Jim from IT

New Thread!

“Naturally,” the assistant smiles coldly. She leans forward and takes a key out of her bra, showing off the view to Jim as he looks over his shoulder to check she is not getting out a knife.

She runs a hand over the nape of his neck and puts pressure on it to make him lean forward, “I hope you’re ready, sir.”

The car stops and the door is opened from the outside.

“We’ll be in touch.”

*** (It won’t let me do the blockquote thing)

Jim salutes with two fingers as the car speeds off down the road. Before entering the flat, Jim buys a baguette from the cafe next door - prawn cocktail, well, he was peckish. He then pulled out his copy of the front door key to 221b and slot it in the key hole, twisting it until it clicked. He took another bite of his sandwich as he push the door to and stepped inside. He wiped his feet on the mat before walking up the stairs, his fingers lightly brushing against the handle rail as he did so.

ICI! C’EST ICI! LE FUTUR!

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Jim’s poker face gives nothing away.

“You’re in charge officer, you tell me.” The suggestive tone in his voice makes every police officer there incredibly uncomfortable. Jim grins, knowing he has control, without even properly trying. 

Simmons nods to the officers and they immediately drag Jim to a black car that appeared around the corner a minute ago. With darkened windows and a motor what was practically silent, it could only be Mr. Holmes’s car. 

Simmons braces himself and is ready to face the man with the stoic face and the umbrella, but instead a woman walks out. She has a smooth smile and a telephone in her hand from which she doesn’t look up. 

“I want one officer, Simmons,” she orders as though he’s the captain of his squad.

Instead of protesting, Simmons nods and slides himself in, before taking Jim from the officers and placing him in the car.

“Behave,” he growls.

“Mr. Holmes is sadly indisposed, so he sent me to bring Mr. Moriarty,” she nods at Jim, “to a location where he can wait comfortably.”

“Hello Anthea,” Jim beams as he is squashed between the detective and the girl. 

“My name is not Anthea,” the girl replies coldly. 

“Oh you are all Anthea to me,” Jim shrugs. “Would you like to know what happened to the last Anthea I met?” he asks, resting his head on she shoulder which she quickly shrugs off, unable to hide her fear. “Oh don’t worry, I didn’t kill her, just gave her an experience she won’t forget.” Jim bared his teeth.

“You better shut up before I shut you up,” barks the detective.

Jim looks him very slowly up and down and licks his lips, giving the impression he would like to eat him. “I’d like to see you try.”

The assistant raises a calm eyebrow and bares her teeth smoothly at Jim.

“Mr. Moriarty, please. Simmons, please settle yourself.”

Her air of control sends a shiver down Simmons’ spine.

“I’m sure you’re aware Mr. Holmes has negotiations to do with you, Mr. Moriarty,” the assistant continues, “He has some requests around a delicate matter.  He is certainly aware this will require payment and is more than willing to offer a substantial amount.”

She suddenly looks over to Simmons.

“Your silence, of course, is free, sir.”

“Ooh I like this one,” Jim giggles as he studies Anthea 2.0 properly. She was much colder than Anthea 1.0, less emotionally attached to the people she worked for. She probably did it for the thrill and adventure, and if someone offered her enough money she would do whatever you wanted. More than happy with his captor Jim leant back in his chair and looks out of the front window to watch where they were going. “Mycroft knows all too well that money does not interest me, I am fascinated to know what he thinks he has that I would be willing to bargain for.”

The assistant smiles coldly.

“I’m sure you realise it is not monetary funds Mr. Holmes is bargaining with. That is very much beneath him.”

The car turns abruptly, like it has nearly missed an exit, and starts speeding up.

“You see, Mr. Moriarty, my employer is rather sick of having to control your petty feud with his little brother. He is eager to put a stop to it, you understand. And I’m quite certain you would like to be able to pay more attention to that web of underworld scum,” she spits out the word as she leans forward, “to prevent it from falling apart at my employers very adapt hands.”

Her face is now hovering close to Jim’s and it mirrors his mocking expression perfectly. The assistant taps on the driver’s shoulder, then reaches over to grab the police officer’s. The car slows and with immense speed, the assistant opens the door and pushes the officer out onto the road. She closes it and the car speeds up immediately. Around them, the landscape changed to that of a motor way.

“I am to drop you off about three miles from here. I am to suggest you visit 221B. There’ll be tea and perhaps a warm jumper.”

