jim moriarty hi

Jim Moriarty: [walks by a reflective window]

Jim Moriarty: [stops in his tracks, goes back to the window]

Jim Moriarty: [does finger guns at his reflection]

Jim Moriarty: [resumes walking]

The story of how you met: a study in scarlet

In a way, Anderson was right; the case of Hope—Jefferson, Jeff the cabbie, and Sherrindford—was about revenge. Rache, German for revenge; Rachel, it’s not a name. If we are to begin from the beginning, the real beginning, a study in scarlet shall be conducted then. Scarlet as in red, in blood, and in Rache i.e. all things German.

I’ve noted in several of my meta posts that series 4 was about the past – events that happened but certain details went unnoticed or seemed inconsequential at the time. Reality perceived differently, or perhaps, incomplete. Pink, a lighter shade of red. A Study in Pink, the pink lady, Jeff Hope, Moriarty; A Study in Scarlet, the lady in red, Culverton Smith, Faith? No. Eurus? No.

Scarlet. Roses are Red. Rosamund?

It has always been about John Watson. Ever since day one.

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Unprofessional - Moriarty x reader

Originally posted by sherlockjw

AN: This is my first time writing Jim smut so be kind. I’m not sure I like it and I might change it but for now enjoy!

Summary: You’re the copper who is in charge of Moriarty and after he’s announced as innocent and let free he pays you a little visit

Word count: 1,480

Warnings: Some strong language, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), teasing, it’s pretty tame because it’s my first time writing smut with this character

You thought they were joking when they assigned you to Jim Moriarty. The man who tried to steal the crown jewels, broke into the bank of England and turned off the security at Pentonville prison all by himself. 

You were normally given the small criminals, the one’s that anyone could deal with, not the world’s bloody biggest criminal mastermind! 

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vimeo
3

Jim Moriarty making his clothes beg for mercy

Like putting the final touches on a masterpiece which in this case would be his own body.

Deaf!Sherlock AU

John Watson has just returned from the war. He passes Mike Stamford, an old friend, in the park. They talk. Mike says he knows someone who John could rent a flat with. John goes with Mike to meet this potential flatmate at St. Bart’s Hospital.

When they walk into a lab, a man is looking through a microscope.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone?” the man signs. John only sees random hand gestures.

Mike signs back and says, “Sorry, it’s in my other coat.”

John looks at Mike with a confused look.

“He asked to borrow my phone,” Mike explains.

“Here. Use mine,” John says. He hands his phone over to the man who quickly types something before handing the phone back to John.

The man stands up and signs something to John.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Mike interprets.

“Afghanistan,” John says. He turns to Mike, “Can he understand me?”

“He’s deaf, but he can read lips,” Mike says.

The man signs again, and Mike interprets, “Are you still interested in looking at a flat? I know of one in central London. Together we can afford it.”

“How did you know I’m looking for a flat?” John asks.

“I was telling Mike this morning about how difficult it is to find a flatmate. Now, here you are, a man recently back from Afghanistan. It wasn’t a difficult leap.”

“But how did you know about Afghanistan?” John asks.

By that point, the man has turned to get his coat and doesn’t see John’s question.

“Sorry, I’m late for an experiment. I’ll text you the address. We can meet tomorrow morning at seven,” the man signs. Mike interprets.

“Wait. I don’t even know your name. And how do you know my phone number?” John asks.

“He says that he memorized your number when he borrowed your phone,” Mike explains.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221b Baker Street,” Sherlock signs.

That night, John stays up late to learn as much sign language as he can.

1 Month Later

Sherlock is in the middle of composing a song on his violin.

“How did you learn to play?” John asks.

“I learned before I was deaf when I was six years old. I became deaf when I was nine. An experiment went wrong. I still like to play. It helps me think when I can feel the friction of the rosin on the bow,” Sherlock signs.

John has learned enough sign language to understand Sherlock if he signs slowly.

“It sounds beautiful,” John says.

“Thank you,” says Sherlock.

6 months later

John stands by the pool with a bomb strapped to his chest. He is told exactly what he has to sign to Sherlock.

“Evening,” John says. “I bet you never saw this coming.”

Sherlock looks betrayed.

“What would you like me to make him say next?” John says.

Now, Sherlock realizes what is going on.

“Why don’t you show yourself?” Sherlock says. This is the first time John has heard Sherlock’s voice.

John hears the voice of a man in the the shadows. “Oh, alright.”

The man steps into the light. It’s Jim. Molly’s boyfriend.

“Jim Moriarty. Hi!” He speaks and signs at the same time. “I gave you my number. I thought you might call.”

He smiles at Sherlock wearing a face of pure evil.

“I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world.”

A red light appears on John. One shot could blow up the building. Sherlock holds out the flash drive impatiently. Moriarty takes it, but quickly tosses it into the pool.

