His Eyes

His Eyes (One Shot)

Moriarty. That was the only name you were given when you were told who you would be working for next. Despite the profession you were in, you hadn't even heard of them. You didn't even know if it was a man or woman. Just Moriarty.

So, you certainly weren't expecting Moriarty to be the man standing mere centimetres from you now, just an hour after you had been thrown in the back of a black van with the rest of your team and driven to this swimming pool just outside London. The ride was uncomfortable due to the cramped space, but still, your team managed to crack a few jokes about murder and death- y'know, the usual.

You were stealthily ushered into the leisure building and taken to the viewing gallery on the top floor which looked down over the swimming pool. With midnight slowly drawing near, the lights of the building were out- except for the ones which would provide light for the confrontation that would happen very soon. They cast a dim, artificial light over the pool, sending a chill down your spine. The silence was only broken by the sound of rippling water, and the one door slamming closed as you entered the building.

You were given simple instructions to keep your guns trained on two men unless instructed otherwise- one tall with dark curls and a seemingly arrogant nature, the other being the one captured earlier, the one with the bomb strapped to his chest.

When Mr Holmes and Dr Watson had arrived, that's what you did. You kept your sniper eyes on them at all times. This was your job. This is how you had decided to spend your life. Doing people's dirty work for money. You were focused, glaring hard at the dancing red dot from your gun, ready to pull the trigger when asked. That is, until you heard a disembodied voice echo from the fire doors below.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call."

The voice threw you off. That was him? That was Moriarty? Surely not. Surely the man who had now sauntered out onto the floor of the pool, who had uttered those first words in a teasing voice, was not the criminal mastermind you were working for. Even after his teasing about the gun in Sherlock Holmes' pocket, you still quite couldn't believe that this everyday looking man with swept back carbon-coloured hair and angular jawline was him.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi." His monotonous voice rang out, filling every corner of the spacious room with terror. Another chill ran down your spine. The cool and collected atmosphere he was giving off certainly made him scarier.

As you watched the standoff between Jim, Mr Holmes and Dr Watson unfold below you, still ensuring your gun was pinned to either one of Moriarty's enemies, you realised how insane he seemed. Sure, you had dealt with many awful people in your life- it was part of the job description- but none were as alarming as Jim Moriarty. He didn't show much emotion, only if it was to yell at Mr Holmes. You couldn't understand him at all. Most people you worked for explained their motives, but not Jim. He was so vague, but at the same time you felt you could understand everything he was saying. He was the most powerful man in the room, and you could certainly feel it pressing you down, making your chest feel tight.

You were snapped out of your contemplation when you noticed that Mr Holmes was threatening to blow you all up. You had already accepted death- you knew you would end up being retired permanently sooner or later. However, it was Moriarty's reaction to this that made you panic. He just simply stood, staring at the two men opposite him, his lips twitching. His head twisted ever so slightly from side to side, and you almost felt yourself doing the same out of curiosity at how this man handled his imminent death.

You had to stop yourself from snorting with laughter when his phone rang out, The Bee Gees' 'Staying Alive' resonating around this room which you had gladly accepted as your final resting place. In no time at all, the confrontation between the men below you was over, as Moriarty had slowly wandered back to the fire exit, and snapped his fingers in your general direction. You knew that signal all too well. Immediately, you and your team pulled your guns back and left the room as quickly and quietly as possible. You could have heard a pin drop as yourself and your team put away your weapons in the hallway and prepared to leave.

Your heartrate didn't settle as you continued to think about Jim Moriarty. You seemed pretty calm over the fact that he was your new boss (he seemed rather intelligent and careful so you were confident you wouldn't be wasted), however what did bother you was that you didn't have a chance to get a closer look at his eyes. You could always tell a lot from a person's eyes, and not even looking into his made you feel uneasy. You weren't sure why, but there you were, feeling that way. Clearly, you weren't going to get a look as you slowly packed away your equipment.

Jumping up, you ran wildly down the corridor and the steps, out into the hallway where you assumed that fire exit led to. You froze in place when you saw him leaning against the wall finishing up his phone call. You tried to form words but to no avail, your mouth just gaped silently. Well... now you just felt stupid.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he stood up straight from the wall. Those eyes, the ones you so desperately wanted to see, were fixed on you. Like a predator hunting its prey. Ever so slowly, he stalked up to you, but you knew better than to take a step back. The only sound that could be heard was his shoes clacking against the linoleum floor as he approached you. You held your ground, but that didn't stop you from wanting the floor to swallow you up.

And so, that's where you found yourself now, with your boss, the great Consulting Criminal Jim Moriarty, standing right over you. Looking down at you. The tips of your toes touching his. The power he held just from standing there was tangible, you could almost smell it. Wait, no- that was the smell of his brand new Westwood suit. Bless him, he even dressed up for the occasion.

You had wanted to see his eyes, but now you couldn't even lift your own. 'Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea,' you thought. Without even faltering, his hand reached up to your face. You braced yourself for a hard grip, but instead he placed it so softly under your chin that you weren't quite sure he was even touching you. You felt your head beginning to swim before realising you weren't breathing. Damn him and his powerful demeanour. As you took a deep gasping breath in, he did too, which made you shudder. The pressure under your chin increased until you could stand it no longer, and you let him tilt your head up to look at him. You had to look into his eyes.

Those eyes. Those eyes that were staring at you so intensely. You didn't understand how, but they seemed dead and... lifeless. But under that, you saw desire. Especially when his gaze dropped to your lips. You felt your stomach drop with his eyes. Those eyes you now couldn't prise yours away from.

His eyes.

Within a fraction of a second, his eyes hardened even more, and the cold, crushing stare made you wanting to go running home with your tail in between your legs. And yet, you felt almost surrounded in them, staring into those deep, dark irises which held so many wicked and disturbing secrets.

Then, without a warning, his hand was gone from your face. You felt the air disturbance around you as he whipped around and briskly strode down the corridor to his sleek, obsidian tinted car waiting outside. Feeling your heart nearly drill a hole through your ribcage and your breath hitch, you just stared after him in shock. You could have laughed at yourself, because surely you looked ridiculous just standing there with your own eyes wide and your hands hanging limply by your sides. You weren't quite sure how to feel, how to think, how to function again.

"Catch... you... later..." you sputtered out, repeating what Mr Holmes had said. Expecting him to retort in that melodic voice, you watched as he turned around again gracefully. He simply stared at you once more. With the smallest twitch of his lips, he slid through the door and out to his waiting car.