Jim studies Anthea 2.0 once more, not thinking twice about the policeman that was  no doubt now injured that had been thrown from the car. It would have been easier to just put a bullet through his head he thinks, but he suspects this woman does not have a gun of her own. 

He considered his options. Of course he was very intrigued about this proposition Mycroft was suggesting, and no doubt he would keep hunting and hounding him if he did not comply. But then again it was not Mycroft Holmes you enjoyed to manipulate, and as she mentioned, he did have a whole empire to monitor. Although it was incredibly easy to control, Mycroft didn’t seem to realise that the only way to make his ‘web of underworld scum’ fall part would be to kill him and Sebastien. And it was not time to die. Not yet. 

“And what if I don’t?”

“You’re thinking of your little soldier, aren’t you?” the assistant says, “tut, tut, Mr. Moriarty. Would you honestly think he has not been calculated into our plans?”

He hands him a pile of papers, print-outs from a series of email and text conversations.

“Normally we don’t like to keep proof, but we needed this for safety,” she motions to the papers off-handedly, “Proof, Jim, of Sebastian’s continuing association with Mr. Holmes.”

She cracks a wide grin, the first genuine one so far.

“Mr. Holmes implores you to visit Dr. Watson. It’s not a trap - we simply think your little game could use a speeding up, this is your ‘free from jail’ card, we could say.”

“Well I knew that boy was stupid but…” Jim says through gritted teeth, disappointment across his face. He sighed and inclined his head slowly with a definite action, to show his reluctant compliance to the request. 

Jim sifted through all the sheets of paper, swearing every now and again when something big came up in the conversations. Anthea 2.0 was clearly suppressing a smug grin as she watched Jim stress over all the evidence of betrayal. He got so angry at one point that he kicked the back of the seat in front of him and Anthea 2.0 had to look out of the window so that he could not see how pleased she was.

He was acting of course. Very well he noted as he saw the expression on her face in the reflection of the metal of the car. The moment Mycroft had proposed to Sebastien he betray his employer because of a boring threat he had hinted at, Seb had come straight to Jim. He was loyal to the bitter end and he knew that anything Mycroft would do to him could not match the cruelty and torture that Jim could bestow on him. Together, Jim and Seb had fed the secret service with information, some false and some true that they were willing to give up. Like the identity of a rapist that had paid for protection and a new identity. 

This was going to be interesting.

“I’m glad you see thinks from our point of view, sir. I’ll allow you to keep those papers to confront your loyal soldier with. If he is still around, that is. I’m sure Mr. Holmes is setting him up quite nicely as we speak.”

The assistant leans back against her seat and looks out the window. They’ve driven back into London and are nearing the centre of the city slowly.The driver did always have an impeccable sense of timing. 

“Are we OK to drop you off at 221B, Mr. Moriarty? Save you the travel time. We do always like to be helpful,” she says, a wolfish grin finally appearing on her face.

Jim draws in a sharp breath to suggest this is more effort than it is worth. 

“Yes yes so be it.” Anthea 2.0 taps the back of the driver as the signal to drive to the said location. Jim could see her tapping away on her phone, no doubt communicating to Mycroft that Jim had agreed to go to 221b.

He shifts in his seat. “Couldn’t possibly remove these handcuffs? It is rather uncomfortable.” He leans forward to expose his back and the restrictions around his wrists. 

ICI! C’EST ICI! LE FUTUR!

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jimmoriartyfromit:

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Jim’s poker face gives nothing away.

“You’re in charge officer, you tell me.” The suggestive tone in his voice makes every police officer there incredibly uncomfortable. Jim grins, knowing he has control, without even properly trying. 

Simmons nods to the officers and they immediately drag Jim to a black car that appeared around the corner a minute ago. With darkened windows and a motor what was practically silent, it could only be Mr. Holmes’s car. 

Simmons braces himself and is ready to face the man with the stoic face and the umbrella, but instead a woman walks out. She has a smooth smile and a telephone in her hand from which she doesn’t look up. 

“I want one officer, Simmons,” she orders as though he’s the captain of his squad.

Instead of protesting, Simmons nods and slides himself in, before taking Jim from the officers and placing him in the car.

“Behave,” he growls.

“Mr. Holmes is sadly indisposed, so he sent me to bring Mr. Moriarty,” she nods at Jim, “to a location where he can wait comfortably.”