“Boring!” he signs. “Do you know what happens to you if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock?”

“I get killed,” Sherlock signs.

“Kill you? No! Don’t be obvious. Not yet,” he says. “If you don’t stop prying, I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you.”

After Moriarty has left, Sherlock asks John out loud, “Are you alright?”

John signs back, “I’m fine.”

2 years later

Moriarty is back. He has convinced the world that he is Richard Brook. He has convinced the world that Sherlock is a fake.

Sherlock and John are at St. Bart’s trying to figure out what to do.

Sherlock sends a text: Come and play. Bart’s Hospital rooftop.

John gets a call. When he hangs up he signs to Sherlock, “Mrs. Hudson has been shot.”

“You go. I’m busy.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Mrs. Hudson is in the hospital.”

“She’s my landlady.”

“She’s dying!” John yells and signs. “You machine!”

“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.”

“No, friends protect people.”

Later - the Rooftop

Moriarty is dead, and Sherlock has no choice but to jump. John realizes where Sherlock must be. After he exits the cab, he gets a phone call.

“Hello?” John says.

“John.”

“Sherlock?”

“Turn around and walk back the way you came.”

“Sherlock–”

“I can’t hear you, but you can hear me. I need you to listen.”

“Okay,” John says, even though it doesn’t matter.

“Stay exactly where you are, and look up. I’m on the rooftop.”

John looks up, and his heart begins to race in fear.

“This is my note. Everything they’ve said about me is true. I invented Moriarty. I’m a fake. The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly … in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.”

“Stop,” John says.

“I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.”

John starts to move towards the hospital. He can’t just stand and do nothing.

“No! Don’t move!” Sherlock’s voice is panicked.

John freezes. His legs won’t move. He feels helpless.

“Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please.”

All John can do is stare.

“Goodbye, John.”

“No! Don’t!” John yells. “Sherlock!”

He watches as his best friend falls to the pavement. Sherlock takes John’s heart with him to the grave.

Later - the Graveyard

“You told me once that you weren’t a hero. There were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human… human being that I’ve ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie.”

He takes a deep breath before signing, “I was so alone, and I owe you so much. 

He is about to turn and leave, but then says, "There’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing…”

Sherlock watches as John signs the words he could never say.

I love you.

—–

Credit to Ariane DeVere for the transcripts that helped me write this.

I don’t personally know anyone who is deaf so correct me if there are any errors.

anonymous asked:

How do you think Jim Moriarty would react to his s/o getting pregnant and trying to hide it from him in fear?

“You aren’t supposed to keep things from me. That’s not how it works.”, Jim said and pointed at you with his finger that was shaking a little bit. You could see the fury in his eyes.

A few minutes ago he had found out about your pregnancy and even though he didn’t even give you an explanation on how he got to learn about that he was confronting you about it the past seconds.

“I did want to tell you at some point…”, you began explaining yourself but he interrupted you:

“No! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care about what you have to say. This is just not. How. It. Works.” The last words he said were nothing more than a whisper. Jim was facing away from you and you could see him taking deep and slow breaths. It was quiet for about ten seconds and then an explosion seemed to go off.

Hitting the floor the vase that used to stand on the table broke into many pieces as Jim slammed it down with his hand. You scared back because of the unexpected and loud noise of breaking glass.

Jim didn’t care about your obviously frightened facial expression as he started screaming:

“What other secrets are you keeping from me? Is it even my child you’re pregnant with or did someone else knock you up with his bastard?”

“It’s yours, of course it’s yours.” Your voice was shaking and you had your arms wrapped around yourself as you were standing only few steps away from your boyfriend.

A man you thought you knew. A man that usually treated you with respect and never raised his voice at you. God knows you’ve seen him destroying others and you’ve seen them begging for mercy. But you’d have never thought that he might turn at you, the person you thought he loved.

Of course it’s yours.” , he mimicked a female voice and pulled a face. Next he smacked his left fist on the table screaming again:

“You have no right to keep information like that from me.” His eyes were glowing black as he looked directly into yours. The first time in your life you were really afraid of what was going to happen next.

Taking slow steps towards you Jim began talking in a more quiet tone.

This is not respect, Y/N. This is very, very bad behaviour on your behalf.” Now he was standing right in front of you. Jim grabbed both of your arms and put his hands around your wrists while squeezing them. You didn’t say a thing.

“And what now? What shall we do now that both of us know about this teensy tiny incident?” His voice was so calm and warm that it reminded you of the times when he was speaking words of affection to you.

Shrugging your shoulders you tried to look away from him but he let go of one of your wrists and pulled your head towards himself to make sure you weren’t escaping his gaze.

“Hmm?”

