texts from jim moriarty

Him. (Part One)

PAIRING: Jim Moriarty x Reader

SUMMARY: A text from a friend leads to an argument you never imagine or want

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drwilliamsherlockscottholmes/works

A/N: Guess who’s back, back again. I thought I’d try a series again (I’ll try to make it longer this time!) Also the italics are flashbacks, feel free to request something!

He was so confident, so cocky, but it was all a part of his charm. He could flirt with a brick wall, and you’re pretty sure you’d caught him flirting at himself in the mirror (but that was a different story). But it all changed so quickly. You couldn’t even remember what you fought over in the first place, all you knew now was that he’d accused you of cheating and you’d stormed out. It was your first big fight, and everyone always says they’re the worst but you couldn’t help thinking “What if this never gets better? What if he really thought I was cheating on him? What if he never forgives me for storming out? What if…”

That was all that had run through your mind since. All you could think about was him. The way his hair was slightly out of place and fell in front of eyes in the morning. And how he’d often wake up first so you’d wake up to him gazing lovingly at you, stroking your back in a warm embrace. And how he’d chased you around the garden with the hose earlier in summer. And how when you kissed him it felt like lightning through your veins. And it wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be able to do this to you.

You wanted nothing more than to kiss him and hold him and never let go, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him. Even after you had cooled off and you wanted to talk to him, you just couldn’t. Not after him saying that you had cheated on him. Not after him implying you had slept with someone else. Not after him basically saying he didn’t trust you.

You were at Jim’s for dinner and your phone hadn’t stopped buzzing, your friend had just flown into London and you hadn’t seen him in years. It was brilliant, you were so excited to see them again and you had been texting and calling non-stop in the build up to them coming to the city.

Your phone’s screen lit up with a message “Just landed, can’t wait to see you!”. You went to turn it off but before you could get to it, Jim read the message.

“Who’s that?” He asked, and you could see a glimmer of jealousy in his eyes.

“My friend, he’s visiting London for a week, I haven’t seen him in ages!” You beamed.

“Why is he texting you whilst you’re at dinner with me?” He asked, and you could tell not only was he jealous, there was hint of something else there, anger perhaps?

“We’re just friends, he’s just letting me know he’s landed safely” you replied calmly.

His calm facade broke and was instead replaced with jealousy.

“I know what ‘Just friends’ means” he shouted, and you felt like it was a slap in the face.

“And what does it mean?” You asked in a steady voice, venom dripping from the words.

“You can never be ‘Just friends’” was the poisonous reply.

“Are you asking if I intend to have sex with him?” The question hurt to ask, it clawed its way up your throat, and tore itself past your lips.

“Why would I ask something I know the answer to?” The scathing question was all it took for you to turn on your heel and walk right out of the door.

In my head, the fandom Sherlock looks like this:
  • Fan: Damn it! I can not wait any longer!!!
  • Johnlock Shippers: Kiss. kiss. Elephant. kiss. kiss. TJLC.
  • MorMor Shippers: No Moran. Too bad. Good. We'll see in three years. Maybe more ...
It’s Just the Flu

PAIRING: Jim Moriarty x Reader

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drwilliamsherlockscottholmes/works

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.