“Hello Anthea,” Jim beams as he is squashed between the detective and the girl. 

“My name is not Anthea,” the girl replies coldly. 

“Oh you are all Anthea to me,” Jim shrugs. “Would you like to know what happened to the last Anthea I met?” he asks, resting his head on she shoulder which she quickly shrugs off, unable to hide her fear. “Oh don’t worry, I didn’t kill her, just gave her an experience she won’t forget.” Jim bared his teeth.

“You better shut up before I shut you up,” barks the detective.

Jim looks him very slowly up and down and licks his lips, giving the impression he would like to eat him. “I’d like to see you try.”

The assistant raises a calm eyebrow and bares her teeth smoothly at Jim.

“Mr. Moriarty, please. Simmons, please settle yourself.”

Her air of control sends a shiver down Simmons’ spine.

“I’m sure you’re aware Mr. Holmes has negotiations to do with you, Mr. Moriarty,” the assistant continues, “He has some requests around a delicate matter.  He is certainly aware this will require payment and is more than willing to offer a substantial amount.”

She suddenly looks over to Simmons.

“Your silence, of course, is free, sir.”

“Ooh I like this one,” Jim giggles as he studies Anthea 2.0 properly. She was much colder than Anthea 1.0, less emotionally attached to the people she worked for. She probably did it for the thrill and adventure, and if someone offered her enough money she would do whatever you wanted. More than happy with his captor Jim leant back in his chair and looks out of the front window to watch where they were going. “Mycroft knows all too well that money does not interest me, I am fascinated to know what he thinks he has that I would be willing to bargain for.”

The assistant smiles coldly.

“I’m sure you realise it is not monetary funds Mr. Holmes is bargaining with. That is very much beneath him.”

The car turns abruptly, like it has nearly missed an exit, and starts speeding up.

“You see, Mr. Moriarty, my employer is rather sick of having to control your petty feud with his little brother. He is eager to put a stop to it, you understand. And I’m quite certain you would like to be able to pay more attention to that web of underworld scum,” she spits out the word as she leans forward, “to prevent it from falling apart at my employers very adapt hands.”

Her face is now hovering close to Jim’s and it mirrors his mocking expression perfectly. The assistant taps on the driver’s shoulder, then reaches over to grab the police officer’s. The car slows and with immense speed, the assistant opens the door and pushes the officer out onto the road. She closes it and the car speeds up immediately. Around them, the landscape changed to that of a motor way.

“I am to drop you off about three miles from here. I am to suggest you visit 221B. There’ll be tea and perhaps a warm jumper.”

Jim studies Anthea 2.0 once more, not thinking twice about the policeman that was  no doubt now injured that had been thrown from the car. It would have been easier to just put a bullet through his head he thinks, but he suspects this woman does not have a gun of her own. 

He considered his options. Of course he was very intrigued about this proposition Mycroft was suggesting, and no doubt he would keep hunting and hounding him if he did not comply. But then again it was not Mycroft Holmes you enjoyed to manipulate, and as she mentioned, he did have a whole empire to monitor. Although it was incredibly easy to control, Mycroft didn’t seem to realise that the only way to make his ‘web of underworld scum’ fall part would be to kill him and Sebastien. And it was not time to die. Not yet. 

“And what if I don’t?”

“You’re thinking of your little soldier, aren’t you?” the assistant says, “tut, tut, Mr. Moriarty. Would you honestly think he has not been calculated into our plans?”

He hands him a pile of papers, print-outs from a series of email and text conversations.

“Normally we don’t like to keep proof, but we needed this for safety,” she motions to the papers off-handedly, “Proof, Jim, of Sebastian’s continuing association with Mr. Holmes.”

She cracks a wide grin, the first genuine one so far.

“Mr. Holmes implores you to visit Dr. Watson. It’s not a trap - we simply think your little game could use a speeding up, this is your ‘free from jail’ card, we could say.”

“Well I knew that boy was stupid but…” Jim says through gritted teeth, disappointment across his face. He sighed and inclined his head slowly with a definite action, to show his reluctant compliance to the request. 

Jim sifted through all the sheets of paper, swearing every now and again when something big came up in the conversations. Anthea 2.0 was clearly suppressing a smug grin as she watched Jim stress over all the evidence of betrayal. He got so angry at one point that he kicked the back of the seat in front of him and Anthea 2.0 had to look out of the window so that he could not see how pleased she was.

