His ransom - Moriarty x Reader

Not letting me go yet

I was awakened by a sweet, familiar smell. I tried to stretch my arms, but something was holding me. I opened my eyes brusquely. The first thing I saw was his neck. I pushed him away, panicked. I had no memory at all of what happened after we got back from diner. Did we....? Oh God, no.

I looked at my body. I was still wearing my dress. But then, what was he doing in my bed? I was nauseous. These last few days had been the most emotionally exhausting moments of my life. What the hell was wrong with him? What the hell was wrong with me?

"- Its your fault...." he murmured. "When I tried to leave, you caught me like you caught that guy last night, and said, "God, i fucking hate you" and kept me in your arms all night."

"- Something tells me you didn't fight a lot..." I mumbled

I believed him. When I was very tired, I would sleep and talk to people. At the same time. But thinking i had spent the whole night in this Moriarty's arms... Was it a good feeling or a bad feeling?

"- I'll leave now. Work to do, beautiful."

"- Dont call me-" I started.

He winked at me and left the room. Why? Why did I have to be in that situation? Why did he have to be so... changeable?

"- God, I fucking hate him."

I went back to bed. I tried not think about Sherlock, but he inevitably came back into my mind. I could still see his blue eyes and his curls. They were the last thing I saw before falling asleep.
When I woke up many hours later, I decided I needed a shower, to chase away Moriarty's smell. I stayed under the hot water for 30 minutes straight, wondering. What was I gonna do now?

"- I'm bored." I nearly shouted when i came in the living room.
"
- It's 4PM. What were you doing?

- I'm pretty sure you know already. There are cameras in my room." I said
He just shrugged without answering.

"- What do you want to do, then? Y/n, darling, you've been here for just a few days.

- Of all people you should know how boring staying inside doing nothing is. Take me out, let me do things!"
James considered my proposition, not speaking for a good minute, and answered :

"- Not yet. Your time will come, my dear."

I left the room, pretty pissed. Well, I was going to play the piano all afternoon and evening, apparently. I sat alone in the big room and played whatever I could remember. Not Bach. Another thing my brother and Moriarty had in common. Bach. I heard someone come in, but didn't stop playing. He could wait. I played faster, angrier, hoping he would notice it. I knew he would. James came up to the piano. He put something on it.

An envelope, already opened. He went back to his seat and waited. I played the tune until the end, not wanting to give the satisfaction of making me stop before.
I pulled the letter from the envelope and immediately recognized Sherlock's handwriting. It was not for me, but for James Moriarty. It said :

I know she's with you. You said I needed to give her to you to get John back. Play fair. I never did, you kidnapped her. Let her go.
SH

"- Should we tell him?" James laughed

"- He's not wrong. I still had to come, and I cannot leave, so...

- Right, but I didn't force you. Dont lie."
That was, sadly, true. And I hated myself for it.

"- Should we call big brother? Should we?" He said, speaking like he would talk to a baby or a puppy.
Not waiting for an answer, he dialed a number on his phone and put on the speaker.

"- Good afternoon, Sherlock Holmes. Before you say anything stupid, just know that she can hear you.

- What do you want, Moriarty?" Sherlock asked

"- I just thought you'd like to hear her voice...
Come on, y/n darling, you can talk."
His falsely concerned tone made me sick. The "y/n darling" as well.

"- Hello, Sherlock.

- Y/n, are you alright?

- What do you think? Aren't you supposed to be a genius? A great detective? This is your fault! " I nearly yelled.
James looked at me, suprised.

"- See, I did a good job picking her instead of your pet. She's much more interesting than him. More than you, ordinary Sherlock. And this really is your fault. You're weak. But I can heal you. I just need to kill everyone you love, and then you'll be cured. Say goodbye, y/n.

- Fuck you."
I didn't even know who I was talking to. Was this "fuck you" for Sherlock or for Moriarty?

"- You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." Moriarty said before hanging up.

That's how days went for two long weeks. I heard about my brother on telly, sometimes. James allowed me to go in the garden (it was more like a park, actually).

I felt like a little girl again. Not being able to make decisions for myself, being treated like an object by my own brother. My wound had healed quicker than I thought it would. Moriarty hadn't laid a hand on me ever since, even though I still was... me.

We had some fights, but never too bad. He would slap me, I would punch him in the face. I could tell he wasn't used to fighting. He was good at it, but didn't really appreciate it. James Moriarty liked to talk. Convince, threaten. I was more into physical conflict.
I was afraid he would try to get closer as the weeks went by. But what happened was even worse. Because he didn't.

I did.