Domesticity
Title: Domesticity
Author: Nakimochiku
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: Jim Moriarty / John Watson
Warnings: Jim being a creep.
Rating: T
Summary: Sometimes, Jim likes to pretend at a normal life.
Note: another sorta sweet, sorta consensual one! hooray.
John barely had the energy to even pretend to be threatened when he found James Moriarty in his arm chair, a quilt over his lap, a copy of Jane Austen’s Emma open in his hands. “Welcome home.” called Jim with a grin, like he owned the damn place. John sighed, placing the groceries on the kitchen counter, piling the freshly bought apples into a bowl with the resigned calm of someone who spent far too much time in the company of madmen. He heard Jim just behind him in the kitchen, and didn’t turn around until he felt arms wrap around his waist.
“What do you want?” he grumbled morosely, fingers gripping the counter as he tried resolutely to ignore the sharp chin resting on his shoulder. Jim hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling the back of his neck. It took everything John had not to elbow him off.
“You changed your shampoo.” Jim whispered huskily, breath stirring short hairs and making John shiver in an odd mix of revulsion and possibly flattery. He did elbow him off then with a scowl, placing the milk in the fridge and trying to forget the ghostly sensation of Jim’s lips at the sensitive skin just below his ear. “I’m bored, Johnny. Bored and lazy and hungry.”
John took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do about it?” he asked warily. He knew what happened to people when Jim was bored, and if keeping the psychopath entertained for a couple of hours meant no one would die, then he would simply have to put up with him. Jim smiled as though he could read his thoughts.
“Make me dinner. Eat with me. We can talk about the flaws in Miss Austen’s work.” Jim suggested, fingers exploring John’s hand, hardly touching, as though he wanted to grasp it, and smiled, not quite as manic as usual. Somehow John found it hard to say no to an expression like that. It looked sort of innocent. With another loud and long sigh, he went about pulling down the ingredients for dinner. Jim smiled smugly, taking a seat at the counter and watching John putter about the kitchen.
“It might not be what you’re used to.” John warned, setting the pot on the stove, sparing Jim only a glance to make sure he was behaving himself. “I’m not the chef of a five star restaurant.”
“I’m sure everything you make tastes delicious.” Jim shrugged, and John viciously stabbed down the flattery that was bubbling inside him again. He turned back to his work, and hoped Jim wouldn’t notice his flushed cheeks. “You’ll make a wonderful wife, someday.”
The implication of who, exactly, would have John as a wonderful wife was barefaced, and Jim smirked. John didn’t bother to mention it.
Author: Nakimochiku
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: Jim Moriarty / John Watson
Warnings: Jim being a creep.
Rating: T
Summary: Sometimes, Jim likes to pretend at a normal life.
Note: another sorta sweet, sorta consensual one! hooray.
John barely had the energy to even pretend to be threatened when he found James Moriarty in his arm chair, a quilt over his lap, a copy of Jane Austen’s Emma open in his hands. “Welcome home.” called Jim with a grin, like he owned the damn place. John sighed, placing the groceries on the kitchen counter, piling the freshly bought apples into a bowl with the resigned calm of someone who spent far too much time in the company of madmen. He heard Jim just behind him in the kitchen, and didn’t turn around until he felt arms wrap around his waist.
“What do you want?” he grumbled morosely, fingers gripping the counter as he tried resolutely to ignore the sharp chin resting on his shoulder. Jim hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling the back of his neck. It took everything John had not to elbow him off.
“You changed your shampoo.” Jim whispered huskily, breath stirring short hairs and making John shiver in an odd mix of revulsion and possibly flattery. He did elbow him off then with a scowl, placing the milk in the fridge and trying to forget the ghostly sensation of Jim’s lips at the sensitive skin just below his ear. “I’m bored, Johnny. Bored and lazy and hungry.”
John took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do about it?” he asked warily. He knew what happened to people when Jim was bored, and if keeping the psychopath entertained for a couple of hours meant no one would die, then he would simply have to put up with him. Jim smiled as though he could read his thoughts.
“Make me dinner. Eat with me. We can talk about the flaws in Miss Austen’s work.” Jim suggested, fingers exploring John’s hand, hardly touching, as though he wanted to grasp it, and smiled, not quite as manic as usual. Somehow John found it hard to say no to an expression like that. It looked sort of innocent. With another loud and long sigh, he went about pulling down the ingredients for dinner. Jim smiled smugly, taking a seat at the counter and watching John putter about the kitchen.
“It might not be what you’re used to.” John warned, setting the pot on the stove, sparing Jim only a glance to make sure he was behaving himself. “I’m not the chef of a five star restaurant.”
“I’m sure everything you make tastes delicious.” Jim shrugged, and John viciously stabbed down the flattery that was bubbling inside him again. He turned back to his work, and hoped Jim wouldn’t notice his flushed cheeks. “You’ll make a wonderful wife, someday.”
The implication of who, exactly, would have John as a wonderful wife was barefaced, and Jim smirked. John didn’t bother to mention it.