautiful eyes of him. They represented his whole soul, his whole being.


(Nawww thanks! <3 You're absolutely wonderful by the way!
Yess, perhaps we should do a little brainstorm on where we want to take this. Not that I mind just.. doing whatever but perhaps this needs a rough plot. haha ))

"I did, but you proved to me I was nothing like it..." He said angrily, his hand pointing at his chest. "You taught me I had a heart before I realized it myself!"

He tried to school his features, he despised being completely in the open. "Your teaching methods are despicable, but I learned the lesson."

He scoffed when Moriarty challenged him, he wanted to do that, he knew it would be the most rational thing to do.
"I won't do it just because you tell me to," he said haughtily, a storm was breaking in his mind.
He knew he just couldn't do it, his heart wouldn't let him.

"I should, I know I should ," he muttered, torn, his eyes moving on the other's face.
"But I am scared of what I will become if I kill you," he whispered, more to himself than anything.

((You are as well, had no idea I could love Moriarty this much XD I will post in the other topic now >> )

"My thoughts exactly." He stated as he saw Sherlock struggle between his mind and heart. Clearly showing his heart had won this round.

"I'm glad you reckon the fact you have a heart. It took me long enough to get there." He once more patted onto the space next to him. "Come on, Sherlock, we're alone here. No one can see or hear us, How bad could it possibly be?" He knew it could be bad, very bad. Especially if he'd do the things he'd done to Sherlock a million times in his own thoughts.

"You'd become so lonely Sherlock. Right now, I'm the only thing you have." His whispers as soft as Sherlock's but he knew he'd hear and wrap his thoughts around it.

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously, what did he mean? Had Moriarty been in search of his own heart or were they still talking about his?

The whispered words made him angry again.
"You enjoy this, don't you? This is still a game for you, you want me to be under your control..." He muttered, and he still couldn't wrap his thoughts around that idea.
Why did Moriarty want him to be miserable so badly? He would have thought he'd done enough already.

"It's true, I only have you... But you are the one who took everyone else from me, I cannot forget that," he hissed, and he quickly bent down, pale fingers wrapping around the other's wrist, stopping the patting motion. "Stop it, I am not a dog, I won't do what you tell me... Especially what /you/ tell me."

He felt the same warm feeling dangling on his stomach's walls as Sherlock touched him. For a moment he didn't said a work and just stared at his perfectly formed fingertips.

"You enjoy this just as much as I do." His heart was beating fast as he spoke those words. Excitement flowing through his veins. "Will you do if I asked friendly?" Now he was whispering again before slightly moving himself a bit closer to Sherlock. In the same motion he reversed Sherlock's hand and entangled it with his own. "Please, would you come and sit on the bed with me?" He said as polite as possible.

Sherlock noticed something then, the beat of Moriarty's heart was irregular, and for a moment he felt speechless, flooded by contrasting thoughts.
Why was he nervous? Was he secretely scared he would actually kill him?

"/You/ don't even believe in what you just said," he muttered surprised of his own deductions, Moriarty /wanted/ him to enjoy this game.

But what kind of game were they talking about now?

"You being polite is just dodgy," he pointed out, pulling his hand away, it was unsettling to feel the other's blood run faster.

"Just this once," he said after a while, elegantly sitting down a few inches away from him.

Because he was curious, he couldn't help it, he was learning about things he didn't think existed.

He was close to Sherlock and he was almost certain he wouldn't appreciate little things as "accidentally" touching each other's hand, or brushing over each other's skin. No. Jim needed to throw himself at Sherlock in order to make him understand his intentions.

In one and the same movement he placed his hand on Sherlock's cheek while he pushed his own body against the other's. He turned Sherlock's face towards his own, making him look into his eyes. "Sherlock..." He whispered, his own face only inches away. "Let me make you feel better." He once more whispered, his eyes now moving over the whole surface of Sherlock's face. He ran his thump over the man's cheekbones. Oh those cheekbones...

Sherlock was not prepared for this, touching had never really been part of his world.
No one touched him, not even John had ever touched him.
Not deliberately like this, purpose-filled.

He had no idea what was happening and his brain seemed to screech and protest at the information he could not process.

He grabbed Moriarty's wrist again, he needed him to stop.
"You are not my friend. You cannot make me feel better," he protested, anger dancing in his eyes as they returned the gaze.

He was utterly oblivious to the sexual implications of those words. Sex had never been an option for him, and it was clear on his face as he frowned at the other man's proximity.

"I don't need to be your friend to do that." He whispered. Breathing against Sherlock's lips. He felt Sherlock's hand grip around his own. Though he knew it was there to remove his hand from his face, he wasn't just giving up like that. He had to fight off every impulse to just directly press his lips onto Sherlock's.

"I Can make you feel better, if only you'd let me. Please, let me." He said calm, now lowering his hand and stroking it over Sherlock's cheek, neck and chest. While he lifted up his leg a bit, pressing it inbetween Sherlock's.

Sherlock felt his throat go dry, what was this feeling? His blood seemed to be rushing, but it wasn't anger pooling in his stomach.
He was confused, that was sure, and it showed on his face as he looked at the leg pushing in between his.

He felt overwhelmed, but Moriarty was touching him in too many different places and he wasn't sure what to do to stop him.

I can pull away, he told himself, but he was frozen in place.

Pull away, Sherlock, he tried to tell himself again, but he was just blinking at the other man curiously.

"How?" he asked, as if Jim knew a secret he could not grasp.