“Y/N.” Jim snapped, fuming. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.”

Without warning, Jim pulled out a gun and aimed it at Sherlock. You tried to run over to him and John, but Moriarty stopped you.

“I wouldn’t, Y/N.” Jim tsked. “You take another step and I kill Sherlock.”

“What do you want?” You asked, glancing back and forth between Sherlock and Jim. “Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt him.”

“Anything?” A sly smirk found it’s way onto Jim’s face. You nodded in reply and Jim continued. “I know that you work for him, Y/N, and I know that you love him.”

“I do work for Sherlock.” You confirmed.

“I’ll give you two choices, because I like you, Y/N.” Jim told you, “I really do like you. You can either come with me and be mine, cutting off all ties with Sherlock and his boyfriend John, or I kill them both.”

“Don’t do it!” Sherlock shouted.

You gave Sherlock and John an apologetic glance before walking over to Moriarty with your hands up. “Okay, you win, I’ll go with you.”

Jim grabbed your hand, pulling you into his chest and placing a kiss on your head before shooting Sherlock in the arm.

You thrashed around in Moriarty’s arms in an attempt to get to Sherlock. “Let me go, you didn’t keep your end of the bargain.”

John rushed over to Sherlock’s side as Moriarty began to drag you out. “I said I wouldn’t kill Sherlock. I never said I wouldn’t shoot him.”

You looked at Sherlock and sobbed. “But why would you do that?”

“Because that’s what people do!” Moriarty bellowed, silencing you. “You made me fall for you, Y/N, and you broke my heart. But not again. From now on you’re mine, and mine alone.”


“Jim, Oh God Babe you aren’t going to believe this.” You began as soon as your boyfriend Jim answered the phone. “I was watching the Walking Dead and-”

“Wait, you watched our show without me?” Jim asked, offended.

“I couldn’t wait any longer and you were taking too long.” You sheepishly admitted.

“I told you I had business meetings today.” Jim whined. “You promised we would watch it together when I got home.”

“We still will.” You promised.

Jim sighed. “Okay hold on, I’m almost done here I’ll be home in twenty minutes. I’ll kill Sherlock another day.”

“Hurry up!” You chirped before adding, “Tell Sherlock I say hi.”

“Bye, Y/N.” Jim hung up and turned to face Sherlock. “We’ll have to pick this up another time. Y/N just couldn’t wait to watch the Walking Dead apparently.”

With that, Jim walked to his car with his hands in his pockets and sped home, ready to watch the Walking Dead with you.

It’s Just the Flu

PAIRING: Jim Moriarty x Reader


Summary: Jim’s got the flu and the reader decides to postpone her ‘date’ with netflix and her bed to care for him

A/N: I meant to post this hours ago but started watching youtube videos and reading other fanfics, better late than never right?

Originally posted by silentusher

You were just about to clamber into bed after a day of following John and Sherlock around on a case when your phone buzzed. You had received a text from none other than Jim Moriarty, psychopath, murderer and (as of 9 months ago) your boyfriend.

Come see me, if you’re not busy - JM

You were going to go, but then saw how inviting your bed looked, with netflix on your laptop and fluffy pillows. It looked like the comfiest thing in the world and all you wanted to was curl up under the covers and sleep. You pulled back the covers and climbed in, relaxing as soon as your body hit the mattress. Then your phone buzzed again.

Come if you are. I need you - JM

This was new. He never said he needed you, it made him feel more vulnerable than he liked. Was something wrong with him? Should you be worried? Just then, your phone buzzed once more,

Y/N, please - JM

This was the text that made you worry. He clearly wanted you there. What was wrong? You leapt out of bed, got ready and were out of your flat in 15 minutes. It didn’t take you long to get to his flat. Once you were there you looked around for a bit until you saw a garden gnome. You walked over, picked it up and pulled out a Jim’s spare key. Yes, the Great Consulting Criminal Jim Moriarty keeps a spare key under a gnome in his garden.

When you opened the door you noticed almost all the lights were off except for a faint blue-ish haze coming out from underneath his bedroom door (it may as well have been your bedroom too, considering you spent most of your time at his flat). This worried you so you grabbed the nearest thing to you and decided to use it as a weapon. The nearest object was a newspaper. You rolled it up and held it high before bursting into Jim’s room.

All you could see upon entering was a mass huddled under blankets with every window open.

“I’ve got to say Darling, if you’re trying to be threatening, you’re going to have to do better than that”

You noticed something off about his voice, it sounded hoarse, like every word scratched his throat.

“Jim, why did you call me here at half ten at night? Are you okay?” you asked as you made your way over to the lump in the blankets.

“I’m dying. Look at me, I can’t talk and I’m hot and I’m cold and I’m under about 50 blankets . I’m dy - achoo!” his dramatic answer was cut short by a sneeze.

You walked over to him and put your hand on his forehead, then his cheek.

