Hearts- Moriarty x Reader VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL

You were woken up by a loud bang In Jim’s kitchen. Yawning, you reluctantly got out of the king size bed, almost tripping over the duvet in your sleepy state. The carpet felt soft against your feet as you pulled on some track pants, deciding that underwear wasn’t particularly sophisticated, even though your psychotic boyfriend had seen you in less. Giving a little stretch, you opened the door of the bedroom and padded out, but suddenly stopped in your tracks. Pink and red rose petals were everywhere, standing out against the pitch-black tile that paved Jim Moriarty’s living room. Little paper hearts were scattered along the walls, even on the windows so that heart shadows were cast across the room. Pink streamers clung to the lights and lamps, plush heart cushions replacing the old black ones on the couch.

You stalked out of the room, almost slipping on all the goddamn petals. Walking to the kitchen, you found Jim, humming a little tune while he cooked pancakes. You coughed lightly and he turned, grinning madly when he saw you. You would’ve done the same, if not for the fact that you were gaping at his attire; a frilly pink apron with – you should’ve guess it – hearts on it. You frowned at you when you did grin back. “What’s the matter (F/n)?” he asked, worry clouding his dark eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” you say, first motioning to him, then to the state of the apartment.

“Ohhhhhh, wouldn’t you like to know?” he said in a sing-song voice, beaming once again and giving you a little wink.

You giggled and waited until he told you, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to not tell you for very long. “It’s Valentine’s Day, sweetheart!” he burst, skipping over to you so he could press a light kiss to your lips.

Before you could respond, he jumped away and continued to cook, motion for you to sit down. Sighing, you walked over and slumping into the dining chair, grimacing at the heart glitter that decorated it. You hated Valentine’s Day. It was a passion that you and your brothers shared, in fact,  when you were at school you and Sherlock would go around and ruin the day by telling people what they were getting, who was giving it to them, if  they weren’t getting anything and why. It was immensely amusing, but a little too childish for Mycroft’s taste, though he did like to make fun of it without getting directly.

Your thoughts of past amusement and disdain were interrupted by a steaming plate placed in front of you and Jim sitting directly opposite you, smiling. You looked down at your plate and scowled. The giant pancake was heart shaped, with little heart shaped eggs and bacon that he had he had somehow contorted in bloody hearts. You felt like jumping out of the building to escape the overwhelming use of hearts, but you knew that Jim had put a lot of effort into this, and you didn’t want to upset him, he was quite emotional about things like this as he had little to no experience in them.

“Jim, honey, this amazing and all, but are we going to stay in and relax after this?” you ask, hoping that you wouldn’t have to endure an entire twenty-four hours of this love fest.

“You’ve got be joking,” he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, “It’s called Valentine’s Day, not Valentine’s Morning. Now eat up darling, there’s a lot more were this came from.”

You looked at your plate, stifling and groan by shoving a piece of bacon inn your mouth. This was going to be oodles of fun, you could just tell.

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You slumped on the couch, kicking off your feet so your aching feet could breath. You had spent all day wondering around London with Jim, who had insisted on stopping in every shop to either buy you a Valentine’s Day knick-knack, and he had also stopped in every florist you walked past to buy you a single crimson rose. You had reached thirty-seven before you lost count. And the mountain of gifts was so large that it had to be piled on the floor until it reached the ceiling. “Wasn’t today fun?” he exclaimed, plopping onto the couch next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. When you didn’t respond, he moved a hand so it wrapped underneath your chin, turning you head so he could look at you.

You tore away from him, your thinned patience suddenly snapping. “Why did you do all this?” you yell, the exhaustion of the day making your voice have an unpleasant edge to every word you said. “I don’t even like Valentine’s Day, in fact I detest it, surely you must have realised this with your level of intelligence. It a horrible day filled with greedy, over-priced stores that leech people’s money one day’s these and evil florists with roses that have short lifespans so that you have to buy more. Not to mention it is for either children or idiots, it is hardly an adult thing to and is a complete waste of time and effort on all counts.”

Standing completely still, you took in quick breaths to calm yourself down, then ceased to breath at all when you saw the look on Jim’s face. It was a look of pure hurt in his eyes, his expression drooping in the most heart-wrenching way. He stood before you could say anything, slipping away to the bedroom, closing it softly and locking it with a soft click. You felt guilt and shame spread through your chest, hating yourself at that moment. You sometimes you forgot you were a Holmes, because of the fact that you allowed yourself to feel emotions. But sometimes you slipped up, letting the logical side of you take over and start a war path. You ran after him and tried to wrench the door open. It wouldn’t judge. “Jim?” you called softly, knocking on the door. “Look, I’m sorry okay? I know you were just trying to make me happy, and that you were trying to show me how much you love me. And I actually do like some of the gifts…especially the gorilla saying, “I’m Bananas Over You.”

After a moment of silence, he answered. “I know now that you aren’t into all that lovey-dovey stuff, and in truth neither am I. But I have one last present that I know you will like, and trust me, no more hearts.”

You stepped back from the door to allow it to open, blushing at what you saw. He was standing there, wearing nothing but pink boxers that had little hearts on them. “You said there weren’t going to be anymore hearts. Liar,” you say, before pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He returned it, pulling away to whisper in your ear, “Sorry sweetheart, I’m so very changeable.”

You grinned, kicking the bedroom door closed. Perhaps Valentine’s Day wasn’t too bad after all.