Jim Moriarty x Reader | Hard Times

New Job

Warning(s): None.
Word Count: 1317 Words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Previously~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I got a call earlier, it was from your brother." He states, sounding a little bored. "Said he had some artwork for me." He casually informed, though there was also something dark in his voice, sending shivers up your spine. "And I didn't get it. I don't like when people break their promises." He chuckles unenthusiastically, kicking an empty can at the end of his sentence. The can ricochets off the wall with a loud 'clank' noise.

"W-what does this have to do with m-me?" You mumble, watching as he turns back towards you.

"Isn't it obvious?" He pulled his head back, flabbergasted. "Honey, you are his saving grace~." He smirks, walking around you again.

"H-how is that?" You shakily breath out, keeping your head forward. You can feel your heart sink inside your chest, dreading what is to come.

"Ordinary people bore me." He looks to the side, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Will you?" He asks aloud, more for himself than you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Now~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your whole body was sore. You just wanted to fall into bed, be able to sleep the entire day away. But you knew you still had work to do, it would last until he said you were done. With a sigh you finish up your new daily routine. Money, tea, suits, check.

It wasn't a hard job, it was just very demanding. At first, Moriarty wanted you to do your brother's job, pick up the slack a bit. But he soon found reason to make you his 'little assistant.' The oh so wonderful job as his errand girl. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, sighing heavily when you breathed out.

Being his assistant required you to finish a list of what he wanted done for the day. That could be anything from making sure people paid to bringing him an Arnold Palmer. Most of the time it was the latter. The only thing you had been thankful to him for was the lack of larger jobs for you.

He also gave you a pager, which he gladly used. More than likely, he would ask for you to get there within 20 minutes; however, he was lenient if you were far away. Often, it was for something small, like picking up his dry cleaned suits. He was one for looking his best on a job. Though normally he would send one of his men, Sebastian as you recall him saying, to take care of it.

But never-mind that, today Moriarty asked for you to deliver a 'present'. More specifically, a Manila package. He had strictly warned you not to open it, but that didn't help your growing curiosity. You didn't want to be carrying something dangerous after-all. You were to deliver it to 221B Baker Street, the current residence of a mister Sherlock Holmes.

'What does he have planned?' You internally question. The flat was coming up soon, and you believed everything would go smoothly. Or at least you hoped, Moriarty didn't like errors. You had seen what happens to those who can't finish the job. A cold shiver runs up your spine, the goosebumps forming under your coat.

Briefly, he informed that this was an important job. He said not to be seen dropping it off, which seemed nearly impossible. This was based on the fact that the man you believed to be John Watson exited the flat. He turned to lock the door, and began to hail a taxi.

Without thinking, you drop the package on the side of the stairs, it made a soft 'thud' on the hard concrete. You then quickly spun away to leisurely stroll in the other direction. Every part of your being screamed for him not to notice you. Apparently he heard them.

"Uh- excuse me."

'Crap...' You think inside your head as you turn around, a bright smile playing on you lips. "Yes?" You ask innocently, eyes meeting his. He seems to brighten up at seeing your face.

"You dropped this." He states, picking up your pager. He makes sure that it's not broken before he holds it out to you.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirp, reaching out to grab the very thing you wished to be rid of. That pager had just blown your cover. You couldn't believe that this had just happened.

An awkward stand still begins once you retrieve it, eyes glancing everywhere but John's face. You did notice him looking at you with confused eyes, probably wondering why you were still standing there. You can't help but laugh dryly at the situation. Unconsciously, your hands rub together from embarrassment and grief.

"I'm sorry-" You finally find the courage to look him in the eyes again, trying to force a blush. "It's been an off day." You smile weakly, turning away slightly from him to begin your walk back to Moriarty.

"I know what you mean." He half smiles, looking at a window of the flat. With a sigh, he turns to enter the taxi parked in front of him.

You both continue on your separate ways, though you can't help but feel someone watching you. That had been a normal occurrence for you now, but this was different. You felt like you were being analyzed, read like an open book. You cautiously looked over your shoulder. Nothing.

Thoughts about Moriarty's warnings come to mind. You let a shaky breath out, smoothing out your dress and readjusting your jacket. The worst was yet to come, now you had to enter the belly of the beast. 'Let nothing else go wrong.'

Little did you know, Sherlock had been watching your little interaction with John from his living room window. His eyes scanned over your form quickly. The swift smile, it was fake. The calculated swipe, you weren't too fond of the object, he presumed. The hidden disbelief, it was almost too obvious. He knew something was wrong.

When you turned around, he had gotten a glimpse of your face. The faint bags under your eyes indicated a lack of sleep, you must work demanding hours. He tilted his head towards you, watching as you walk away. You piqued his curiosity. He would find out who you are. This was going to be an independent case of his own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well~?" Moriarty calls from his seat, sprawled comfortably across the two arm rests. He quirks a brow at your nervous, defeated stature. "Did something go wrong?" He barks at the end, changing his relaxed demeanor into a much darker, sinister one.

"I-" You begin, but find it hard to speak once his eyes lock onto yours. You look down and mess with the hem of your dress.

He rips his head away, a displeased scowl forming on his face. With one swift movement, he stands from the chair. You flinch away at the sudden movement, sensing the hostility. He does not look at you, nor does he say a word, as he exits the door. You are left in the room alone, fear beginning to take hold of your form.

You felt like you were drowning. Your mind clouded with darkness; your brain refused to work. You wanted to scream for Moriarty to come back, but only a muffled squeak rose from your throat. Pins and needles riddled your body; everything was numb. With a shaky first step, you stumble over to a table, leaning onto it for support.

'Failure does not suit me.' His words echo around in your head. 'Try not to disappoint.' He began to circle you, running his hand through your hair. 'I wouldn't want that pretty little face of yours to get hurt.' You remember his carefree smile growing darker with every word.

The memory of the one-sided discussion gave you chills. It also made you realize something. You had failed him. You had disappointed him. You were going to die.

©Shenanigans4321

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~~