The Rules of Fair Play Do Not Apply 1 of sevenish. Maybe.
Fill for this prompt. Because I cannot resist Jim Moriarty, no matter how hard I try. Basically, only the first hostage in TGG happened, because Sherlock called Jim and then they decided it would be more fun to keep each other entertained. Jim starts hanging out at the flat, and begins to think John is pretty interesting. Sherlock and Jim begin competing over John and trying to ruin one another's attempts to woo him.
Word count is just under 500 for this part.
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“Oh, hello. Jim from IT, right?”
“James Moriarty actually. Hi!”
John freezes. “Sherlock! Why is there a criminal mastermind in our living room?”
“Because we’re bored,” the detective calls back
John took several moments to think things over. Several long moments. “Is anyone being hunted by a mad cabbie or a Chinese crime syndicate at the moment?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Jim offers.
“Right then. Don’t blow up the flat.”
Pertinent questions settled, John turned his attention back to the shopping. "Is there anything that would bother me in the fridge?" he yelled in the general direction of Sherlock's room.
Jim didn't quite know how he felt about that. He'd been expecting fear, shouting, at least an attempt to inform someone else. Not mild irritation followed by calm acceptance.
Sherlock, strolling out of his bedroom, took one look at Moriarty's face and quirked his lips. "Yes. He's always like that." Throwing himself down onto the couch, he turned his attention to John. "Define bother."
"Things that would send a sane person running and screaming."
"Yes, there are quite a few items in the fridge that would 'bother you'."
"Right then. Is there anything in this fridge that will kill me upon its opening or poison food placed nearby?"
"If you stay away from the top shelf, you should be fine," Sherlock remarked. As John started putting the shopping away, he turned his attention to more interesting matters. "You repeated yourself. You’re creative enough to come up with something better than botulism, at least the second time."
"Second time. Wait, second time? Moriarty's the bomber?"
"Obviously," Sherlock replied.
John poked his head back into the living room, wearing the expression Sherlock had learned meant he was trying to figure something out. "I'm not complaining, mind, but there were five pips on that message. I thought that meant that I'd have to convince Sherlock to give a damn about four more people."
"Too predictable," Moriarty offered.
"No. That's not it. Genius needs an audience. You don't mind being just a whisper, but you're too good at what you do. You wanted acknowledgement. In the end, you decided that playing with Sherlock, entertaining each other, was better that eliminating interference. You decided he was more useful than irritating." John looked at Moriarty's expression, nodded to himself in satisfaction, and then went back to unpacking the shopping.
Jim just stared after him, shocked. Sherlock took in the familiar expression and then smirked. Jim shot him a sharp look, eyebrow raised in inquiry.
"Wolf in sheep's clothing," was all he offered on the subject.
Silence reigned for awhile before Sherlock interrupted again. "Ian Munkford and the Lost Vermeer make four. Was the missile plans five?"
"I had nothing to do with those. I could get them anywhere, if I wanted to. No, five was where I killed you." Jim shrugged, and then smiled. "This is more fun," he said, staring in the direction of the kitchen.
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Part 2
Word count is just under 500 for this part.
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“Oh, hello. Jim from IT, right?”
“James Moriarty actually. Hi!”
John freezes. “Sherlock! Why is there a criminal mastermind in our living room?”
“Because we’re bored,” the detective calls back
John took several moments to think things over. Several long moments. “Is anyone being hunted by a mad cabbie or a Chinese crime syndicate at the moment?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Jim offers.
“Right then. Don’t blow up the flat.”
Pertinent questions settled, John turned his attention back to the shopping. "Is there anything that would bother me in the fridge?" he yelled in the general direction of Sherlock's room.
Jim didn't quite know how he felt about that. He'd been expecting fear, shouting, at least an attempt to inform someone else. Not mild irritation followed by calm acceptance.
Sherlock, strolling out of his bedroom, took one look at Moriarty's face and quirked his lips. "Yes. He's always like that." Throwing himself down onto the couch, he turned his attention to John. "Define bother."
"Things that would send a sane person running and screaming."
"Yes, there are quite a few items in the fridge that would 'bother you'."
"Right then. Is there anything in this fridge that will kill me upon its opening or poison food placed nearby?"
"If you stay away from the top shelf, you should be fine," Sherlock remarked. As John started putting the shopping away, he turned his attention to more interesting matters. "You repeated yourself. You’re creative enough to come up with something better than botulism, at least the second time."
"Second time. Wait, second time? Moriarty's the bomber?"
"Obviously," Sherlock replied.
John poked his head back into the living room, wearing the expression Sherlock had learned meant he was trying to figure something out. "I'm not complaining, mind, but there were five pips on that message. I thought that meant that I'd have to convince Sherlock to give a damn about four more people."
"Too predictable," Moriarty offered.
"No. That's not it. Genius needs an audience. You don't mind being just a whisper, but you're too good at what you do. You wanted acknowledgement. In the end, you decided that playing with Sherlock, entertaining each other, was better that eliminating interference. You decided he was more useful than irritating." John looked at Moriarty's expression, nodded to himself in satisfaction, and then went back to unpacking the shopping.
Jim just stared after him, shocked. Sherlock took in the familiar expression and then smirked. Jim shot him a sharp look, eyebrow raised in inquiry.
"Wolf in sheep's clothing," was all he offered on the subject.
Silence reigned for awhile before Sherlock interrupted again. "Ian Munkford and the Lost Vermeer make four. Was the missile plans five?"
"I had nothing to do with those. I could get them anywhere, if I wanted to. No, five was where I killed you." Jim shrugged, and then smiled. "This is more fun," he said, staring in the direction of the kitchen.
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Part 2