What A Pair- Moriarty x Reader Oneshot

“Jim! Hey, Jiiiiiim!” you call, skipping down the extravagant corridors of your psychotic boyfriend’s apartment, humming ‘Skip to my Lou’ as you did so. “When’s my next contract?”

You rounded a corner, almost bumping into a corpse dangling by its neck from the ceiling. Instead of screaming like most people would, you grinned and nudged the body, giving it a little wink. “Hey buddy! How’s it hangin’?” When the corpse didn’t answer you, you huffed in annoyance and returned to your skipping. “Maybe later then.”

You, (F/n) (L/n), were the personal assassin of James Moriarty, one of the most influential and deadly men in the country, perhaps even the world. At first you were just a simple assassin-for-hire, and quite a good one to because people would have to book you weeks in advance to even have a chance of hiring you. Then, one fateful afternoon you stumbled in the consulting criminal, Moriarty, who offered you a ridiculous sum of money to be his private killer. Originally, your relationship had been strictly professional, but the thrill of the kill and the sound of screams had brought out the romantic side in both of you. That, and the two of you shared a trait: mental instability. That combined with a seemingly endless supply of targets and jobs, meant an absolutely entertaining existence for the two of you. And the best part: you were being paid handsomely for it. The two of you together were an excellent pair. An excellent, terrifyingly violent, sociopathic pair.

You strolled into the bedroom you shared, almost slipping on a puddle of blood that had been splattered on the polished wood floor. “Oooo, somebody’s been having fun,” you sing to Jim, who was slumped at his desk, the glow from his laptop illuminating his handsome features. “And you didn’t invite me, how selfish.”

He didn’t appear to notice you though; his dark eyes possessed a glazed sheen as he absorbed the information from his computer, mumbling things underneath his breath.

“Oh, well that certainly won’t do,” you murmured to yourself, wandering over to where Jim was seated, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

He remained oblivious to your presence, which meant that whatever he was doing was serious. But seriously was so boring, and you detested boring. You approached his desk and slammed down the lid of the laptop so you could perch on top of it comfortably, offering him a wide grin.

He stared at you blankly for a moment, before blinking rapidly when he realised it was you, returning your grin with an added peck on the lips. “(F/n)!” he exclaimed in his jovial Irish tone, patting his lap in an indication for you to sit. “When did you get back?”

You bounded off the desk and wriggled onto his lap happily, giggling when he wrapped an arm around your waist tightly while the other rested on your thighs, his thumb drawing light circles on them gently. “Just a few minutes ago,” you say, the physical attention Jim was giving was making it incredibly difficult to concentrate.

“Well? How’d it go?”

“Good.”

“Awwww c’mon! Give me the juicy details!” he whined, nuzzling into your arm and putting at you.

You sighed, he knew how to get what he wanted from you, but you weren’t exactly complaining because what he wanted, you usually wanted to. “Well, it wasn’t exactly juicy. It was more on the crispy side.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I was close to the target, so close I could have easily knifed him. But my goddamn cover was blown, I was disguised as a waitress and my dagger that was strapped to my thigh was clearly visible… my foolish mistake. Luckily, it made the kill much more enjoyable. So, after I had been spotted and been shot at a couple of times, I escaped to the bedroom and locked myself in. I… was pretty terrified at that point. I had no weapon, no escape and a seemingly endless stream of bullets raining down on me. But fear is a good motivator, because I noticed a can of aerosol deodorant and a cigarette lighter hidden underneath the squalor of the room. Incredibly convenient. So, using both elements I constructed a rudimentary flamethrower and kind of… flambéed him. It was awesome, his skin bubbled and blistered, his hair went up in a huge flash of light, and I’m pretty sure his eyeball – why are you looking at me like that?”

You stopped mid-rant because Jim was staring at you intensely, his pale cheeks tinted with the faintest pink. “You’re just so beautiful when talk about your murders.  The detail, the method, the application… it’s beautiful. But I’m forced to ask, do you have proof?”

“Oh yes. Hang on a tic,” you mutter, pulling out your phone and scrolling through the picture until you got to the one of your most recent target, placing the phone in Jim’s hands proudly. He chuckled it; a charred, vaguely recognisable body lying on charred carpet, with you lying beside it and your arm wrapped around its smouldering shoulders, sticking your tongue out and winking for the camera.

“Well?” you ask, resting your head atop his. “What do you reckon?”

“Very picturesque, one for the wall,” he states approvingly, tossing the phone up to you and beaming.

“Really?! Awesome!” you exclaim darting away so print of the picture so you could pin it up in your room solely dedicated to your killings. Unfortunately, your eagerness had made you temporarily forget about the pool of blood spread across the floor. You slipped in it, falling over and landing in it with a loud splash.

You had expected for Jim to come running to your side and doting over you, but instead he was watching you with a smug expression. “Oh, deaaaarrr,” he sang, leaving you and walking to the bedroom with a slight skip in his step. “Now you’ll have to take your clothes off and soak them, you don’t want bloodstains in your clothes, now do you?”

“Ooooo, you cheeky bastard,” you laugh, pulling yourself out of the pool and skipping to the bedroom. No matter what, he would always find a way to get what he wants, you think to yourself before Jim pulled you into the bedroom, a mischievous look plastered on his face as the door shut with a soft click.