He was acting of course. Very well he noted as he saw the expression on her face in the reflection of the metal of the car. The moment Mycroft had proposed to Sebastien he betray his employer because of a boring threat he had hinted at, Seb had come straight to Jim. He was loyal to the bitter end and he knew that anything Mycroft would do to him could not match the cruelty and torture that Jim could bestow on him. Together, Jim and Seb had fed the secret service with information, some false and some true that they were willing to give up. Like the identity of a rapist that had paid for protection and a new identity. 

This was going to be interesting.

ICI! C’EST ICI! LE FUTUR!

mhoflocationclassified:

jimmoriartyfromit:

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Jim’s poker face gives nothing away.

“You’re in charge officer, you tell me.” The suggestive tone in his voice makes every police officer there incredibly uncomfortable. Jim grins, knowing he has control, without even properly trying. 

Simmons nods to the officers and they immediately drag Jim to a black car that appeared around the corner a minute ago. With darkened windows and a motor what was practically silent, it could only be Mr. Holmes’s car. 

Simmons braces himself and is ready to face the man with the stoic face and the umbrella, but instead a woman walks out. She has a smooth smile and a telephone in her hand from which she doesn’t look up. 

“I want one officer, Simmons,” she orders as though he’s the captain of his squad.

Instead of protesting, Simmons nods and slides himself in, before taking Jim from the officers and placing him in the car.

“Behave,” he growls.

“Mr. Holmes is sadly indisposed, so he sent me to bring Mr. Moriarty,” she nods at Jim, “to a location where he can wait comfortably.”

“Hello Anthea,” Jim beams as he is squashed between the detective and the girl. 

“My name is not Anthea,” the girl replies coldly. 

“Oh you are all Anthea to me,” Jim shrugs. “Would you like to know what happened to the last Anthea I met?” he asks, resting his head on she shoulder which she quickly shrugs off, unable to hide her fear. “Oh don’t worry, I didn’t kill her, just gave her an experience she won’t forget.” Jim bared his teeth.

“You better shut up before I shut you up,” barks the detective.

Jim looks him very slowly up and down and licks his lips, giving the impression he would like to eat him. “I’d like to see you try.”

The assistant raises a calm eyebrow and bares her teeth smoothly at Jim.

“Mr. Moriarty, please. Simmons, please settle yourself.”

Her air of control sends a shiver down Simmons’ spine.

“I’m sure you’re aware Mr. Holmes has negotiations to do with you, Mr. Moriarty,” the assistant continues, “He has some requests around a delicate matter.  He is certainly aware this will require payment and is more than willing to offer a substantial amount.”

She suddenly looks over to Simmons.

“Your silence, of course, is free, sir.”

“Ooh I like this one,” Jim giggles as he studies Anthea 2.0 properly. She was much colder than Anthea 1.0, less emotionally attached to the people she worked for. She probably did it for the thrill and adventure, and if someone offered her enough money she would do whatever you wanted. More than happy with his captor Jim leant back in his chair and looks out of the front window to watch where they were going. “Mycroft knows all too well that money does not interest me, I am fascinated to know what he thinks he has that I would be willing to bargain for.”

The assistant smiles coldly.

“I’m sure you realise it is not monetary funds Mr. Holmes is bargaining with. That is very much beneath him.”

The car turns abruptly, like it has nearly missed an exit, and starts speeding up.

“You see, Mr. Moriarty, my employer is rather sick of having to control your petty feud with his little brother. He is eager to put a stop to it, you understand. And I’m quite certain you would like to be able to pay more attention to that web of underworld scum,” she spits out the word as she leans forward, “to prevent it from falling apart at my employers very adapt hands.”

Her face is now hovering close to Jim’s and it mirrors his mocking expression perfectly. The assistant taps on the driver’s shoulder, then reaches over to grab the police officer’s. The car slows and with immense speed, the assistant opens the door and pushes the officer out onto the road. She closes it and the car speeds up immediately. Around them, the landscape changed to that of a motor way.

“I am to drop you off about three miles from here. I am to suggest you visit 221B. There’ll be tea and perhaps a warm jumper.”

Jim studies Anthea 2.0 once more, not thinking twice about the policeman that was  no doubt now injured that had been thrown from the car. It would have been easier to just put a bullet through his head he thinks, but he suspects this woman does not have a gun of her own. 