“I -I don’t know.”, you answered. He nodded in response while pressing his lips together and looking very disappointed.

“Yes, it’s a tough cookie.” Jim no longer was holding on to your hand or you face and stepped back as if he wanted to look at you from another perspective.

“Then go and think about it. So will I.” He performed a waving movement with his hand as if he was sending you away and you immediately followed the silent demand.

Your heart was racing as you walked up the stairs to your mutual bedroom. As you reached the room you sat down on the bed and buried your face in your hands. There were no tears and no sobbing. It was just you and the darkness and your thoughts.

What could you expect him to do next? What was going to happen? What could you do to better the situation?

But there were no answers. There was just darkness.

Sebastian walked onto that roof. God, he didn’t know why- the sniper knew exactly what he would find up there. Then again, he was sentimental, he wanted to see him again, one last time.

Seb stomped out his fag on the steps up the hospital. Pushing open the heavy door the sniper stared up at the clouded sky. His steps felt heavy as he walked over to Jim Moriarty- no, his corpse. Sebastian couldn’t bare seeing the only man he loved dead, but he forced himself to look. Bullet through the brain, just as his boss promised. The sniper had expected this, he knew it was coming, that James was going to end. He was going to burn up just like a star at the end of it’s own magnificent life.

Sebastian frowned. Jim had always wanted to die, he never wanted to live- and James always did get what he wanted. The little Irish brat. And to think the sniper got to spend those few precious years with him, as his tiger, he had belonged to Jim. Now where did he go?
Nowhere, he presumed.

Sebastian wiped a tear, “c'mon Jim.. Get up, you know you love a good game.” He knew he shouldn’t have drank.

“GET UP YOU FUCKING BRAT. SURPRISE ME, YOU AREN’T DEAD..”

The sniper fell onto his knees, he choked back a sob, “get up you selfish prick- you never fucking cared about anyone else but yourself…”


Jim wouldn’t be getting back up, except in the arms of the now jobless sniper.

That night, Colonel Sebastian Moran was found dead in a motel.. Killed by a fatal shot to the head, Scotland Yard reported it a suicide.

You walked up your apartment stairs and you saw an unimaginable sight. Jim Moriarty, still in his pajamas, sitting down, holding what looked like his laptop.

You stealthily took a picture, 

and sent it to Sebastian with no caption whatsoever. 

You sat next to your employer, not saying a word, not wanting to evoke whatever is suppressed within.

After what seemed like hours (but actually just 33 minutes), you heard Sebastian’s footsteps coming your way and you brisk walked all the way to your flat.

The next morning you woke up to see 2 identical messages from both men.

“Thank you.”

Part of the Plan. Jim Moriarty.

Request: Hi Lupin! Hope you’re having a nice WE! your Moriarty fics give me life, can I request one where reader is close to Moriarty but not involved in the business until one day he has not other choice than to ask her to play a part in one of his plans. Reader is reluctant but after “well, that was actually funny”. Some smut (praise kink please?) And if you are familiar with the character some sarcastic comments from Sebastian Moran all along would be so great. Thanks for considering it. Tons of love

Triggers: Smut. EVIL.

I didn’t include Colonel/Lord Moran in this simply because, I don’t know his character too well outside of the original works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Word Count: 1393

Enjoy ;D

Originally posted by damnmuse

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His eyes. (Moriarty X Reader)

This is my first fanfiction (ever!) and the idea came from a conversation I had with a friend about Jim Moriarty and what sort of man he is. We came to the conclusion that he is a lifting-your-chin sort of guy. So, here’s a little fic I wrote for the fun of it. I hope you enjoy!

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JIM MORIARTY IS NOT DEAD

YOU CAN PRY JIM MORIARTY FROM MY COLD DEAD FINGERS, I DONT CARE IF EURUS HINTS HIS DEATH, I I DONT CARE HOW MANY TIMES SHERLOCK SAYS IT, I DONT CARE IF THEY NEVER BRING HIM BACK.
JIM MORIARTY IS ALIVE. I AM SO MAD. HE IS ALIVE AND NOTHING ON THIS PLANET COULD EVER MAKE ME BELIEVE ANY DIFFERENT. I DONT CARE HOW MANY VIDEO CLIPS HE RECORDED, I DONT CARE IF I SEE THE BACK OF HIS HEAD BLOWN OFF., YOU COUKD SHOW ME A THOUSAND FLAHS BACK SCENES, YOU COULD SHOW ME HIS BODY ON A SLAB. JIM MORIARTY IS HIS OWN MAN WHO WASN’T CONTROLLED BY EURUS OR ANYONE ELSE. I DONT CARE HOW MANY TIMES PEOPLE TELL ME HE IS DEAD. HE IS NOT DEAD.
NOT. DEAD.