Sherlock Imagines

House of Memories. (MoriartyxReader)

This has been completely reworked. Idk if the song fits now, or not, but you can totally try it! Hope you like it! LYRICS DO NOT LINE UP

If you're a lover, you should know
The lonely moments just get lonelier,
The longer you're in love

Three years ago, today, the love of your life committed suicide on the roof of St. Bart's. Why? why the hell would he do that to you? You took a swig of your coke as you pulled out an old photo box. Lately you had tried to ignore the memories captured in this box, knowing what they did to you, and therefore your boyfriend. You were currently dating Sebastian Moran. Thanks to him, not only did you have a rock, but you had stopped drinking, and cutting yourself. Thanks to him, you were still alive. He always reminded you of how much it would hurt the love you both had lost to see you like that, and thanks to his everlasting affection and care, you both got through it. Leaning on the other for support. Continuing to stare at the box, you took a deep breath. As Pan!c at the Disco blared from your phone, you opened the box, careful not to scratch the artfully designed wood. House of memories started playing...

Take my picture now
Shake it til you see it!

You pulled out a photo of you and James on your first date, and smiled. You could remember the taste of wine and sweet words, but also how you both originally had been so damn bored, you ended up running through the busy London streets in three inch heels, smiling and laughing. It, most literally, was the best date of your life. At that time, you hadn't known who he was yet, and you wouldn't until you had already fallen for him. The memory played back in your mind.

~Flashback~

You climbed the steps up to your friend, Sherlock's flat. Something was off. You heard talking, and not Sherlock and John, either. The voice sounded familiar... The Irish draw... James? You couldn't make out what he was saying, but you didn't know they knew each other. You brushed off the idea that it could be him, realizing that it was probably just some random Irish person. That you just wanted to see your boyfriend after your trip, and now you were projecting that longing anywhere you could. Again. You would see him later, you reminded yourself once more, before continuing your trek up the stairs. It was the third time today. You opened Sherlock's flat door, and sure enough, there was James, carving an apple, and speaking with Sherlock.
"I owe y-" He stopped when he heard the door open, not realizing you knew Sherlock, he immediately was shocked. And a little bit... Scared. Thoughts ran through your mind at what was going on. This didn't exactly seem like a friendly chat...
"James?" You asked in total disbelief, this was weird, even for your standards. Coincidences, as you had been taught by Sherlock and Mycroft, almost never happen, and are never truly the case. The universe is rarely ever so lazy.
"Y-Y/n?!" He exclaimed, the stutter in his voice quite evident. It didn't take long for Sherlock to asses the situation, coming to the correct conclusion that this was the man you had been seeing.
"You really should choose your boyfriends more wisely, y/n. It appears your dear, sweet, James here is-" You both looked to Sherlock, you in curiosity, James in plead. James cut him off, pissed nowhere close to what he felt. Anger, fury, and the like fell over him in a drastic tide. If Adler had been right about one thing, a disguise is a reflection of oneself. And James Moriarty, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, always had a heart. Wasn't cold, he never could be. The personalities of him, and your boyfriend, therefore, lined up in a perfect unison.
"I'm warning you Sherlock!" He hissed in a tone that you couldn't believe was coming from this sweet man you'd fallen for, even if he wasn't quite right in the head. His tone was always so wistful, gentle. The soft tones of his accent swinging like music as he spoke, yet this, this was sharp, dangerous, even. It felt like a jungle cat, ready to rip your throat out. And it terrified you.
"What the hell is going on here?" You demanded, sending fear through both men. Sherlock knew better than to mess with you, and James knew all too well what would be coming next.
"Your 'boyfriend' is the most dangerous man in London, the world's only consulting criminal." Sherlock stated nonchalantly, and James closed his eyes, as if when he opened them this would all have been a nightmare. You froze. He looked at you, face contorted with pain, apology, and fear.
"Y/n, I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean for you to-" It was too late. You ran out of there, and slammed the door behind you. Part of you wanted to tell him you never wanted to see him again, but no matter how hard you'd tried to believe it, that would simply never be the case.
A couple days or so later, you went to his flat to talk. Yes, he was who he was, but you loved him. You couldn't help it. You'd already been dating for nearly two years, and for once in your life, you felt accepted, happy. Taking the spare key from out of the false bottom of the plant pot, you tried to think of what to say. After twirling the shiny gold key in your fingers for what seemed like a decade, you unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The place wasn't the one you remembered. It was a total disaster. James was always so tidy, but it looked like a tornado had ran through here. His lounge area had always been kept free of any unneeded items, but now you could barely see it. The ceramic pots that once held gorgeous exotic flowers were now in smashed heaps, serving as a tomb for the long late flowers, no more than a length of shriveled stem and petals. One glance towards the kitchen, and it wasn't much better. The main difference was the knife stuck in the wall.
"Get the hell out, Moran! Before you say it, no, I'm not going to bloody talk to her! She ha-" he seemed to choke on the word, "HATES me!" A few distorted sobs made it through the door, and when you opened the door to his bedroom, it was even worse. Bottles of whiskey littered the floor, and James was on his bed, still in the same Westwood from a few days ago. It's grey material scrunched and creased in ways you were shocked he could live with. Your eyes scanned the room, always being drawn back to the man lying face down on the bed, which was so messed up, you'd be surprised if it wasn't torn up.
"Maybe you should talk to her..." You stated timidly, and his eyes shot open at the sound of your voice. He shot up and looked at you, as if you were a thrones rose; He wanted you, but was afraid to hurt himself. He sat there for awhile, just blinking and trying to form words which refused to come for awhile.
"Y/n..." He whispered in disbelief. It was all he said, but even the small amount of speech it took seemed to hurt him. It hurt, seeing him like this. His hair had always been so pristine and neatly kept, but now it was a mop of static and grease on his head. The light stubble, he always worked so hard to keep in line, grown out of control. He looked so different, so... Broken.
"I came to talk. So, either we talk, or I leave forever. Your choice." You tried to sound confident, but what had happened to him, made your heart lurch. He stumbled out of his now messed up bed, and over to you. He reached out to you carefully, tears stinging his eyes, and like he thought that if he touched you; you would break. You weren't so sure he was wrong.
"I love you." He whispered, and your breath hitches in your throat. A little over a year and a half of dating, and he had never once said it. It was your turn to blink and stare, now. His hand was lightly grazing your cheek as it moved to rest on it as your head bobbed up and down, ever so slightly.
"Okay." You confirmed to him that this was real, and he seemed to be happier than ever. He instantly pulled you to him, another tear slipping down his cheek and onto yours as he connected your lips. Another thing he had never done; kiss you. He tasted of Irish whiskey, and his lips were chapped, but you couldn't care any less. You felt all the love in the world in that one kiss, as his arms held you tightly. No lust or admiration, simply love. It sent adrenaline pumping through your body. If your heart could speed any faster than it did from his touch, it definitely was now.