Fic: Dances in the Dark (PG, Sherlock!BBC fandom)
Title: Dances in the Dark
Rating: PG
Warnings: Swearing and Psychopathy
Spoilers: Study in Pink, mild spoilers for all
Wordcount: c. 550
Summary: The first hints of Sherlock's confrontation with Moriarty. Something wicked this way comes...
This fic was my challenge fic for the first round of thegameison_sh for the prompt 'New'. It's dedicated to irisbleufic who unwittingly encouraged me to try writing Moriaty. You rock, honey!
Dances in the Dark
The first signs were barely noticeable. A twitch of the wire, a rustle in the dark, a murmur that could be something or nothing. Nothing that you could put your finger on: a kidnapping gone wrong, a perfect murder that didn't live up to its description, a bank heist with unexpected consequences... Routine stuff, not really worth bothering with. But he had not comes so far by ignoring details. He went through the files as a matter of course, because they were there, not expecting anything.
And yet, when viewed side by side... the little glimpses, tiny twitches, skittering traces of something different, some thing new became more pronounced, more pressing. Finally, after many sessions spent reading and cross-checking, calling in favours, suggesting and demanding, bullying and cajoling, there it was. A name.
He grinned to himself. This was it.
Showtime.
***
The first steps were simple. It took him a couple of months to find the right angle, the right bait for his hook, but once found, the rest was easy. A demure approach, calculated to arouse just the right level of interest. A dash of mystery (for doesn't everyone love a mystery?) and a flash of ankle. There would be a time for tits and arse - for now, a kiss and a not-quite-promise.
The business with the pills was inspired.
Of course, his lovingly constructed fly had no idea - put it all down to luck, the stupid bastard. Introducing the poison into his system had posed no difficulties - all the data of his dear, docile cabbie's movements had been collected months ago. Sad, really, that no-one appreciated the craftsmanship. Preparing him for the kill while subtly building up his immunity to the poison. Making sure he believed, truly believed in that crazy-arsed scheme of the bottles...
Anyone could shoot a man, but making him play a game of chess with an opponent who himself has no idea of the rules - that was genius! pure comedy! Of course the mad bastard had no idea that his only purpose in it all was to deliver the name. Not too easily, of course, where would be fun in that? But in the end, everyone cracks.
All the nice girls love a sadist.
***
The following moves were excitingly unpredictable. Of course, Sherlock couldn't be left entirely to his own devices, but it wouldn't do to be too controlling. He wanted a partner, after all, not a pet. So, a watchful eye, a guiding hand. But it couldn't last for too long. Who wants to stay on the sidelines when they can dance?
Time to up the tempo.
***
The next act took planning, but then he'd always prided himself on the personal touch. After all, the man wouldn't want to treated like a cheap whore. No, this called for something special: flowers, explosives, moonlit assignations.... The way to a man's heart is through other people's stomachs.
Of course, the offer wasn't serious. You don't propose marriage on a first date. But in time? In time Sherlock would come round. All that was needed was a little push in the right direction. A grand gesture in the right setting - something elegant, exciting, unexpected...
Moriarty idly spun the globe on his desk, blurring countries, oceans, continents. On a whim, he stopped it with a lazy finger. Ah yes! Switzerland!
Time for the final act to begin.
FIN
As usual, this will be crossposted later...
Rating: PG
Warnings: Swearing and Psychopathy
Spoilers: Study in Pink, mild spoilers for all
Wordcount: c. 550
Summary: The first hints of Sherlock's confrontation with Moriarty. Something wicked this way comes...
This fic was my challenge fic for the first round of thegameison_sh for the prompt 'New'. It's dedicated to irisbleufic who unwittingly encouraged me to try writing Moriaty. You rock, honey!
Dances in the Dark
The first signs were barely noticeable. A twitch of the wire, a rustle in the dark, a murmur that could be something or nothing. Nothing that you could put your finger on: a kidnapping gone wrong, a perfect murder that didn't live up to its description, a bank heist with unexpected consequences... Routine stuff, not really worth bothering with. But he had not comes so far by ignoring details. He went through the files as a matter of course, because they were there, not expecting anything.
And yet, when viewed side by side... the little glimpses, tiny twitches, skittering traces of something different, some thing new became more pronounced, more pressing. Finally, after many sessions spent reading and cross-checking, calling in favours, suggesting and demanding, bullying and cajoling, there it was. A name.
He grinned to himself. This was it.
Showtime.
***
The first steps were simple. It took him a couple of months to find the right angle, the right bait for his hook, but once found, the rest was easy. A demure approach, calculated to arouse just the right level of interest. A dash of mystery (for doesn't everyone love a mystery?) and a flash of ankle. There would be a time for tits and arse - for now, a kiss and a not-quite-promise.
The business with the pills was inspired.
Of course, his lovingly constructed fly had no idea - put it all down to luck, the stupid bastard. Introducing the poison into his system had posed no difficulties - all the data of his dear, docile cabbie's movements had been collected months ago. Sad, really, that no-one appreciated the craftsmanship. Preparing him for the kill while subtly building up his immunity to the poison. Making sure he believed, truly believed in that crazy-arsed scheme of the bottles...
Anyone could shoot a man, but making him play a game of chess with an opponent who himself has no idea of the rules - that was genius! pure comedy! Of course the mad bastard had no idea that his only purpose in it all was to deliver the name. Not too easily, of course, where would be fun in that? But in the end, everyone cracks.
All the nice girls love a sadist.
***
The following moves were excitingly unpredictable. Of course, Sherlock couldn't be left entirely to his own devices, but it wouldn't do to be too controlling. He wanted a partner, after all, not a pet. So, a watchful eye, a guiding hand. But it couldn't last for too long. Who wants to stay on the sidelines when they can dance?
Time to up the tempo.
***
The next act took planning, but then he'd always prided himself on the personal touch. After all, the man wouldn't want to treated like a cheap whore. No, this called for something special: flowers, explosives, moonlit assignations.... The way to a man's heart is through other people's stomachs.
Of course, the offer wasn't serious. You don't propose marriage on a first date. But in time? In time Sherlock would come round. All that was needed was a little push in the right direction. A grand gesture in the right setting - something elegant, exciting, unexpected...
Moriarty idly spun the globe on his desk, blurring countries, oceans, continents. On a whim, he stopped it with a lazy finger. Ah yes! Switzerland!
Time for the final act to begin.
FIN
As usual, this will be crossposted later...