Normality
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sebastian Moran/ Jim Moriarty
Kink: BDSM (possible)
Prompt: Sebastian Moran is very abusive toward crazy little Jim. One day, when Jim, John, Sherlock, and Moran are having A Showdown, Moran gets angry and beats Moriarty. John sees Moriarty cowering back and figures it out.
Warning: Domestic Abuse
Link: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15253.html?thread=81625493#t81625493
Note: I'll be lengthening the fic here instead of adding entries in parts. I want you to have a smooth reading experience.
Jim loved Sebastian. He read what people wrote about love. It was the strange feeling in your stomach when you saw someone. It sounded a lot like what he felt every time Sebastian was about to hit him. It must have been love.
Jim was used to taking stuff. He stole food from various fridges at different homes all the time. He always had to pick pockets to get cash for the medicine too. He would sit in his shed a lot and think up more and more elaborate ways to get various things from various places. He realized soon enough that it wasn’t enough if he could get the things. Somehow, everyone blamed him. Jim regretted being weird but he wasn’t sure how to fix that so instead, he came up with ways to frame his classmates for stealing from the cafeteria, or having rock-solid alibis when their phones, cash and things went missing. It became a habit.
When Sebastian, the man he loved, grew bored with nothing to shoot, Jim started thinking of ways to let him work out his aggressions - hopefully on other people - without ever being suspected. There were the first jobs, just regular mercenary work, but Jim made sure there were no trace, no suspicion on Sebastian. Then the people started coming to him, asking him for the perfect crimes. How to disappear completely? How to frame their mother’s cousin’s husband’s nephew’s friend’s son for a murder? How to do this? How to do that? Jim helped them out for fees and favours, but mostly so that Sebastian wouldn’t hit him as much. Sebastian hit him a lot anyway. Jim supposed it could have been worse.
When it came down to it, Jim didn’t know what normal should have been like. He supposed that the sitcoms on TV might have once shown what everyone hoped it would be like, with a mother, a father who had their children’s best interests in mind, even if they didn’t always succeed. He stopped watching them because the media always exaggerated. Or rather, because Sebastian told him to stop. Or else.
Those stolen Glee moments with Molly were heaven for him. So much drama between Kurt and Rachel and Finn and Quinn and Puck - Jim kinda liked Puck - and all the others that couldn’t possibly be real. (And if it was, Jim was glad he spent most of high school locked in the shed, trying not to let his teeth chatter in case his father heard from the house.) He bet their parents weren’t all that anyway.
Jim didn’t think it was that important, even if Sebastian had forbidden him from watching TV. After all, Jim was pretending to be a good boyfriend and good boyfriends did everything their girlfriends said to do, right? Even watching and liking a TV show. Jim tried to do everything Sebastian told him to do but he wasn’t very good at telling when the rules applied. He hadn’t thought that rule was important. He had ignored it in favour of “Don’t. Talk. To. Me.” and “Shut up you stupid slut” whereby he wasn’t to talk to Sebastian unless the larger man asked him a question first.
Jim should have learned by then that no rule wasn’t important.
The blow up happened at the docks. Jim was nervous about talking to Sherlock and John again. For the first time, Sebastian was going to be within hearing distance. Scratch hearing distance, he was in a position where if he so wanted, he could be next to Jim in a second and therefore, he was in punching distance. This little fact made Jim very nervous indeed.
He hadn’t planned so say much. Jim didn’t want to push his luck. There was a red dot trained on John’s chest as usual, a second one, a laser pointer marked out Sherlock’s forehead. Jim had forgotten what he wanted to say. Sherlock made him nervous. Sherlock solved his crimes. Sherlock would figure out Sebastian and if Sebastian was figured out, that would be the end of Jim. Jim had forgotten what he wanted to say and started to ramble on about the conman, the shill and the intricacy of his plot. Sherlock had sneered and said one sentence.
“Oh please, this one was even more obvious than that TV show you watch.”
In that split second, both red dots wavered and flicked over to Jim. John and Sherlock looked taken aback but Jim was more concerned with cooling the fire.
