Sherlock Imagines

Pick A Side (Sherlock V. Moriarty AU)

REQUEST BY carlstheprincess AND EUZHEIAHDOSJ THIS TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG FOR A GOTHAM FAN.
Also, I attempted for this to be gender neutral, I think there's a thing about hair tied back, so, just like when a girl's hair is too short, you can choose to ignore that, or pretend it fits. Sorry, I originally wrote this as female, and I couldn't find the place I put it.

Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Hold it. Hoooold it... Just as you exhaled, your finger smoothed onto the trigger, sending the bullet directly into that clown's heart. He really thought he could mess with Jim Moriarty and get away with it? HA! No, you didn't work for him, nor were you in his gang or anything, but he definitely trusted you over any other assassin he knew. Apart from the fact that you also did hits for his direct enemy; Sherlock Holmes. All three of you, of course, knew their hatred was more than some small gang rivalry. No, it was more than that. It was the small glances to the neutral assassin who worked for both sides, to the cocky tone each held about making them theirs, and most of all- The fact they wouldn't pick a damn side. They liked the chaos of murder, watching people panic. And they didn't want to cut her work in half, because they only had one employer. That was just stupid. As you packed up the single-shot rifle, your phone buzzed next to you. You swiftly answered it, already knowing exactly who it was.
"L/n." You answered, the name slipping smoothly off your tongue.

Your name shook every man to their core, from a random citizen on the street, to Jim Moriarty, or even Sherlock Holmes. Though, for very different reasons. The two bosses weren't your average Joe. They feared nothing except losing, and they used your services as a mere extension of their power. And though you were the best, that's not why they always went to you first, when they needed someone 'taken care of'. It wasn't the fact you were untraceable, not to mention clever and untouchable. With the right skills, anyone could be.
"Hello, Darlin'." His accent carried through the phone, wishing he could see the little glimmers in your eyes.
"Come to you, right?" He smirked at how well they knew the drill, their defiant tone would truly be the death of him. Damn them.
"Always, Love." If only she knew. It angered him that she always assumed him and Sherlock (blah) were always fighting for them due to their talents, but it was what it was.
"See ya soon, Jimmy-Boy." They ended the call, but he knew he'd be seeing them soon. They never was good at making people wait, especially not when it came to death.

You didn't bother knocking. Your black tank, and loose cargo pants that practically hung frame your frame, made everyone stare. Especially with your hair tied up, leaving nothing to the imagination. A lit cigarette hung from soft lips, and you didn't hesitate to freely smoke it in the grandeur office building. Your rifle hung on your shoulder, it and it's meticulous care, a threat in itself. Don't even look at me the wrong way. You entered Jim's office, not even thinking twice before entering the luxurious penthouse he liked to call his workspace. Made you question what his definition of work was. You dropped the fag, smashing it under your combat boot before entering, letting the door swing closed behind you.
"Y/n! Still have that nasty habit, I see." He grimaced at the thought of the stained carpet outside. He knew it was your form of a power play, evident from your lack of smoking at Holmes' workspace, but often straightening thins out, as if you were OCD, just to irk him.
"Almost thought you were going to let yourself behind, Boss. Thought Seb was your sniper, not me." You took in the awkward folding of the bed in the far corner's sheets. Quick, untidy. Hiding. Yep, his definition of work was clearly awry.
"Or were you two too busy shagging?" He quirked a brow at you with a telling smirk. Cocky little bugger.
"Oh, don't act so jealous. And no, he's in Russia. Some Duke guy. Strictly business, princess." He teasingly promised, adding a wink to the end as he lounged in his chair. When he got no response, just a small scoff, he scooped the envelope off his desk, three golden rings brushing the paper as he twiddled it in his fingers. Standing up, he rounded his desk, before leaning onto the opposite side of it. He held it beside his head, eyes boring into yours, lust clearly grown into the roots.
"You know, if you ever want a taste, all you gotta do is ask, right?" He teased, adding an air kiss to the end. Rolling your eyes, you strutted up to him, reaching out to take your cash. His hand connected with your wrist, holding you inches in front of him.
"J-Jim..?" You were surprised to say the least. Your heart sped, and you didn't know if that was from the sudden sexual tension, or fear.
"Fine, let me rephrase that; I want a taste, this is me asking." He nodded his head slightly to the side, and you didn't know what made less sense. Him asking for something, or him wanting a 'taste'. What did that even mean?!
"C'mon, you're not stupid. Can I kiss you?" How could he be so bloody straight forward with this? Just act like it was a common occurrence? Worst of all, in your confusion, you nodded. Before you realized your action, his lips had overtaken yours, hand releasing your wrist to hold onto the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the taste of mint and expensive Irish whiskey on his lips. The excitement ended abruptly as he pulled away to let you both breathe. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips.
"Mm, vanilla, right?" He was still so close, breath spilling into your partially open lips, "Should do that more often." His eyes pupils were fully blown, drinking up the adorable gorgeousness of your astonishment.
"U-Um, wh-what was that?" Did he just come on to you?! His snake-oil salesman like-smile grew, as he reveled in the scent of your light perfume.
"Just trying it out. Turns out I was right." You could feel every movement of his lips as they spoke, still close to yours. His fingers brushed against your temple, a move that almost resembled a loving gesture.
"You were right? About what?" You were, admittedly, getting a bit pissed off. You wanted to wipe that stupid Cheshire grin from his face, and pull him limb from limb for mocking you like this.
"The real thing is always better." His eyes moved to look at your lips, which were still slightly parted, and his head tilted slowly to the other side, as if considering doing it again. Whether it was good or bad luck that his secretary came in at the exact moment was yet to be determined for you, but he definitely wasn't happy about it. Reluctantly, he let you go, placing the payment into your hand.
"Come back soon, lovely." And that was all he said before you turned and stormed out of the building. He had humiliated you. Twisted and toyed with you like he would that stupid Tiger of his! Who did he think you were?! You were the best out there; the assassin who refused to pick a side; Y/N L/N, for crying out loud! Pulling you from your inner tantrum, your phone rang. Holmes. Sighing, you hit the answer button.
"L/n." And around we go.