My Weakness- Moriarty x Reader Chpt. 8

“Sherlock!,” you shout, slamming your fists against the wardrobe door. Unfortunately, he had caught you red-handed, then proceeded to pick you up at shove in his bedroom wardrobe. “Sherlock Holmes, let me out of here right now, you twat!”

“Language!” Sherlock scolded from behind the door, you could almost see the smirk on his face.

Groaning, you slid against the wall of the wardrobe, knocking over several of Sherlock’s shirts as you did so. Throwing them aside, you pulled out your phone and called Jim. The response was almost instantaneous; his normally jovial voice was laced with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked quickly.

“Hmm? Oh yeah Jim, I’m fine,” you answer, brushing a (h/c) lock from your face in confusion.

“Good, good,” he sighed. “Sorry about all the calls and messages and whatnot. It’s just, looking the way you were… anything could have happened. Especially in confined cab with someone you don’t know.”

His remark tugged at your heartstrings a little, he had been concerned for your wellbeing. “It’s perfectly fine Jim, just… thanks for being bothered to worry for me…” you answer, feeling your face grow a warmer.

After an awkward silence, you spoke up. “Umm, so are you free later on?”

“Yes, well sort of. I’m free until seven-thirty, so you can have me until then if you’d like.”

“Yes I’d like that very much,” you giggle, hearing Sherlock groan and stamp away. Grinning, you continue,“there’s a café underneath my flat, meet me there in an hour.”

“Very well, milady,” Jim mocked, his usual composure returning to him. “Address?”

“221B Baker Street. Wear something casual.”

“Alrighty, see you then.”

He disconnected, leaving you feeling excited again. Standing, you pushed open the wardrobe door, a sense of victory washing over you momentarily. Padding into the living room, you laughed at the disgusted look on Sherlock’s face from his position in his chair, his mutilated violin in his lap. “What’s the matter Sherly?” you ask him, sinking into the chair opposite him.

“I could stand it any longer,” he whined. “Thank you for worrying, I can’t wait to see you!” he mocked, batting his eyelashes at you. “Ugh. Simply repulsive.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Glad you feel that way. So that means you’ll leave us alone, he’s coming in an hour.”

He gaped at you for a moment, before giving his violin a solemn look. “I have no further interest in your romantic life, in case you have forgotten. Besides, I’m far too busy with a case.” He plucked at a string mournfully, looking at you with the biggest puppy eyes you had ever seen.

Sighing, you stood so you could gather the pieces up into your hands. “A case? I’m surprised you hadn’t informed me sooner. Please, enlighten me,” you say, flopping into the chair once again.

He talked to you about the serial suicides that had popping up all over London, and how the police had practically begged him to lend them his intellect because they were all idiots. You zoned out at that point, letting your hands dance over the violin’s components to distract you from Sherlock’s bragging. “And so, now I have the suitcase and will be contacting the murderer shortly,” he finished, just as you finished re-stringing his violin.

“Making idle chit-chat with an interesting murderer? Sounds like you,” you say, giving the instrument  a quick tune up.

“Chit-chat? Hardly. Just a simple text, that could only be sent by Jennifer Wilson, that will ultimately reside in his immediate detainment. And I won’t be doing it, that’s why I have John,” he stated. “Now, where is he?”

“He slipped out while you were dragging me away,” you say dismissively, handing his violin over to him, to which he snatched away.

After inspecting it closely, he stood and lifted to his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you could..?”

“No,” you responded flatly. “You’re a big boy Sherlock, figure it out on your own, and don’t bother poor John. I’m honestly surprised that he’s put up with you as long as he has. I honestly don’t know I have, to be honest.”

Sherlock looked at you with his pale eyes and shrugged, focusing his attention back on his violin. He began to play, “Czardas” by Vittorio Monti. You sighed contently, lying on the couch to listen to the beautiful piece before you got changed, the complexity and magnificence of the piece filling your ears.

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*Moriarty’s POV*

Of course he knew who you were. (F/n) Holmes, youngest child of the Holmes family. Born in (d/m/y). Majored in Biological Science and Bachelor of Music in one of the most prestigious universities on the entire planet. Known siblings, Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock Holmes. It had been a complete accident that he had bumped into you on that street, but the most fortunate accident that Jim had ever come across. So many parties had been chasing you, and yet he was the one who had got to you first. The great Sherlock Holmes’ Achilles Heel. He could just kill you, you were but a simple knife thrust away last night. But, alas, that would be too easy, too plain. This way, there were many more benefits, much more fun and larger amounts of entertainment. Jim bounced into his car, a dark smile forming on his face as he plotted.