Sherlock Imagines

On Enemy Lines (Moriartyxreader)

Before I get any complaints about not continuing 'A Study in Scarlet' there's a reason. 1-it has 3 votes, and 40 views. That's a lot worse than it's surrounding stories. So, if you want me to continue that story, go vote on it. Because I'm not going to spend another two hours writing a story no one likes. Warning; Smut ahead; including masterbation, and sexual interactions. So, yeah. You've been warned. Love y'all.

Sherlock's gun aimed directly at him. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. To Moriarty; Sherlock was insanely predictable. His phone call should be coming in 5...
4... 3... 2... 1..
Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, Stayin' Alive! Stayin' Alive!
Moriarty forced his groan to be believable before asking, "D'ya mind if I get that?" Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to seem quicker witted than Moriarty knew he was.
"Oh no, please. You've got the rest of your life." Moriarty flipped the phone on, ready to speak with his current 'girlfriend'. She was great at her job, but he couldn't wait to get rid of her.
"Hello? Yes, of course it is, what d'you want?" It seemed like any other business call. Moriarty mouthed and apology to Sherlock, who did the same, only saying it was alright. Moriarty spun on his heel as Viorous began listing off jobs. To be blunt, it was boring as hell. Maybe dying wouldn't be so bad... He'd go down as the worst criminal England has ever known. Sounded good.
"Say that again!" He shouted the scripted words, "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will ssssskin you!" His voice was forceful, and he literally hissed the word skin. He always was one for dramatics. He held his hand to the receiver, his face looking a little gravely shocked, staring down at the bomb.
"Sorry," his eyes moved up to Sherlock, "Wrong day to die..."

