Sherlock Imagines

Jealousy of a Madman (MoriartyxReader)

Prompt: 2 ("Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?")
Character: Moriarty
Requested by: @ZoeyP03

You could hear the steady sound of the pipes dripping, letting the echo of each droplet fill your mind in order to keep it from wandering. You shouldn't have agreed to this, you had known it the moment he invited you here. Yet, you couldn't help yourself. You were desperate. For what? You still hadn't any clue, but the excitement and terror of this little rendez-vous had your heart pounding like a thousand war drums. You knew you should've left. What were you doing here?! You had a job to do, protect your boss' little brother. And here you were, ignoring your responsibility to meet the very man you were protecting him from!
"Hello, Darling." Your thoughts were interrupted by a whimsical Irish accent, his words doing deadly pirouettes through the air, killing all that they touched with the sweet song of poison. Your breath hitched as his steps neared, the pointed clicks of his expensive leather shoes crossing across the room to you.
"No 'Hey-o, Jimmy?' Come on, just say it—for me?" He teased, his words spilling onto the back of your neck as he now hovered over you. Your eyes flicked closed as his lips brushed over the vulnerable skin of your nape. Your lips pursed at the contact, every instinct in you screaming to get out of there while you still had the chance. But something kept you there.
One could call it a completion principle, your mind desperate to finish the story between the two of you. A frail, shaky breath escaped your lips, tongue prodding out to moisten them as you built up the courage.
"Hey-o, Jimmy." You said carefully, eyes opening to the frost covered glass in front of you. Watching your reflection as it captured it, Jim's lips faintly twisting up at the corners. His right hand slid onto your hip, thumb slipping under the warm sweater covering your icy skin.
"Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me, James?" He chuckled, pulling the weapon out and dragging it along the back of your shoulder blade.
"A bit of both, since we're being honest here. That was what we agreed, isn't it?" He whispered into the shell of his ear, head twisting down like a cobra's, to the back of yours, breathing in an unfamiliar scent.
"You don't use Ten Voss, anymore? What a shame." He pointed out, licking his lips.
"I'm not getting paid millions and I'm not wearing it to impress someone, anymore." You replied, forcing your tone confident as you spoke. He hummed thoughtfully, that amused little sound he always made, making you feel small and stupid. Making you want to press that gun of his to his temple and blow the trigger.
"Since we're being honest." You sassed, eyes watching his every movement, whether it was his fingers tucking a stray hair into place, the small change of grasp of his weapon or his steady, relaxed breath.
"Fair enough, I suppose. And yes, you're completely right, and I'm the name of that, I would like to admit a curiosity of mine. Why'd you agree to come?" He froze, Dark eyes watching yours, secretly surveying the slightest change of behavior, listening to the sights and signs each one told. You stared back, into the devil's eyes.
"I don't know." You said flatly, sincerity sparkling in your eyes. A sincerity that angered him beyond himself. A loud shot fired into the far wall, neither of you flinching.
"There's a reason you came," He hissed, "I know there is." He insisted, grip tightening on your side, manicured nails digging into your flesh.
"You're right. There's a reason, I just don't know what it is." He stared at you, breath slowly steadying, intrigue clouding his gaze. Suddenly, he was chuckling.
"Ah, always following your instincts, after all this time. Let's see, what could it be..." The tip of the muzzle tapped your lips delicately, clearly not intended for harm, yet still an underlying threat.
"Perhaps you want to convince me to make your life easier—spare Sherlock Holmes?" No reaction, "Ah, no, apparently not. Hmm...perhaps you just wanted to see me, again?" Your breath froze in your throat, causing him to laugh once more, "I see, well isn't that delightful?"
"Why did you want me to come." You demanded.
"You're asking why I came, why haven't you spilled why you wanted me to." You forced out, trying not to let out a squeal as he turned you to face him.
"Isn't that one a tad obvious? I missed you." His thumb dragged along your jaw, eyes following with a clear interest.
"No lies, Jim, we had a deal." You forced out from between clenched teach, feeling your heart rate soar. His eyes struck you, a hidden fondness in them.
"And I'm following it," He said earnestly, more earnest than he'd spoken in a long time, "You, however, aren't. Where's the little junkie you're protecting." His voice fell dark, darker than his black locks.
"He's not her-"
"DON'T LIE TO ME!" He shouted, anger flaring before you could even finish.
"He's not!" You pushed, "He's coming, but he's not here...yet." Your voice softened, eyes falling closed again.
"I was hoping I could reason with you before he came...stop you from getting yourself hurt." Your voice cracked at the thought.
"He's on his way..." Jim spoke thoughtfully, eyes closing as he calmed down at the rate of a tortoise's travels.
"Yes."
"When will he get here?" His eyes remained shut, allowing you to look at him with a fondness you could only hold for him, a fondness only you could have for him.
"Not for a few more minutes. Five, at most." He nodded, hand traveling softly down to yours.
"Enough for this, then." His eyes as he spoke, only to close again once his lips had enveloped yours. Instinctively, your hand reached up to hold the back of his neck, lips opening to partake in the intimate kiss.
Neither of you broke it, nor would have ever dared to. Until the familiar cocking of a gun echoed the room, your eyes shooting open to a familiar face, familiar curls and cheekbones.
"Sherlock." Jim's voice ground in annoyance, eyes slit with a certain anger, one you'd never seen before.
"Here to save your savior, hm? 'Your' damsel in distress? Hate to break it to you, but she's not yours."
"Let her go, Moriarty." Sherlock ignored the warning, only causing Jim's fury to flare. What didn't the man understand about it?
"She's mine, Sherly-locks. Back. Off." It dawned on you, what that anger was.

Jealousy.