He considered his options. Of course he was very intrigued about this proposition Mycroft was suggesting, and no doubt he would keep hunting and hounding him if he did not comply. But then again it was not Mycroft Holmes you enjoyed to manipulate, and as she mentioned, he did have a whole empire to monitor. Although it was incredibly easy to control, Mycroft didn’t seem to realise that the only way to make his ‘web of underworld scum’ fall part would be to kill him and Sebastien. And it was not time to die. Not yet. 

“And what if I don’t?”

ICI! C’EST ICI! LE FUTUR!

mhoflocationclassified:

jimmoriartyfromit:

mhoflocationclassified:

Jim’s poker face gives nothing away.

“You’re in charge officer, you tell me.” The suggestive tone in his voice makes every police officer there incredibly uncomfortable. Jim grins, knowing he has control, without even properly trying. 

Simmons nods to the officers and they immediately drag Jim to a black car that appeared around the corner a minute ago. With darkened windows and a motor what was practically silent, it could only be Mr. Holmes’s car. 

Simmons braces himself and is ready to face the man with the stoic face and the umbrella, but instead a woman walks out. She has a smooth smile and a telephone in her hand from which she doesn’t look up. 

“I want one officer, Simmons,” she orders as though he’s the captain of his squad.

Instead of protesting, Simmons nods and slides himself in, before taking Jim from the officers and placing him in the car.

“Behave,” he growls.

“Mr. Holmes is sadly indisposed, so he sent me to bring Mr. Moriarty,” she nods at Jim, “to a location where he can wait comfortably.”

“Hello Anthea,” Jim beams as he is squashed between the detective and the girl. 

“My name is not Anthea,” the girl replies coldly. 

“Oh you are all Anthea to me,” Jim shrugs. “Would you like to know what happened to the last Anthea I met?” he asks, resting his head on she shoulder which she quickly shrugs off, unable to hide her fear. “Oh don’t worry, I didn’t kill her, just gave her an experience she won’t forget.” Jim bared his teeth.

“You better shut up before I shut you up,” barks the detective.

Jim looks him very slowly up and down and licks his lips, giving the impression he would like to eat him. “I’d like to see you try.”

The assistant raises a calm eyebrow and bares her teeth smoothly at Jim.

“Mr. Moriarty, please. Simmons, please settle yourself.”

Her air of control sends a shiver down Simmons’ spine.

“I’m sure you’re aware Mr. Holmes has negotiations to do with you, Mr. Moriarty,” the assistant continues, “He has some requests around a delicate matter.  He is certainly aware this will require payment and is more than willing to offer a substantial amount.”

She suddenly looks over to Simmons.

“Your silence, of course, is free, sir.”

“Ooh I like this one,” Jim giggles as he studies Anthea 2.0 properly. She was much colder than Anthea 1.0, less emotionally attached to the people she worked for. She probably did it for the thrill and adventure, and if someone offered her enough money she would do whatever you wanted. More than happy with his captor Jim leant back in his chair and looks out of the front window to watch where they were going. “Mycroft know too well that money does not interest me, I am fascinated to know what he thinks he has that I would be willing to bargain for.”

ICI! C’EST ICE! LE FUTUR!

mhoflocationclassified:

Jim’s poker face gives nothing away.

“You’re in charge officer, you tell me.” The suggestive tone in his voice makes every police officer there incredibly uncomfortable. Jim grins, knowing he has control, without even properly trying. 

Simmons nods to the officers and they immediately drag Jim to a black car that appeared around the corner a minute ago. With darkened windows and a motor what was practically silent, it could only be Mr. Holmes’s car. 

Simmons braces himself and is ready to face the man with the stoic face and the umbrella, but instead a woman walks out. She has a smooth smile and a telephone in her hand from which she doesn’t look up. 

“I want one officer, Simmons,” she orders as though he’s the captain of his squad.

Instead of protesting, Simmons nods and slides himself in, before taking Jim from the officers and placing him in the car.

“Behave,” he growls.

“Mr. Holmes is sadly indisposed, so he sent me to bring Mr. Moriarty,” she nods at Jim, “to a location where he can wait comfortably.”

“Hello Anthea,” Jim beams as he is squashed between the detective and the girl. 

“My name is not Anthea,” the girl replies coldly. 