-1 year later, Moriarty's POV-
My grey Westwood still looked perfect, as I always keep it, as they read my verdict. Not guilty, of course. My plan had been brilliant, a little boring, but brilliant. All that was left to do was pay a little visit to my good friend, Sherlock Holmes. He'd want to know how I broke into all those places, after all. And I'd 'tell' him. *Evil giggle* Oh, how he always wants everything to be sooooo clever. Pitiful. Of course Sebastian was waiting with my car to drive me there. I missed this. Prison was absolutely abhorring. The smooth leather brushed my fingertips as I slipped in, the snake of the seatbelt immediately being pulled across. Safety first, am I right? Sebastian was sure to make the ride as smooth as possible. He knows better. We pulled in front of the cheery building. I didn't bother knocking as I strolled right through the door, the smell of earl grey quite apparent. Sherlock is such a gracious host, made tea and everything! I sat down confidently in Sherlock's chair, grabbing an apple as I passed, I was sure he wouldn't mind. The waterfall of the tea hitting the bottom of pale china. I didn't bother to look if it was him, I was sure of it.
"Sherlock? I believe you've a visitor." It was definitely a woman's voice, it was soft, yet defiant. It came from the hallway area to my right. I knew Sherlock didn't live with a female. I would've noticed. So, who was she? I adjusted my bracelet so it'd be a little less unbearable.
"Yes, y/n. I know. I've been expecting him." Ah, Sherlock. How sweet. He knew I'd be coming, what a nice 'friend'. I looked to the woman leaning against the door frame with as flirtatious of a smile as I could muster in this moments notice. It was actually quite a bit, I take pride in being flirty. It's fun. She was absolutely stunning. What was her relationship to Sherlock, exactly? The new bracelet on my wrist moved to an uncomfortable angle, and I adjusted it once more. The Chinese symbol on it dug into my skin. Why the hell did Viorous believe this was necessary? I looked her over to see what I could find out. My eyes trailed for usual signs of different habits, different lives and backgrounds. Her h/c hair was in soft, purposeful waves, her e/c clear, yet dark. Not in a mean way, more of, well, almost a seductive way. Her body curved in all the right places, and her tight clothing showed off her figure. Her shirt was a simple crop-top, that was tight around the area it covered, but hung loosely above the area it didn't. She were an army green jacket, it simply hung off her shoulders softly, like it was more protection than warmth. Her nylons had a criss-cross pattern. Her shorts hugged her hips and thighs, and though her outfit was skimpy, it didn't look slutty. She was attractive to say the least, but there was something about her, something that kept my eyes on her even after I realized I couldn't figure out anything about her.
"So. Your girlfriend seems to think you're going to dump her." She said it as if it were blatantly obvious, and my eyes narrowed at her. Looking closer, it was obvious that the shirt was made of a softer fabric, linen, maybe. It flowed like swirling waves down her bare stomach. Her jacket was basic polyester, it was a bomber jacket, and it seemed a little American for her clear British accent.
"Oh, really? And how would you assume that?" I couldn't stop the heat beginning to burn in my chest at her abrasive behavior. This isn't normal. What the hell was happening here?
"You keep adjusting the bracelet on your wrist. Your not accustomed to wearing one, obviously. Could've been a present from a friend or family member, but the symbol on it is Chinese. It means 'forever yours', so girlfriend. Why would she buy something suddenly like that? Elementary, she thinks you're going to dump her. Which, she has every right to. You are." I crossed my legs, leaning back into the seat. My hands clasped to my chin. She was good. Very good. Then, something I couldn't control, nor have I ever experienced happened. I started... Picturing her. It was odd, she was in front of me, and there was no reason to see her in that way. Sexual relations were more to get what I want than for pleasure. So why now? Why was she in my head like that. In absolutely nothing. I turned away from her, forcing my thoughts aside. She didn't know what I was thinking, at least. Finally, Sherlock came in, bringing tea. She butted out of most of the conversation then on, but I could feel her eyes gazing upon me every time I spoke. Every time I knew she wasn't looking, nor Sherlock for that matter, I'd sneak a passive glance in her direction. There were small details that just completely drew me in. One, I couldn't figure anything out about her, other than she was around my age, and was clearly very intelligent. Two, those eyes. They were a brilliant shade of e/c, and the little light in the grungy flat didn't seem to lessen the sparkle and shine in the remarkable irises. Three, the overall fact of what she did to me. Heat swelled through my body, the once controllable fire went rogue, ravaging throughout me.
"So you have two now? Perhaps I should get myself a live-in one!" Instead of telling me who she was, he asks another stupid question. I turned to look towards her, a little more outwardly this time, and it just so happened to be when she was peeling off her jacket, hanging loosely over the back of her seat. The thoughts forced their way through the doors to the front of my mind, the sight of her bare shoulders along with her low cut shirt making the heat burn me inside, and pushing me away from the task at hand.
"It'd be so funny..." Even I could hear the distance in my voice. She was absolutely gorgeous. I could feel my blood sprinting through me, sending my heart trying to force itself from my chest. That damn heat!
" What's it all for?!" Sherlock was desperate, and I had to try and finish this conversation. God, this was impossible! What was she doing, was this purposeful? It had to be! I finished my spiel, carving 'I O U' into the apple, and was almost finished with Sherlock, when she finally said something. Her voice wrapped around me like smooth silk, forcing me to stay at the edge of her words, waiting for them to let me fall off the edge.
"So, if falling is just like flying, is that why it's called 'falling in love' despite the feeling of flying filled euphoria of it all?" She was obviously joking, but she was being very flirtatious, which seemed to only confuse Sherlock. I turned my attention to her, a small smirk tugging at the edge of lips.
"Why? Feeling euphoric?" I could practically feel my irises adjust to let the dark centres expand. I stared her in the eye, knowing she would see this, and though from the distance it was hard to see clearly, I swore hers did, too. We just stared for awhile, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to hide what she was doing to me much longer. Sherlock moved to return the empty tray to the kitchen. I quickly stood up, handing y/n my card, winking at her as she took it. She slipped the card into her jacket pocket, and I slipped out without a sound. Quiet as silence. I spent the whole ride to my estate thinking about her. I tried to force the thoughts away from me, but she just kept coming back. And with her, things I prefer not to mention. Or admit. She was an angel, for god's sakes! She was good in every sense of the word, and part of it drew me in, the other part made me feel horrible for even thinking it. What of my reputation if this got out? It wouldn't exist. I ignored the burning desire deep within me well into the odd hours of the night. When I could no longer distract myself, she returned, as much of an angel as I remembered, and I could practically feel her careful touch. This wasn't going to go away... Just needed to find an outlet. Seeing no other possible choice, I resorted to tactics from my adolescent years.