BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 2)

Moriarty: Dark Savior

Warning: Abuse

Also, a celebration is in the A/N at the end.

~

Another blow came to your side and you screamed, crying out in pain. "Please Evan, stop," you begged through the tears. Your voice was raspy, a side effect from the hands that held your neck too tight for too long.

"STOP? YOU WANT ME TO STOP? WHY THE HELL WOULD I DO THAT?" He kicked you again and you doubled over again in pain. He grabbed your arms and turned you to face him. He slapped you across the face, not once but twice, and when he finished, grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him. He brought his face close to yours and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You want to know why I do this (y/n)? You're a worthless piece of shit, that's why. You leave me no choice but to do this. This is your fault." And with that he pushed you. The force of his push sent you flying to the ground, and you knocked your head against the corner of the coffee table. The edges of your vision became black, and the darkness slowly crept into the center. You felt a trickle of something warm and wet down the side of your head. The doorbell rang, and then you sunk into your black slumber.

~

You heard the familiar sound of a fan and felt the cool wind blow on your face. You opened your eyes, or at least you thought you did. It was so dark you feared you had become blind. Eventually your eyes adjusted, and you finally found a tiny shred of light from underneath a door. You went to get out of bed, but as soon as you moved your arms and legs, pain exploded through your body. You deflated back onto the bed and began to cry. It had never hurt this bad before. You began to wonder why Evan had worked so hard to make the room dark. Although slightly eerie, it was actually quite peaceful and calming. You heard footsteps sound outside the door and you dove underneath the covers. But you realized they weren't your covers. You weren't in your bed. It smelled different, familiar but different. The door opened and a warm light fought it's way into the room. You squinted, trying to see the figure that stood in doorway still shaded from view. "I sensed you were awake," a voice said, the pitch floating towards the ceiling. Again, that familiar feeling shrouded your thoughts.

"Who are you?" you croaked.

The light switched on and you squeezed your eyes shut. When you thought it was safe, you opened them up. You jumped in surprise. Jim Moriarty, aka Evan's boss, stood no more than a foot in front of you. "Who am I?" he teased. His eyes were big and brown and they stared right through you. You swallowed and your throat ached.

"Where's Evan? Please take me back home. If he knew I was here he would kill me." You panicked, was that too honest? You didn't want him to think Evan would actually kill you, although sometimes you were scared he actually would, so you tried to talk your way out of it. "Well, not literally, you know that was just an over exaggeration, a figure of speech, I-"

"He's been taken care of."

"Taken care of? As in he's going on a vacation and getting a promotion taken care of?" You grinned innocently, hoping he would understand. If Evan got fired or hurt because of you, he would ACTUALLY kill you. You had heard of Jim Moriarty. He was a Class A psychopath. He had killed more people than the number of hairs on your head. Well, he didn't kill them with his own hands, not usually. That was Evan's job.

He shook his head and smiled at you with stars in his eyes. "I don't know how he could of ever done this to you." Jim - or should you call him Mr. Moriarty? - reached out his hand to touch your cheek. You flinched, but he continued to run his hand down the length of your face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you stated, trying to smile. Maybe if you played dumb he'd be dumb enough to believe you. Instead he grabbed your hand and tugged you out the door and down the hall to a bathroom. He settled you in front of the mirror, but you refused to look up. If you looked up you knew what you would see. You didn't want to see the bruises and marks because then it would be real.

"Look," he breathed down your neck. Goosebumps erupted over you, and you wondered how warm breath could be so cold. You looked. And you stopped breathing. Purple and blue colored your throat. Red was splashed on your face, like you had gotten a really bad sunburn. A cut ran two inches along under your eye. You were the poster child for all abused wives. Tears bubbled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "It's okay if you want to cry."

"I want to go home." You tried to sound strong and defiant, but your voice cracked along with the rest of you. Mr. Moriarty grabbed your shoulders gently, but you still flinched, and made you face him. He traced the outline of your bruises, he drew a rectangle around the cut under your eye, he brushed along the red splotches of your face. His touch was gentle.

"I may have had more people murdered than I can remember, but-" he cut himself off suddenly. You looked up at him, waiting for him to finish. "But I would never hurt a woman like this."

"Evan didn't hurt me."

"He did, and he won't get the chance to do it again, that's for sure."

"Did you kill him?" you asked. You wanted to know. You loved Evan, despite what he did to you, you still loved him. "Mr. Moriarty, did you kill him?"

He chuckled. "Call me Jim."

"Not until you answer my question."

"He's in another country, under watch for the rest of his life to make sure he stays away from you. Why do you care so much about him? Look what he's done to you."

"Why do you care so much about me? Why did you bring me here and send him away?" You must've stumped him, or he was too embarrassed to answer. He stared at you. You wished you could read the look on his face and know what he was thinking. He was looking at you in a peculiar way, like he had just found a penny on a beach or a missing sock under his bed. You squirmed under his gaze and noticed how your palms were sweating and how your stomach felt like it was flipping underwater. You looked away, not sure why he was having such an effect on you. "I would like to go home now," you said, crossing your arms and taking a stubborn stance.

"Oh sweetie, this is your home."

A/N

Haven't wrote a Moriarty imagine for this book yet so I wrote this lol

CELEBRATION.
Exactly a year ago from today, I started writing my first book of imagines. It's crazy how fast this year has gone by, and how much writing I've done. I'm really proud of myself for sticking with this and I'm forever grateful and blessed for the people I've met on here. I love you all so much and you have made this past year worthwhile.
You are hands down the best children a mumsy could ask for.

Now.
Onto other news.

I hate Mother Nature. It's hot and I have to work tonight and I'm just not looking forward to standing around and sweating while blood trickles out of my body.
Sorry. I just really hate getting my period.

Random: If you could add a character into the show "Sherlock" who would they be and what would be their purpose?

"Would I rather be feared or loved? Easy. Both. I want people to be afraid of how much they love me."
- Michael Scott