“Oh you are all Anthea to me,” Jim shrugs. “Would you like to know what happened to the last Anthea I met?” he asks, resting his head on she shoulder which she quickly shrugs off, unable to hide her fear. “Oh don’t worry, I didn’t kill her, just gave her an experience she won’t forget.” Jim bared his teeth.

“You better shut up before I shut you up,” barks the detective.

Jim looks him very slowly up and down and licks his lips, giving the impression he would like to eat him. “I’d like to see you try.”

*Le wave* (« L’appropriate threat title)

cumberlicious:

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jimmoriartyfromit:

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jimmoriartyfromit:

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jimmoriartyfromit:

Out in the day light, the fear and concern for Sherlock completely drains from Jim’s body. He was reasonably safe. For now. His leg was aching though, and without his cane he could not get anywhere very fast. As he stumbles down the street he turns to watch his building crumble. What was causing it anyway? Curiousity got the better of him and he walks round the side of the building to investigate.

Jim leant against the wall of the building as he peeped his head round to get a look at the scene. The place was swarming with police, all searching for something in the rubble. Sherlock. Jim laughs at the image of Sherlock trapped under all that brick and concrete. 

Suddenly he hears shots, a black car with tinted windows speeds round the corner and fires at the police. Jim recognises the number plate instantly - it was one of his men! 

“Thanks guys, late and in the wrong place as always.” He pulls out his phone.

Round the back you morons. JM

After a few moments delay the car turns and spins off in Jim’s direction. But Jim does not miss the policemen that follow. Quickly he calls the passenger in the car.

“Do not stop as you pass me, just throw out a cane, that God damn detective took my best one. I must make him pay for that, I was very fond of it.”

Jim tucks himself in the bushes of someone’s front garden as the car drives by. On the opposite side to the police so they could not see, the window scrolls down and a long thin black object is thrown into the air. Jim waits until there is silence on the road again before picking up the item and heaves a sigh of relief as some of the pain is taken off his leg.

“Well,” Jim says as he looks down at himself, “it’s not the same without the chair and my best cane, but I still have the cape and my diamond ring,” which he proceeds to slip onto his middle finger. “It will have to do.” 

Jim straightens himself and begins to walk towards the police, standing right in the middle of the road where they cannot miss him. Slowly, as each police man and woman notices him, it goes quiet, everyone staring at him, not quite believing their eyes.

“Hello boys,” Jim grins, raising his arms high. “Take me.”

“DROP THE CANE,” is the first thing Simmons screams when he has recovered from the shock. This is certainly the strangest situation he has been in, ever. A criminal who was meant to have been crushed by a building is instead standing in front of him in a deep-red cape and offering himself to be taken in. 

His team recovers a second after him and take their guns out. They frisk him quickly, take his cane and his cape. No one notices the ring that he wears, but then they wouldn’t assume the gleaming thing has any meaning.  The man is probably a cross-dresser or something, Simmons thinks. 

That is a second before he realises he is there without a car. One of his colleagues slaps a pair of cuffs on the man and they drag him so he stands less than a meter away from Simmons, facing their boss.

It’s OK, Simmons doesn’t particularly care to have his personal space criminal-free anyway.

“We’ll take him back to the scene, get him into a car there.”

“Do look after that, won’t you?” Jim says as the police take away him possessions. He winks at the officer that puts the cuffs on him, making them uncomfortable, and they lead him to the man that was obviously in charge. 

After this man barks out something about taking him back to the scene, Jim leans into him, and he pulls away when he gets too close but Jim just leans in closer. 

“This new game is going to be interesting,” he whispers slowly. The officer does not understand what he is saying, he assumes it is the ravings of a lunatic. 

Bored with the lack of attention, Jim begins to rock back and forth on his feet and then stumbles, forcing the policeman to catch him. “I really need that cane you know. A bloody soldier got to me.”

Simmons looks at him with a dismissive smile, one he usually only uses when dealing with pre-teens who think they own the world. This man behaves quite similarly, he muses.

“You walked away from the scene without one. You can walk back without one.”

He nods at the two people who are each holding one of the criminal’s arms and they start dragging him back onto the main street.

“If a soldier got to you, you must’ve deserved that,” Simmons continues.

They only get back to the scene ten minutes later and the other teams seems to have disappeared. Simmons swears softly, this isn’t the first time his DI has left without a word. He should seriously consider filing a complaint about staff safety or something.