“Jim, you’ve got the flu.”

“No, it’s worse than that, I’m dying

“Jim it’s just the flu, let me make you some soup before you actually die just to prove a point”

You left the room, turning on the hall light and went into the kitchen. You looked around the cupboards for the cup-a-soup you bought last time you were over, when a pistol fell out. Boy, life with Jim was never boring. You put paracetamol, the soup, a glass of water and a teddy bear he bought you (he had bought you a lot, they were everywhere) onto a tray and took it to him.

“Your soup, your Highness” You joked, as you placed the tray on his lap.

“Be careful Y/N, don’t forget that I’m the most dangerous man in the - achoo!

You couldn’t help but laugh at your boyfriend who, despite his constant attempts to appear to appear the opposite, looked utterly adorable. You put Doctor Who on and sat next to him under the covers. His normally immaculate hair was tousled and sat messily on his face. You thought about telling him how adorable he looked and how you just wanted to cuddle him all night, then realised you would never hear the end of it and he would be constantly trying to prove he wasn’t adorable.

When he’d finished and moved the tray off his lap, he lay next to you and placed his head on your chest. You curled your arm around and began to gently stroke his face and play with his hair until you both fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.


From this request: please maybe one where moriarty is surprised that the reader is incredibly obsessed with the fact that hes a criminal, big n bad all that



Moriarty let himself into his high-end flat. Those who knew him as a consulting criminal probably assumed he lived in a dungeon or evil lair. But that was not Moriarty’s style. He preferred comfortable furniture and elegant decorations. After all, he was a villain with style, class. He deserved to be surrounded by things that reflected his lifestyle.

You turned and looked up at him as he stepped into the flat. Even though you’d been around for many months, it still always surprised Moriarty to find that you were still here.

“Hello, James,” you said with a smile. You stood and helped Moriarty out of his coat, hanging it up on the hook next to the door. “Would you like some tea?”

“Not right now, Y/N.” Moriarty sat on the couch, watching as you perched on the cushion next to him.

“What have you been up to today?” you asked, studying him.

“You know I can’t tell you. If something were to happen to me and you were to be questioned, I don’t want you to be guilty by association.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” you said, scooting closer to him. “You’re much too smart to get caught.”

Moriarty placed an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “But I’m going up against the great Sherlock Holmes.”

“He’s not as great as you.”

Moriarty chuckled. “You are a strange thing, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone else in this godforsaken city is tripping over themselves to worship the ‘great detective’. He’s becoming bigger than God.”

“Good guys are overrated,” you said. “The criminals… those are the real masterminds. Those are the real geniuses. If people weren’t so stuck on ‘good’ and ‘bad’, they’d be able to see that.”

Moriarty studied you for a moment. “Look at me.”

You turned, staring up at him with large, dewy eyes. “What?”

“You want to know what my greatest treasure is? The best heist I’ve ever pulled?”

“The Mona Lisa?”

Moriarty snorted. “That overrated painting? Please.”

“The Venus di Milo?”

“Guess again.”

“Sherlock’s sanity?”

Moriarty chuckled. “Close.”

“Then what?”

Moriarty leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours. He pulled away slightly, his eyes finding yours. “You,” he breathed.

“I’m not–”

“You are.”

Moriarty leaned you back against the couch, his body covering yours. He normally wasn’t a very sexual creature but there was something… intoxicating about you. Perhaps it was the way that you practically worshipped the criminal in him. Perhaps it was the way you held some sort of understanding about him, for him. He’d had playthings before but… you were different.

Moriarty pulled your clothes from you, revealing a masterpiece greater than any painting or sculpture. He began to kiss his way down your figure. “Your body rivals the Greek goddesses.”

“James,” you moaned. Your fingers laced through his hair.

“Although,” he whispered, kissing lower and lower. “I’m still not sure who the true mastermind here is.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked up at you, a sparkle in his eyes. “I’m not sure if I’ve stolen you or you’ve stolen me.”

You smiled at him. “You’re the greatest criminal of our generation, of many generations. That’s why I love you.”


The two of you laid in a pile of limbs on the couch, you on top of Moriarty. He’d pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch, covering you for a sense of modesty, even though no one else was around.

“I have something for you,” he said, carefully reaching down. He found his pants (a small part of him was slightly worried about wrinkles, but… you were more important at the moment) and pulled a small packet from his pocket. He handed it to you.

You carefully pulled the string from the paper envelope, finding a shiny ring inside. “James, what…”

“First, I want you to know that I didn’t steal it. I bought it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Second… I meant what I said earlier. About you being the greatest treasure in my collection. And I have no intention of returning you.”

“You never return any of the things you take.”

“So why should you be any different?” Moriarty smiled, that strange little glint in his eye. “So… will you marry me?”

“Of course,” you said, gently kissing him. “You’ve stolen me, all of me, mind, body, and soul. I’m all yours, until the end of time.”