BBC Sherlock Imagines

Moriarty: Side of the Angels (Part 2)

Weeks had passed since your run in with the psychopathic hottie. Parts of him had faded, but important parts - his deep eyes, the way his suit clung to his body, his crazy hair - all stuck out like lights in your mind. Sherlock and John had forgiven you, finally realizing that it wasn't your fault Moriarty had decided to focus his attention on you and all your beauty (okay that was the way you phrased it).

And now, as you walked out to your car from work, he crossed your mind yet again. You wondered who he would be killing tonight, or if he was sitting at home thinking about you too. Shaking your head in frustration you grabbed your keys out of your purse to unlock your car. You didn't understand why he was stuck on a constant loop in your mind. He was crazy. He was evil. He was not someone a girl like you should end up with. Maybe that's why you can't stop thinking about him. No one can resist forbidden love. But you quickly dismissed the thought. If Sherlock and John ever found out how you felt they would probably lock you away for the rest of your life. They were like overprotective parents, and you were Juliet. But the difference in this love story was that Jim Moriarty did not feel the same, he was no Romeo. How could he be? You were just your average Joe - or Jolene - and besides, he probably had a crazy hot girlfriend who he went on killing sprees with and would end up kissing with the victims blood spraying around them like liquid confetti. Not that you wanted that, it wasn't your ideal date.

You began to unlock your car, looking around you for anybody, just out of habit. You and a couple other cars were the only ones in there. You attempted to unlock the door, but your key wouldn't go in. You leaned down to see what was in the way and noticed a piece of metal jammed just inside the keyhole. You went to the other doors and found the same had been done to them, even your trunk. You pounded against the trunk in frustration and when you turned, you yelped a little at the sight of a sleek black car that had pulled silently up next to you. You pushed your back up against your car, as far away from the mystery car as you could go. No windows rolled down and you were forced to stare into their black eyes as you waited. Your heart pounded mercilessly in your chest. Finally, one of the back windows rolled down, slowly, and revealed none other than the devil himself.

"Need some help getting home?" His tenor voice struck your heart and you bit your lip in... frustration? Pleasure?

"What the hell did you do to my car?" you demanded, not a stroke of shakiness heard in it.

"Just wanted to make sure you couldn't say no to me getting you home safely," he smirked.

"Safely?" You snickered in disbelief. "Last time I was around you, you threatened to destroy my friend and everyone around him. And that would include me." He laughed haughtily, his white teeth shining against the blackness of the car and his suit.

"You should know something about me (y/n)," you shuttered when your name slipped off his tongue, "I'm a bit of a drama queen." He said the last two words in such a high pitch that you cringed at the scratchy feeling it left inside your ear drums. "I would never destroy Sherlock. He's the one game that is somewhat challenging, that keeps me somewhat entertained."

"You act like that's supposed to make me feel better?" you challenged. He gave you a questioning look that ended in a smirk.

"But I've seemed to find another game that is more challenging than precious little Sherlock."

"What the hell are you talking about?" you asked. He opened the door and climbed out of the car. His legs propelled him up faster than you could move, and you ended up pinned between him and your car. His breath smelled like expensive wine and you swore you could have gotten drunk off the smell alone. You tried with all your might to ignore the mixture of his bitter breath and warm cologne and to not fall head first into his dark chocolate eyes.