“I was with Molly.” Jim protested weakly to thin air. The red dot slid fluidly down to rest on the juncture of his thighs. Jim sucked in a breath. Rule 1: Don’t talk. Rule 13: Don’t talk about Molly Hooper.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Jim was trying to focus on something other than his brain swearing but he was hard pressed to come up with something when John and Sherlock were staring at him and his trained killer boyfriend was about to put him in a world of hurt.
He took half a step backward and stumbled, leg giving out on him. It always chose the most inopportune times to buckle ever since he received a broken femur and kneecap from Sebastian. The red dot followed him. Jim knew better than to try to get way. Rule 4: No escape. He heard the sound of someone landing on the floor.
“I’m sorry boys.” Sebastian purred, leveling his gun at them.
“I’m going to have to cut this short.” He turned to sneer at Jim. “For a little discipline.”
Jim couldn’t help but whimper. He crossed his arms over his head to protect himself. Sebastian would do it. He would just erupt suddenly and just start punching and kicking.
Jim didn’t expect the first loud crack of a pistol. He also didn’t expect the second loud crack, swearing from Sebastian and Sherlock Holmes of all people lifting him off the floor and carrying him away as fast as those shapely long legs could take him.
He was handcuffed. At first they wanted to just cuff him to something but there wasn't anything close enough to the metal slab in the morgue to which they could cuff the other end so they just cuffed him. Jim sat on the slab, legs swinging off the side as he tried not to think about Molly's job as a forensic scientist and subsequently, her expertise in taking bodies apart.
He was looking around for sharp things that he could use to pick the lock but Sherlock had moved everything out of reach. The only way he could get to the paperclip was if he bowled over Dr. John Watson who was currently standing in front of him, arms crossed and lips pursed. Right, not such a good idea. Jim dismissed it a little sadly. He did so love to stage dramatic escapes. Then again, he hated when his dramatic escapes failed.
Failed dramatic escapes usually led to a whole lot of pain and hurt. Jim wasn't too fond of that but he put up with it because he loved Sebastian. He was used to putting up with it. He could put up with it a little longer.
"How long, has he been hitting you?" Sherlock asked as he strode into the room, armed with a basketful of medical equipment. Jim glared at him.
"Daddy doesn't kiss and tell." Jim sing-songed. Really now, what Sebastian did to him was his own business. Jim was curious though, how Sherlock knew.
"Was it the crooked tie? Was it the dirt on my shoe?" Jim wheedled. "Or did you see the crick in his gait or something clever like that?" He whined as Molly entered.
The trio gave him long slow looks. Molly averted her eyes first, muttering 'Should have seen the signs' as she gathered up a roll of cotton and tweezers. John maintained eye contact as he unlocked the cuffs.
"Take off that shirt please." the ex-army doctor said quietly. "I need to examine you."
Jim felt the first stab of panic. Rule 8: No cheating. He sneered at John.
"Oh, is that what they're calling it now?" he leered with much false bravado. John sighed and rubbed at his face with the heel of his hand. He looked at Molly. She shrugged and moved to take his place.
"Jim, take the shirt off, please." She said in her cute, quiet voice. Awww, how could Jim say no? Technically, they hadn't broken up yet. Or at least, he didn't think they had. Good boyfriends were supposed to do as their girlfriends said, right? Jim shrugged off the hot jacket and the shirt underneath.
Molly was a sweet girl. She wouldn't skin him alive now would she? Sebastian might try but Jim doubted he was precise enough to manage. The uneven marks on his back were proof enough of that.
Molly dabbed at his back with her antiseptic soaked tweezers. Jim really wanted to know what she was using because it didn't really hurt at all, not like the iodine or the salt or the goodness knows what Sebastian always bought for him.
He smiled at Molly after she finished and let him get dressed.
"You're such a sweetheart." He said affectionately. She blushed. Sherlock let out a low growl.
"Drop the act, James." He snarled. Jim flinched.
"It's not a act, Sherlock." John muttered to the consulting detective. "He's not right in the head. You know this, Sherlock."
Jim stared at him.
"I am so right in the head! I'm smarter than all of you!" He protested.
"Did you know then, it's not right for him to hit you?" John asked softly. His brown eyes were filled with sadness.
"Did you know then, it's not right for him to cut you, brand your hip with letters and put out cigarettes on you?" He continued. "Does he let you eat? Does he feed you? Does he beat you a lot? Does he get angry all the time?"
