.・゜゜・｡･:*˚:✧｡ james moriarty
A new life. A new city. And a hell of a lot of trouble.
Renzo, otherwise known as Rens Drake, is a Scottish boy, recently moved to London for a fresh start. However, with a criminal lifestyle, will pickpocketing informat...
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"JAMES~!" The deep voice of my dark haired partner in crime called as he entered my office. His Scottish accent sounding strong, like music to my ears, a small smile gracing my lips.
"Shouldn't you be back at 221b? We have a game to play y'know." I say, altogether not too bothered that he decided to stay. He's been here about a week now.
"Hun, I'm like an outdoor cat, I come and go as I please~" He smirks, twirling around my room, coming over and sitting on the edge of my desk next to where I'm currently sat. "Besides, I enjoy your conpany~"
"You're extra flirty today." I state, attempting to continue my work, he makes a small tutting noise and pushes my chair back so that I'm away from my desk. He slides over so that he's in front of me, the centre of my attention. I raise an eyebrow as he seems to be sitting on files.
He pulls a small lollipop out of his light leather jacket, popping it into his mouth and shifting his legs slightly. I move closer in a feeble attempt to work around him, knowing it wouldn't work I hate to admit what compelled me to try it anyway. Sighing, now partly sat inbetween his knees, I look up at his stormy grey eyes, shocked to see such sadness in them.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Placing a hand on his arm and trying to sound soothing, a small smile on my lips, my inexperience in comforting people clearly showing. His freckled face scrunches with his sad eyes, sliding off the desk and into my lap in a way which causes me to wrap my arms around his small waist as to aid his balance. Making a small whimper noise, Ren cuddles himself into the side of my neck. I've never seen him like this. Or known that he could get like this.
"Jim."
"Hmm?"
"No one can die by my hands in this game of ours, promise me." His voice is barely above a whisper.
"Renzo, you kill people for a living, I highly doubt that-"
"Please. Promise me." I pause to think, trying to get a look at his face, his eyes. Curious as to why he is so against this. Could it be because he doesn't want to kill anyone he knows? John? No Sherlock's pet may be nice but he had just met him. It can't possibly be Sherlock, he wouldn't let himself fall for him, right? I sigh, not getting anywhere with my own thoughts, carefully tightening my hold on the slightly taller male.
"I promise."
--
I had left back to 221b that afternoon, not completely comfortable with the weakness I showed; even though it was only acting.
"When did you get here, and why are you in my seat?" Sherlock asks, walking in from his bedroom. I sip the brew Mrs Hudson had made me. "Where's John?"
"Well I got here an hour ago, I'm sat here because I want to, and considering it's a Saturday afternoon, John is probably out doing something of little importance to his life, like going to the bank." I state, getting myself comfortable in the modern looking chair, taking another long sip of the tea.
Grunting, he takes a seat on his couch.
"Aren't you going to get changed?" I question, making sure to use my fake British accent, my voice hurting a bit after not using it for so long. Drawing my attention to the detective, he seems to be in thought, before subconsciously following my suggestion and walking back into his bedroom. For some odd reason, my mind drifts back to the events of an hour or two earlier; I hate myself for doing that. Though it did seem he cared - he was attempting comforting gestures.
It was cute.
Ugh. What am I thinking, I couldn't be letting myself get attached to these humans, especially him. If I want my plan to work then I can't get involved with someone like him, cause sooner or later I'll end up killing someone.
Taking out my phone, unlocking it and going to my messages:
Any news from 'Galactic'?x - R
...
If what I hear is correct then your sister left too. Be careful. - Ghost
I read over the message again. Great.
Taking another sip of the drink, I stand up noticing Sherlock coming back into the room. He sits in his chair, myself going and sitting on the left arm, resting my elbow on his shoulder and hooking my legs over one of his. A rehearsed method of sitting in which we have come in agreement to, as opposed to our usual squabble over 'the fancy chair'.
Skilfully working around me, he makes himself a brew, being careful as to not knock me into spilling mine. John walks back in, nodding his head in our direction, used to our antics. It appears he had been shopping, told by the two white plastic bags he carried with him.
In all honesty, I was a little worried for John, he seems rather antsy as of late. Most likely due to a lack of work, as of at the moment he was quite literally following Sherlock round on cases; as am I. He comes and sits down in his chair across from the two of us, making himself a cuppa.
He just kinda stares at us, the two of us a little unsettled.
"I've asked it once, I'll ask again, you two sure you're not a thing? No judgement if you are." He suddenly blurts, instantly breaking the borderline tense atmosphere. I burst out laughing, only maintaining my balance on the chair due to Sherlock's arm wrapped securely around my waist.
"Sorry John, but we aren't." I splitter, practically wiping the tears from my eyes, calming down I notice John had been laughing too.
"Although I wouldn't be complaining if we were."
Everything stopped.
John and I looking to each other, then turning to the detective who had quoted my words from a few weeks ago.
