Sherlock Imagines

Never Realized... (MoriartyxReader)

It's funny, Jim thought so, at least. His priority was never maintaining your guys' relationship. It played second fiddle to his ambition and your needs came after his wants. He was king, so a little relationship with an ordinary woman wasn't important to maintain. He never cared enough- at least, that's what he'd thought.
He could remember when you were his. When the local bookstore owner went missing after giving you many-too-many discounts, and though you always just said he was "nice", he was convinced that he liked you. And no one was allowed to like what was Moriarty's. That was exactly what you were- his. You didn't mind it in the least, because you loved him. And when he would get insanely jealous of any man even looking your way, it only proved to you that he cared about you, at least a little bit. All of you belonged to him- him and his insane, criminal mind. To the man that toppled countries when he wanted a show, and planned murders to watch the little ordinary people dance. And for the longest time, you were content with being his.
But one day, you realized he wasn't yours. That Jim Moriarty's heart was just as nonexistent as everyone said it was- nothing more than a gaping hole, filled with deceit and all consuming hate. One day, you realized he didn't care. Keeping you wasn't on his to do list. It wasn't a priority nor a need- or even a want. If anything, it was just entertainment. See how many times he could shatter your heart, and still have you come running to him at his beck and call like a dog. You'd convinced yourself that he wouldn't do that if he didn't care for, or maybe even love, you.
He remembered the day well, when he saw that little light go out of your eyes, though, he didn't remember the evening before near as well. Most people who knew as much about him as you did would be terrified to leave him, no matter the circumstance. At the time, he'd let you go, almost positive you'd return, profusely apologizing for leaving in the first place- like you always did.
But you didn't. The moment you opened the door, two days early from a photoshoot in Puerto Rico, to find him in between the sheets with a pretty little thing he met at a local club. His voice once had been your symphony, and the moment her name fell from his lips, so easily, as if you didn't exist, it turned into the screams of damned. You couldn't bear to hear it- and it caused tears to fall from your eyes, and vision to cloud in pain and anger.
It was when he didn't come after you that you realized it. You were ordinary to him, and ordinary people were his playthings. You were no different.  You were his... but he definitely wasn't yours. So, even though every cell in your body craved to fall back into his arms, you played the voice he had in the bedroom back over and over again in your head, to remind you who he was. The Devil wears Westwood, no doubt about it, but the true deceit laid in how easily he could lay charm into his words, and make his hiss, the sound of someone playing on a broken violin string, sound so much like a melody, handcrafted just for you. You would never go back. You refused to ever see him again.
He always bought you gifts, his way of keeping you with him. Said he loved how you smiled, and that much was true. He loved the way it lit up the world around you, so much deeper than just the curving of your lips. It flooded your eyes, and he'd capture it whenever he could.

He never thought your smile would hurt so bad. But, then again, he never thought you'd move on. Never considered that, one day, you'd leave him... especially for a man who gave you nothing in comparison to Jim, in his eyes. In yours, you were getting everything. You had someone who loved you- who made you their priority. They didn't buy your smiles, they created them.
Jim would always own part of your heart, and it drove you mad. But it drove him even more mad that he, the man who sees everything, the owner of secrets... didn't see what he had until he lost it.
He was never supposed to adjust to you being there. Your smile had engraved into his head, and anytime it was his, part of him softened. He didn't like the way this felt- guilt, regret, remorse. You were never supposed to leave him. You were his! Yet... he couldn't bring himself to force you back.
It was the way the light left your eyes as you saw him with the woman. He'd never felt anything that hurt him more. If looks could kill, this would've been the one that took him to his grave, because something inside him broke. He'd counted two and a half minutes of you watching him stare back at you, and for awhile, he felt nothing. It didn't worry him, if you left, you'd be back by the morning. It didn't hurt at first- if anything, it was intriguing.
Your eyes scanned him, as if needing more evidence. As if being naked and on top of her wasn't enough to prove he'd done what you thought. That the hickeys along his neck, and scratches down his back didn't quite confirm it. What did, however, was the bruises below her jawline- identical to ones you'd tried to cover up time and time again, but to little avail. It was his prize, to show you were his, and now they were on her...
That's when he saw it. When his stomach twisted in a way that didn't feel possible. Even as tears obstructed the view, he could see the light flickering in and out until it was just gone. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt guilty about something. Because if watching that light go from your eyes hurt that much, then he could only imagine what it'd actually feel like. Yet, he was still certain you'd be back. And when you returned into his arms, it'd be back. His favourite light.

And he was seeing it now for the first time in much too long- seven months. He had decided after three days of pining and need and longing tearing him apart that he needed to see you again. Your favourite suit on him, the flowers you adored most in the world in a bouquet, and even an apology ready- the first in his adult life. You hadn't come back for the first time ever, and that's when he realized he needed you. Too late, in fact.
Because when he got there, he saw that light, that smile, you. But you weren't alone. In the small flat you'd been in before him, music flowed from a cheap speaker, and even from the window, even from the bottom floor, he could see it all. All of his favourite things- things that were supposed to be his, in the hands of another. The flowers hit the ground, jaw following. It wasn't right- you weren't some tawdry, dumb, ordinary man's. YOU WERE HI-
And the epiphany that struck through his previous thought made his balled fists fall, and him collapse to the ground. This is what it had felt like for you, he realized. To find out, one day, that the person who you'd give anything and everything for was never really yours. And in a falsely amused tone, and tears pricking his eyes for the first time in over a decade, his thoughts came past his lips, and into the winter's chilled air.

"She isn't mine... I'm hers."