"I'm a naughty boy." Jim sneered, that was all normal to him. That was just Sebastian. "That's just my punishment for letting him be bored." He smiled sickly sweet. "Like Sherlock doesn't punish you too."
There was silence. It was broken only by a loud sob from Molly and her leaving the room while dabbing at her eyes. Jim was sad to see her go. He would have liked to make her his pet.
"James, I don't hurt John." Sherlock said quietly. "Not like... not like that."
The admission hung heavy in the middle of the room as Jim processed this fact. He lunged for John, wrestling the ex-army doctor out of his coat and shirt, utterly convinced that he would see something, anything, that would prove Sherlock to be a bloody fucking liar.
John let him. John stood there and let himself be divested of clothing. When the shirt came off, Jim didn't know what to think. Jim saw the bruises from when John fell down the fire escape the other day because one of his minions pushed him. He saw the burns from when John saved a lady from her burning apartment last month. He saw all the injuries that John had received from helping people but there were none of those marks. Those marks didn't exist at all.
Jim didn't know what to think. He screamed in anger, sweeping the chemicals and lab apparatus off the table. What he knew all along was wrong. What he thought he knew was flawed. He thought he had been doing strange things with Molly, that he had been treating her the 'wrong' way but he was the one who was wrong. Sure, he knew he was insane but this, this had been his little bite of normality all along. The one constant he had been sure of all this time.
Now it was gone.
He stared at the pair, breathing hard. They wore matching expressions. Both of them looked inexplicably sad. Sherlock was the one who stepped forward and awkwardly pulled him into a hug.
Jim never did hugs. Hugs weren't normal. But here he was, being hugged by his archenemy, Sherlock Holmes.
"Humans, hug, James. I thought that too. But humans, need hugs." Sherlock muttered.
His face was wet. He didn't know why. Jim had never cried. Crying expended energy better used for thinking up plans or trying to placate Sebastian. He didn't cry but he was crying now.
He had just lost all sense of normality.
Sequels:
Lag Phase
Exponential Growth
Pairing: Sebastian Moran/ Jim Moriarty
Kink: BDSM (possible)
Prompt: Sebastian Moran is very abusive toward crazy little Jim. One day, when Jim, John, Sherlock, and Moran are having A Showdown, Moran gets angry and beats Moriarty. John sees Moriarty cowering back and figures it out.
Warning: Domestic Abuse
Link: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15253.html?thread=81625493#t81625493
Note: I'll be lengthening the fic here instead of adding entries in parts. I want you to have a smooth reading experience.
Jim loved Sebastian. He read what people wrote about love. It was the strange feeling in your stomach when you saw someone. It sounded a lot like what he felt every time Sebastian was about to hit him. It must have been love.
Jim was used to taking stuff. He stole food from various fridges at different homes all the time. He always had to pick pockets to get cash for the medicine too. He would sit in his shed a lot and think up more and more elaborate ways to get various things from various places. He realized soon enough that it wasn’t enough if he could get the things. Somehow, everyone blamed him. Jim regretted being weird but he wasn’t sure how to fix that so instead, he came up with ways to frame his classmates for stealing from the cafeteria, or having rock-solid alibis when their phones, cash and things went missing. It became a habit.
When Sebastian, the man he loved, grew bored with nothing to shoot, Jim started thinking of ways to let him work out his aggressions - hopefully on other people - without ever being suspected. There were the first jobs, just regular mercenary work, but Jim made sure there were no trace, no suspicion on Sebastian. Then the people started coming to him, asking him for the perfect crimes. How to disappear completely? How to frame their mother’s cousin’s husband’s nephew’s friend’s son for a murder? How to do this? How to do that? Jim helped them out for fees and favours, but mostly so that Sebastian wouldn’t hit him as much. Sebastian hit him a lot anyway. Jim supposed it could have been worse.
When it came down to it, Jim didn’t know what normal should have been like. He supposed that the sitcoms on TV might have once shown what everyone hoped it would be like, with a mother, a father who had their children’s best interests in mind, even if they didn’t always succeed. He stopped watching them because the media always exaggerated. Or rather, because Sebastian told him to stop. Or else.
