[CONTAINS SMUT!] ❗️18+❗️
~~~
Being the youngest Holmes was always quite the journey, especially when you didn't want to show off your talents, maybe even lack of such. Compared to your brothers you were always the 'dumb' one. The teachers saw it, yo...
"Just wait til' I get through... because I'm bad! I'm bad! Come on!"
Sherlock face palm's in annoyance as you saunter out your room in your 'I love myself because I didn't cry last night' pajamas as he put it; Shorts and long sleeved top with a certain design.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sliding down the hall with socks and sunglasses over your eyes, you dance with blasting music to the kitchen.
"Turn it down, Y/n!" Sherlock yells making you smirk, pushing away the jar of fingers to find the milk.
"Suck a dick, William," combing back your hair, you sing, "You know I'm bad, I'm bad, you know it," humming the rest, you let the tea brew whilst ignoring Sherlock's coughs for attention. "What is it-" you turn and halt at the sight of not only Sherlock in John's chair but... a wickedly attractive man in his.
He had luscious brown eyes which trailed along you, taking into memory everything they could. Slicked back hair, but not like those tightly kept back styles, it still had volume and you wondered how soft they would feel between your fingers. A slight stubble laced his face, his fingers rubbing his jaw in contemplation. His suit was a deep navy and pristine it would put every other man to shame. Mischievous and powerful was the only way to describe his pearly whites, lips pink and oh so kissable.
"What did I say about clients on Saturday mornings?"
"Something about raining hell fire on my experiments," Sherlock hums dismissively. "This isn't a client,"
"Finally moved on from John? You must be special if he let's you sit there, nearly had my head cut off when I tried," you quip to the mystery man.
"Shut up, Y/n," your brother grumbles as you sat down on the arm rest with your cup. "Go back to your room,"
"Intimate moment, eh? Sorry, don't let your little sister embarrass you," you scoff, walking off.
"Lovely meeting you, my dear," that voice was unmistakable. Moriarty grinned as you stopped dead in your tracks to face him again. "She's cute, like a scared doe,"
"Watch your mouth, Moriarty,"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to tug at your protective older brother nerves..." Jim sipped at his tea and placed it down. "Don't be shy, Sherlock is being rude," he coaxed you over with his finger, your frozen figure moving forward in terror only when Sherlock stood up to stop you.
"Leave my sister out of this, she is young,"
"25 isn't young, Sherly," you scorn as Moriarty laughs.
"Yeah, Sherly," he stands up, Sherlock moving you behind him to block the criminals contact. "Must be off,"
"Good,"
"Again, lovely meeting you-"
"Why did you come here?" Sherlock groans at your question.
"To annoy your brother and hopefully meet you, dear," Jim was able to circle around, Sherlock protectively between you two.
"Well you've done both, so leave," you hiss at the criminal who reclines back with an amused and impressed look.
"Of course," his leather shoes faded with each heaved pressure against creaking wood. Sherlock spun to you and hugged you tight.
"Are you alright?"
"Will, he didn't even touch me, why must you worry about me at the wrong times?"
"Sorry?" He looked confused, evidently following John's advice he must have gotten the afternoon you returned from your kidnapping.
"It's fine, but please don't invite criminals to the flat,"
"It's not like I openly invited him," Sherlock moved to clean up the mess, stilling when you sat in his chair. "Don't push your luck,"
"Rude,"
~~~
Your mind was clouded like a never ending plague brought upon you by the devil. Sherlock had described Moriarty as spider, Mycroft saying he was insanity in human form, John stating he was a demon in disguise they weren't wrong...
But Jim Moriarty was the devil.
Devilishly handsome was another way to describe that man. He had a powerful demeanor and a charming smile and eyes speaking nothing but psychotic sadism.
Devil in Westwood.
Mycroft actually praised, rather subtly, Moriarty's choice of suit. High end, sleek and pristine unlike his younger siblings. You were always utterly casual and Sherlock would sway from trash junkie attire to semi-formal.
But that was the Holmes family for you. Never the same.
No wonder people feared him- In fact, you wondered if people desired him. Blame them? You couldn't do such a thing, maybe if he didn't kill people or run a criminal empire, he'd be London's new playboy.
He could be gay.
Sherlock would hope so considering how much sexual tension they shared. It was actually funny to point this out, Sheriarty is what you called it, Johnlock was more fluffy moments when those two would snatch glances at each other.
Mystrade was Mycroft and Lestrade but you were certain that ship sailed long ago.
His eyes were the only thing you remembered better than the back of your hand. They were ingrained in your mind, every crinkle and glint from the afternoon light reflecting on.
One pencil to paper and you started to sketch, from utter memory. You didn't even remember Sherlock's eyes that well so when you needed him, your yell rang out. "Sherly!"
He knew that certain tone and walked in typing away before settling on your bed, letting you sketch away.
"Is that-" he caught reflections of your sketch from your vanity.
"Moriarty? Yes," you murmur and finish his eyes off.
"Why?"
"Call it a thank you present," whatever Sherlock shouted and ranted about was zoned out as you focused on making it as lovely as possible.
After all this was The Jim Moriarty.
~~~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I'm so in love with Moriarty and watching edits of him isn't helping~
