One Mastermind to Another
Title: One Mastermind to Another
Rating: G
Words: 980
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Sherlock
Spoilers: TGG and season 3 of Doctor Who
Summary: Saxon needs a little help from a consulting criminal. Written for this prompt on the meme.
Betaed by pippal
Jim leant back in the computer chair, smiling as he took a sip of the coffee Molly had brought him. Working in IT was a great cover; he could spy on his darling Sherlock, send coded messages to all his agents, and select victims for his next hostage situation based on who asked him what a reboot was. Everything was going swimmingly.
Which probably should have been a clue that something bad was going to happen.
Jim prided himself on being prepared for anything. So when MP Harold Saxon walked into his tiny office, he barely even glanced up from his screen.
“Mr Saxon, if you're lost I'm sure that someone at Reception could help you.”
“Ah, I think that, in these circumstances, you should call me Harry, don't you? Since you'll be helping me?” The man hummed the theme to Jim'll Fix It, grinning.
Jim gave his best innocent look. He was quite proud of it - he practised in the mirror every day, all the time. “If you need help with computers then you're probably better getting one of those IT-for-hire guys. I just work here.”
Saxon's smile was all shark, and Jim didn't like it. He was the biggest fish here.
“Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim, why the pretence? We both know why I'm here. I have a little … problem. I hear you're good with those.”
Saxon had his full attention now. Nobody, not even Sherlock Holmes, knew who he was. Even Moran only had the basic information about his cover. There was no way Saxon could have found out.
“I'm sorry, but if you've got technical issues then you really should talk to your own support staff.”
“You're making me angry now. I asked nicely; don't make me use force, Moriarty.”
Jim actually jumped, cursing at his loss of control. There was something in Saxon's eyes, something dark and primal. He liked it. “Never heard of him.”
“Oh dear. That wasn't what I wanted to hear.” Saxon lightly touched Jim's cheek before grabbing him by the jaw, staring him down. Jim knew he could easily disable the man in a number of increasingly painful ways, but he didn't. Saxon's touch was electric, burning his skin, and those eyes bored into him, violating him, demanding him to subject to your Lord and Master.
He shivered and Saxon pulled away. Jim collected himself, brushing invisible dust from his t-shirt as he swallowed the bile collecting at the back of his throat. Only a temporary slip, no need to let the man know how affected he was. “OK, you got me. Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal. What sort of problem could you possibly have? Need to rig the election? Clean up some blackmail allegations? You politicians are so boring.”
Saxon laughed. “Rig the election? Please.” He leaned in, whispering. “There's no way I could lose.”
“You seem awfully confident, my dear.”
The man only raised an eyebrow. “Have you noticed what your left hand is doing?”
“What?” Jim looked down. His hand was tapping a rhythm on the table. He hadn't even realised.
Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.
He forced his hand to be still, only to find his right foot was doing it instead.
Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.
Saxon was still smiling at him. It was much more lopsided now. “Can you hear them? The drums, calling you to battle?”
Jim giggled, ignoring his prickling nerves. “Wow, you're just full of the crazy, aren't you? Not that I'm complaining. They do say it's a fine line between genius and insanity. So, little boy, if not the election, what do you want from Santa this Christmas?”
“I need you to keep someone occupied. I think you know who I mean - tall, pale, annoying, thinks he can solve the world's problems by running about in a flappy coat? Do you know, I think that might be a genetic trait. His great-grandfather does the same.”
“Of course he does...You mean my lovely detective, yes?”
“The one and the same. I need him out of the way - enough trouble from the other one as it is, without the two of them pairing up. God, can you imagine that? Like something out of a terrible sit-com. The Doctor and the Detective.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Jim decided it would be in his best interest to not point out that Sherlock already had teamed up with a doctor. His skin was thrumming with something that was definitely not fear, because Jim Moriarty didn't feel fear, ever.
“So, you want Sherlock's attention on something other than yourself?” His voice was not trembling. “I can do that. I had a little game in mind already; it should be simple to start it up a little early.”
Saxon nodded, and for a second Jim felt overwhelmed, his mind under assault from the sheer power irradiating from this man. It passed and he collapsed, falling back into his chair in shock. “Who are you?”
Saxon seemed to find this funny. “Oh, you humans. Always getting things wrong. I don't know how he can stand it. I'll have to teach you all.” He paused, thinking. “First lesson will be 'decimate' - I hate people misusing that one.”
Jim gave a shaky smile. Decimate was one of his favourites. “So, was that all?”
Saxon was halfway to the door. “Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. I need you to pass on a message to him, when you can.”
The base part of Jim's brain was screaming at him to run, to never look back and never think of this man again. He didn't listen. “And that would be?”
“Tell him Daddy says hi.”