Those stolen Glee moments with Molly were heaven for him. So much drama between Kurt and Rachel and Finn and Quinn and Puck - Jim kinda liked Puck - and all the others that couldn’t possibly be real. (And if it was, Jim was glad he spent most of high school locked in the shed, trying not to let his teeth chatter in case his father heard from the house.) He bet their parents weren’t all that anyway.
Jim didn’t think it was that important, even if Sebastian had forbidden him from watching TV. After all, Jim was pretending to be a good boyfriend and good boyfriends did everything their girlfriends said to do, right? Even watching and liking a TV show. Jim tried to do everything Sebastian told him to do but he wasn’t very good at telling when the rules applied. He hadn’t thought that rule was important. He had ignored it in favour of “Don’t. Talk. To. Me.” and “Shut up you stupid slut” whereby he wasn’t to talk to Sebastian unless the larger man asked him a question first.
Jim should have learned by then that no rule wasn’t important.
The blow up happened at the docks. Jim was nervous about talking to Sherlock and John again. For the first time, Sebastian was going to be within hearing distance. Scratch hearing distance, he was in a position where if he so wanted, he could be next to Jim in a second and therefore, he was in punching distance. This little fact made Jim very nervous indeed.
He hadn’t planned so say much. Jim didn’t want to push his luck. There was a red dot trained on John’s chest as usual, a second one, a laser pointer marked out Sherlock’s forehead. Jim had forgotten what he wanted to say. Sherlock made him nervous. Sherlock solved his crimes. Sherlock would figure out Sebastian and if Sebastian was figured out, that would be the end of Jim. Jim had forgotten what he wanted to say and started to ramble on about the conman, the shill and the intricacy of his plot. Sherlock had sneered and said one sentence.
“Oh please, this one was even more obvious than that TV show you watch.”
In that split second, both red dots wavered and flicked over to Jim. John and Sherlock looked taken aback but Jim was more concerned with cooling the fire.
“I was with Molly.” Jim protested weakly to thin air. The red dot slid fluidly down to rest on the juncture of his thighs. Jim sucked in a breath. Rule 1: Don’t talk. Rule 13: Don’t talk about Molly Hooper.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Jim was trying to focus on something other than his brain swearing but he was hard pressed to come up with something when John and Sherlock were staring at him and his trained killer boyfriend was about to put him in a world of hurt.
He took half a step backward and stumbled, leg giving out on him. It always chose the most inopportune times to buckle ever since he received a broken femur and kneecap from Sebastian. The red dot followed him. Jim knew better than to try to get way. Rule 4: No escape. He heard the sound of someone landing on the floor.
“I’m sorry boys.” Sebastian purred, leveling his gun at them.
“I’m going to have to cut this short.” He turned to sneer at Jim. “For a little discipline.”
Jim couldn’t help but whimper. He crossed his arms over his head to protect himself. Sebastian would do it. He would just erupt suddenly and just start punching and kicking.
Jim didn’t expect the first loud crack of a pistol. He also didn’t expect the second loud crack, swearing from Sebastian and Sherlock Holmes of all people lifting him off the floor and carrying him away as fast as those shapely long legs could take him.
He was handcuffed. At first they wanted to just cuff him to something but there wasn't anything close enough to the metal slab in the morgue to which they could cuff the other end so they just cuffed him. Jim sat on the slab, legs swinging off the side as he tried not to think about Molly's job as a forensic scientist and subsequently, her expertise in taking bodies apart.
He was looking around for sharp things that he could use to pick the lock but Sherlock had moved everything out of reach. The only way he could get to the paperclip was if he bowled over Dr. John Watson who was currently standing in front of him, arms crossed and lips pursed. Right, not such a good idea. Jim dismissed it a little sadly. He did so love to stage dramatic escapes. Then again, he hated when his dramatic escapes failed.
Failed dramatic escapes usually led to a whole lot of pain and hurt. Jim wasn't too fond of that but he put up with it because he loved Sebastian. He was used to putting up with it. He could put up with it a little longer.
"How long, has he been hitting you?" Sherlock asked as he strode into the room, armed with a basketful of medical equipment. Jim glared at him.