At the scene, he turns back to Moriarty briskly and says: “What do you have to offer us?”

He keeps a safe distance from the man as his officers push Moriarty roughly to the ground.

Jim does not bother to get up.

“Oh!” he squeals, “GOOD!” He begins to laugh as an officer slaps him round the face. The other kicks him in the stomach but Jim just continues to laugh. The torture continues but Jim acted like this was normal behaviour for him. He was humming some classical tune.

After some time of no response from Jim the police stop abusing him to take a breather, and Jim, who had had his eyes closed, stopped humming and spoke.

“Do remember when I said a soldier got to me? And you said I must have deserved it?” His eyes narrow and he bares his teeth. “I did. I did things you couldn’t possibly imagine.”

Simmons orders his officers to drag Moriarty back onto his feet. 

“I take it we’ll need to take you to meet Mr. Holmes?” he asks. He doesn’t like dealing with the man, but working directly under DI Dimmock and DI Lestrade seems to require it. Honestly, Mr. Holmes just gives him the creeps. 

“Everything always relates to Mr. Holmes,” he mutters.

Jim’s poker face gives nothing away.

“You’re in charge officer, you tell me.” The suggestive tone in his voice makes every police officer there incredibly uncomfortable. Jim grins, knowing he has control, without even properly trying. 

[OOC: Sorry it’s short,wasn’t sure what to do!]

*Le wave* (« L’appropriate threat title)

mhoflocationclassified:

jimmoriartyfromit:

mhoflocationclassified:

jimmoriartyfromit:

Out in the day light, the fear and concern for Sherlock completely drains from Jim’s body. He was reasonably safe. For now. His leg was aching though, and without his cane he could not get anywhere very fast. As he stumbles down the street he turns to watch his building crumble. What was causing it anyway? Curiousity got the better of him and he walks round the side of the building to investigate.

Jim leant against the wall of the building as he peeped his head round to get a look at the scene. The place was swarming with police, all searching for something in the rubble. Sherlock. Jim laughs at the image of Sherlock trapped under all that brick and concrete. 

Suddenly he hears shots, a black car with tinted windows speeds round the corner and fires at the police. Jim recognises the number plate instantly - it was one of his men! 

“Thanks guys, late and in the wrong place as always.” He pulls out his phone.

Round the back you morons. JM

After a few moments delay the car turns and spins off in Jim’s direction. But Jim does not miss the policemen that follow. Quickly he calls the passenger in the car.

“Do not stop as you pass me, just throw out a cane, that God damn detective took my best one. I must make him pay for that, I was very fond of it.”

Jim tucks himself in the bushes of someone’s front garden as the car drives by. On the opposite side to the police so they could not see, the window scrolls down and a long thin black object is thrown into the air. Jim waits until there is silence on the road again before picking up the item and heaves a sigh of relief as some of the pain is taken off his leg.

“Well,” Jim says as he looks down at himself, “it’s not the same without the chair and my best cane, but I still have the cape and my diamond ring,” which he proceeds to slip onto his middle finger. “It will have to do.” 

Jim straightens himself and begins to walk towards the police, standing right in the middle of the road where they cannot miss him. Slowly, as each police man and woman notices him, it goes quiet, everyone staring at him, not quite believing their eyes.

“Hello boys,” Jim grins, raising his arms high. “Take me.”

“DROP THE CANE,” is the first thing Simmons screams when he has recovered from the shock. This is certainly the strangest situation he has been in, ever. A criminal who was meant to have been crushed by a building is instead standing in front of him in a deep-red cape and offering himself to be taken in. 

His team recovers a second after him and take their guns out. They frisk him quickly, take his cane and his cape. No one notices the ring that he wears, but then they wouldn’t assume the gleaming thing has any meaning.  The man is probably a cross-dresser or something, Simmons thinks. 

That is a second before he realises he is there without a car. One of his colleagues slaps a pair of cuffs on the man and they drag him so he stands less than a meter away from Simmons, facing their boss.

It’s OK, Simmons doesn’t particularly care to have his personal space criminal-free anyway.

“We’ll take him back to the scene, get him into a car there.”

“Do look after that, won’t you?” Jim says as the police take away him possessions. He winks at the officer that puts the cuffs on him, making them uncomfortable, and they lead him to the man that was obviously in charge. 

After this man barks out something about taking him back to the scene, Jim leans into him, and he pulls away when he gets too close but Jim just leans in closer. 

