BBC Sherlock Imagines

Moriarty x Reader | Theif [2]

Description: Part two of 'Theif'.
Warnings: Blood, Pain, Swearing.
Word Count: 1026
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I weakly open my eyes, and I don't see much. Just the floorboards of my apartment, but they're different. What used to be light oak coloured, now has a tinge of red across it. I blink a few times, in case it's just my vision creating a fake facade, but it's real. I notice I'm laying on the ground, so I try to move. I put my hands on either side of me and push up, but immediately crash back down to the ground as pain burns into my side. I groan out and clasp my hand against my waist. I look down, and my once nice clothes are now soaked in a sticky red fluid, in the middle of the patch is a bullet shaped hole in my clothing. I remember now. Jim Moriarty coming in my flat, and shooting me. Am I dead? No, I can feel pain. Perhaps this is Hell? It would make perfect sense, this apartment is the last place I'd like to be right now.

I think about calling an ambulance, but what would that do? All they would find is every possession I've stole along with the thousands of pounds I definitely did not properly earn. Guess I'll just have to help myself then.

After a couple minutes, or more like thirty, of laying face down on the floor, I finally manage to bring myself up to my feet, using a nearby chair to help me stand. I slowly make my way to the bathroom for the first aid kit. I realize I'm going to have to dig a bullet out of myself as well, so I take a washcloth to stick in my mouth to mutter the yells.

I sit on the toilet and pull up my shirt, revealing a nasty looking wound. I open the first aid kit and take out the supplies, and am about to look for the bullet when I find it's not there. My first thought is that I am dreaming, that I wasn't shot and I am just in bed having a bad dream, but there's too much pain so I decide against it. I might as well just forget about it and hurry up and stitch myself up.

(Time skip)

I cover the wound with a large bandage after putting some ointment on it, then get off the toilet seat, and head to my room to change my clothes. I pick out a white tank top with some beige jeans. Changing is difficult, getting the shirt over my head was most painful, but once it was on I felt much better. The jeans were less hard, and bending over was painful as well.

I finish changing then go back to the bathroom to check out my face. There's some blood on my cheeks and neck, and in my hair, so I decide to have a small sink-shower. I wash off the blood and don't bother with the shampoo and conditioner for now. Once I'm clean, there's only one thing left to do, and that's clean my floors.

I go back to the kitchen and fill a bucket with some soapy water and grab the handheld mop. I bring it to the bloodstain, and begin to scrub. This is the most work I feel like I've ever done in my entire life.

While I'm cleaning, I feel like I'm being watched. I nonchalantly look around, and my blinds are open, but there's nothing behind them. I walk over and close them anyway, stopping when I hear his voice again.

"You're alive?" I hear Jim say. I turn around to look at him, anger quickly coating my face.

"And you're cleaning?" He continues, sounding surprised.

"What do you want." I say, my voice flat.

"Well, I did come to see if you had died yet. Someone has to take care of the body, right?"

"Just get out, Moriarty. You've made your point. I tried to mug you, and you got me back. Just leave me alone."

"I'm not leaving."

"Are you going to kill me for real this time because if you are, just get it over with already."

"Why would I want to kill you? I saved you Y/n."

"How on Earth did you save me?" I ask.

Moriarty holds up something small between his fingers. It appears to be a bullet, but it's coated in a dried red colour. My blood, that's my bullet.

"You would've died if I kept that in you." He says.

"Then why'd you take it out?"

"I decided that I don't want to kill you, I want quite the opposite actually." He says.

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"I want you to come with me, Y/n," he pauses and walks toward me. "I want you to work with me, and use your criminal talents with me on my side. We'd make a great team, really. Over time I could really make you into a true criminal, not just one who steals coin purses and jewelry."

"And what makes you think I'll say yes? Help me understand, Jim, cause, first you took that wallet from me, then you followed me to my home, only to shoot me after. Tell me how your planning to get me to come with you after that. Illuminate me." I say. Jim stares at me, standing only several inches away.

"Like this." He whispers, then leans down and connects our lips. I kiss him back, not exactly sure why, but I do. I notice his  theoretical criminal mask falling off, revealing his humanity, the man under all the delinquency. He disconnects us and walks away, out the door and down the steps. I stand awestruck for a moment, before I notice him pop his head back in the doorway.

"You coming?" He says.

And I follow.

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It was requested I do a part two of this story, I originally planned that in the first part you die at the end and that's it, but I don't mind doing a second part.

May we meet again.

SW