the king's crown | j. moriarty (18+)

thirteen

SHE WATCHED James Moriarty behind his desk, papers around him that he payed very little attention too. She watched as he listened to the other end of his phone call, irritation weaved into the bare glare he adopts in the process.

He was pacing a little, pausing every now and then and listening, silent. Elizabeth kept sitting on a rickety wooden chair with one leg beneath her, sipping the tea Sebastian had given her and smiling at the bodyguard every now and then from across the room. She couldn't disguise her gaze as it floated to and from the man seemingly more aggravated with every word the stranger said to him. The phone call was ended by James of course, who clicked the end button and stared at the desk below him. After a pause, he swiped his hands across it infuriated; making a loud growl as he did so and Elizabeth jumped at its unexpectedness. The brunette placed her cup on its saucer with a light clink, opening her mouth only to shut it again. She didn't know what to say and as she cast her eyes to Sebastian, neither did he. So as Jim bellowed his partner in crime, Elizabeth followed the papers clattering together on their swirling journey down to the floor.

"Sebastian!" The male he required was already in the room and had been the entire time, so why he called for him, Elizabeth didn't know. "The envelopes." He grunted, "Send another one." Sebastian disappeared after that, patting Elizabeth on the shoulder at his exit. She smiled to him though he couldn't see it and looked back at the brunette alone again. Jim's eyes darted between the disappearing bodyguard and the girl a few times, before he huffed and dismissed it and stepped past the desk. And just like that, he was calm once again. "You're uncomfortable."

"No, I'm not." She laughed a little, swallowing her tea and placing it aside. "No, I just have no idea what's going on, so I can never help you." She smiled brightly and he took a spare second to take in the sight of her; there was too much brightness around her, James thought, and he could never find even the faintest interest with that type of thing. There had to be something she had so cleverly hidden beneath her surface that he hadn't yet noticed it. And if it killed him, he'd find it while also being thoroughly impressed by her immense skills to do so.

Abruptly, he started forward and at the action, Elizabeth clambered off her seat, stumbling backwards a little at his startling pace. The male leant to her, his face centimetres from her own and on a nagging impulse, he was stuck breathing against appetising lips. 

"I'm killing someone." She nodded, watching his lips equally, as he casually discussed murder like sweet nothings.

"I wasn't expecting anything less." He sighed against her though it was aggressive, but for Elizabeth, it still felt angelic against the deprived girl's features. If James moved forward even a little, his lips would be pressed against hers. Hard, passionate and James had no control over how far he'd take it. He was invigorated by the very passing second with the mystery of Elizabeth Dallon; the secret behind the name. And he wanted it, he wanted the the impossible divide of an angel and the Devil. But he couldn't kiss her, and in that moment, as her breath danced tormentingly over his murderous lips, he realised kissing her could become a habit. And he had always found it exceptionally difficult to get rid of his habits. "If I asked you to kill someone for me," she whispered unexpectedly, her eyes still fixed on the lips of a man not thinking she'd speak at all. "Would you do it?" He smiled against her. She could feel his features changing and his breath tickle her cheeks. 

"Anyone."

♔

Elizabeth had spent much more time with the criminal than anyone could have ever comprehended. She currently sat beside him, her nose in a book that she'd brought with her and turning page after page determinedly, her eyes hooked on each word like it could be the last she'd ever read. Moriarty on the other hand, was probably dealing with something of high importance-as per usual-because he sat tapping his fingers on his knee, deathly silent as he awaited a call through an open computer.

Elizabeth had been with him for days after days, but not once, excruciatingly, had they spoken about any of the events within those few days, or his random outbursts against her. He'd pull her menacingly close, make her squirm in his grip but then, like every time, he'd let her go. And it was exhausting. But Elizabeth sat there nonetheless, smiling at him every time she caught his eye; she ruffled his groomed hair as she stood, stalking over to Sebastian as whoever he'd waited for finally came into contact. 

"What do you think his big plan is, this time?" She questioned, leaning against the desk Sebastian stood beside.

"You really want to know?" Elizabeth had witnessed many of Jim's plans by now, or intentions at the least. But it had become evident that around her, he didn't chose to tangle her within it all. 

"Nah." She shrugged, pulling at the sleeves of her cardigan. The more time she let him consume her, the more she realised he was infecting her. Moriarty had spread through her mind like a disease since the first day she met him; first he drowned her thoughts, numbing her to the outside world, and then all of a sudden, she couldn't feel anything but him. He'd suffocated her, weighed her down with his undying interest and she began to need him, like an drug. She needed a dose as often as she could get it and James too, had already realised Elizabeth was his own little mundane addiction. He'd said to Sherlock not long ago, oblivious to Elizabeth, that he said he should get a live-one. He was obviously mocking the idea and never planned it to really happen. Humans were so boring, so incredibly normal, but Elizabeth? There was an unsaid darkness haunting the back of her transcendent eyes, following her like her own shadow. More to the point, there was a halo that sat foolishly just above her head this entire time, and James had found a magnetising obsession with letting it shine away while he plucked at her pretty little wings. "I don't."

She looked over to the criminal, typing contemplatively and she sighed, smelling his cologne on her cardigan from where she'd leant against him. The longer he plagued her, the hold on her own mind seemed to be slipping; it seemed she was spending too much time grasping at his criminal's, she was losing grasp on her own. There was so much she had covered and dismissed from herself: her past, her family, even him.

But as he engulfed her in the life of the most glorified evil, she felt sanity was straying just a little too far. Just like when she was younger, but at her current age, her only remedy suddenly became him. He felt good against her, and she didn't mind anymore if it shattered her into a million pieces.