Hi guys, sorry for the lack of activity recently, illness had taken hold, ugh. This is a bit short, but I felt guilty that I hadn't uploaded in a while. Hope you enjoy!
No copyright infringement intended, I don't own Sherlock, nor will I ever do.
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"Jim Moriarty. Hi!"
That was it. The three words that started it all. An endless wave of madness, obsession and lust. I got sucked in, my lack of resistance proving that I had, without a doubt, fallen. And fallen hard.
Caring is not an advantage. I knew this.
But this wasn't caring. It was craving. I didn't care who got hurt, if only I could hear his soft Irish lilt, sense the dark humour and meaning behind his words, feel him bend me to his will, and control me like a puppet. My purpose is for his entertainment, to dance for him, to fall to my knees and plead for him.
I think of little else. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can feel the little red lights skip over my face, my chest, threatening to end me, but at the same time making me feel more alive than ever. I can see the glimmer of his teeth as he smirked at me, the gleam in his eyes as he inspected me.
I can't control myself. I won't control myself. I feel my cheeks get hot, my eyes slowly close. My forehead starts to shine with sweat, and my mouth falls open in a silent scream.
Of mercy?
Most likely.
My thoughts become short, and incoherent.
I focus on him, and only him.
Everything goes white.
Am I interesting, Mr Moriarty?
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If you enjoyed, leave me a comment, and I'll write more Sherlock fanfic :)
Until the next time x