"Daddy doesn't kiss and tell." Jim sing-songed. Really now, what Sebastian did to him was his own business. Jim was curious though, how Sherlock knew.
"Was it the crooked tie? Was it the dirt on my shoe?" Jim wheedled. "Or did you see the crick in his gait or something clever like that?" He whined as Molly entered.
The trio gave him long slow looks. Molly averted her eyes first, muttering 'Should have seen the signs' as she gathered up a roll of cotton and tweezers. John maintained eye contact as he unlocked the cuffs.
"Take off that shirt please." the ex-army doctor said quietly. "I need to examine you."
Jim felt the first stab of panic. Rule 8: No cheating. He sneered at John.
"Oh, is that what they're calling it now?" he leered with much false bravado. John sighed and rubbed at his face with the heel of his hand. He looked at Molly. She shrugged and moved to take his place.
"Jim, take the shirt off, please." She said in her cute, quiet voice. Awww, how could Jim say no? Technically, they hadn't broken up yet. Or at least, he didn't think they had. Good boyfriends were supposed to do as their girlfriends said, right? Jim shrugged off the hot jacket and the shirt underneath.
Molly was a sweet girl. She wouldn't skin him alive now would she? Sebastian might try but Jim doubted he was precise enough to manage. The uneven marks on his back were proof enough of that.
Molly dabbed at his back with her antiseptic soaked tweezers. Jim really wanted to know what she was using because it didn't really hurt at all, not like the iodine or the salt or the goodness knows what Sebastian always bought for him.
He smiled at Molly after she finished and let him get dressed.
"You're such a sweetheart." He said affectionately. She blushed. Sherlock let out a low growl.
"Drop the act, James." He snarled. Jim flinched.
"It's not a act, Sherlock." John muttered to the consulting detective. "He's not right in the head. You know this, Sherlock."
Jim stared at him.
"I am so right in the head! I'm smarter than all of you!" He protested.
"Did you know then, it's not right for him to hit you?" John asked softly. His brown eyes were filled with sadness.
"Did you know then, it's not right for him to cut you, brand your hip with letters and put out cigarettes on you?" He continued. "Does he let you eat? Does he feed you? Does he beat you a lot? Does he get angry all the time?"
"I'm a naughty boy." Jim sneered, that was all normal to him. That was just Sebastian. "That's just my punishment for letting him be bored." He smiled sickly sweet. "Like Sherlock doesn't punish you too."
There was silence. It was broken only by a loud sob from Molly and her leaving the room while dabbing at her eyes. Jim was sad to see her go. He would have liked to make her his pet.
"James, I don't hurt John." Sherlock said quietly. "Not like... not like that."
The admission hung heavy in the middle of the room as Jim processed this fact. He lunged for John, wrestling the ex-army doctor out of his coat and shirt, utterly convinced that he would see something, anything, that would prove Sherlock to be a bloody fucking liar.
John let him. John stood there and let himself be divested of clothing. When the shirt came off, Jim didn't know what to think. Jim saw the bruises from when John fell down the fire escape the other day because one of his minions pushed him. He saw the burns from when John saved a lady from her burning apartment last month. He saw all the injuries that John had received from helping people but there were none of those marks. Those marks didn't exist at all.
Jim didn't know what to think. He screamed in anger, sweeping the chemicals and lab apparatus off the table. What he knew all along was wrong. What he thought he knew was flawed. He thought he had been doing strange things with Molly, that he had been treating her the 'wrong' way but he was the one who was wrong. Sure, he knew he was insane but this, this had been his little bite of normality all along. The one constant he had been sure of all this time.
Now it was gone.
He stared at the pair, breathing hard. They wore matching expressions. Both of them looked inexplicably sad. Sherlock was the one who stepped forward and awkwardly pulled him into a hug.
Jim never did hugs. Hugs weren't normal. But here he was, being hugged by his archenemy, Sherlock Holmes.
"Humans, hug, James. I thought that too. But humans, need hugs." Sherlock muttered.
His face was wet. He didn't know why. Jim had never cried. Crying expended energy better used for thinking up plans or trying to placate Sebastian. He didn't cry but he was crying now.
He had just lost all sense of normality.
Sequels:
Lag Phase
Exponential Growth