“This new game is going to be interesting,” he whispers slowly. The officer does not understand what he is saying, he assumes it is the ravings of a lunatic. 

Bored with the lack of attention, Jim begins to rock back and forth on his feet and then stumbles, forcing the policeman to catch him. “I really need that cane you know. A bloody soldier got to me.”

Simmons looks at him with a dismissive smile, one he usually only uses when dealing with pre-teens who think they own the world. This man behaves quite similarly, he muses.

“You walked away from the scene without one. You can walk back without one.”

He nods at the two people who are each holding one of the criminal’s arms and they start dragging him back onto the main street.

“If a soldier got to you, you must’ve deserved that,” Simmons continues.

They only get back to the scene ten minutes later and the other teams seems to have disappeared. Simmons swears softly, this isn’t the first time his DI has left without a word. He should seriously consider filing a complaint about staff safety or something.

At the scene, he turns back to Moriarty briskly and says: “What do you have to offer us?”

He keeps a safe distance from the man as his officers push Moriarty roughly to the ground.

Jim does not bother to get up.

“Oh!” he squeals, “GOOD!” He begins to laugh as an officer slaps him round the face. The other kicks him in the stomach but Jim just continues to laugh. The torture continues but Jim acted like this was normal behaviour for him. He was humming some classical tune.

After some time of no response from Jim the police stop abusing him to take a breather, and Jim, who had had his eyes closed, stopped humming and spoke.

“Do remember when I said a soldier got to me? And you said I must have deserved it?” His eyes narrow and he bares his teeth. “I did. I did things you couldn’t possibly imagine.”

*Le wave* (« L’appropriate threat title)

mhoflocationclassified:

jimmoriartyfromit:

Out in the day light, the fear and concern for Sherlock completely drains from Jim’s body. He was reasonably safe. For now. His leg was aching though, and without his cane he could not get anywhere very fast. As he stumbles down the street he turns to watch his building crumble. What was causing it anyway? Curiousity got the better of him and he walks round the side of the building to investigate.

Jim leant against the wall of the building as he peeped his head round to get a look at the scene. The place was swarming with police, all searching for something in the rubble. Sherlock. Jim laughs at the image of Sherlock trapped under all that brick and concrete. 

Suddenly he hears shots, a black car with tinted windows speeds round the corner and fires at the police. Jim recognises the number plate instantly - it was one of his men! 

“Thanks guys, late and in the wrong place as always.” He pulls out his phone.

Round the back you morons. JM

After a few moments delay the car turns and spins off in Jim’s direction. But Jim does not miss the policemen that follow. Quickly he calls the passenger in the car.

“Do not stop as you pass me, just throw out a cane, that God damn detective took my best one. I must make him pay for that, I was very fond of it.”

Jim tucks himself in the bushes of someone’s front garden as the car drives by. On the opposite side to the police so they could not see, the window scrolls down and a long thin black object is thrown into the air. Jim waits until there is silence on the road again before picking up the item and heaves a sigh of relief as some of the pain is taken off his leg.

“Well,” Jim says as he looks down at himself, “it’s not the same without the chair and my best cane, but I still have the cape and my diamond ring,” which he proceeds to slip onto his middle finger. “It will have to do.” 

Jim straightens himself and begins to walk towards the police, standing right in the middle of the road where they cannot miss him. Slowly, as each police man and woman notices him, it goes quiet, everyone staring at him, not quite believing their eyes.

“Hello boys,” Jim grins, raising his arms high. “Take me.”

“DROP THE CANE,” is the first thing Simmons screams when he has recovered from the shock. This is certainly the strangest situation he has been in, ever. A criminal who was meant to have been crushed by a building is instead standing in front of him in a deep-red cape and offering himself to be taken in. 

His team recovers a second after him and take their guns out. They frisk him quickly, take his cane and his cape. No one notices the ring that he wears, but then they wouldn’t assume the gleaming thing has any meaning.  The man is probably a cross-dresser or something, Simmons thinks. 

That is a second before he realises he is there without a car. One of his colleagues slaps a pair of cuffs on the man and they drag him so he stands less than a meter away from Simmons, facing their boss.

It’s OK, Simmons doesn’t particularly care to have his personal space criminal-free anyway.

“We’ll take him back to the scene, get him into a car there.”

“Do look after that, won’t you?” Jim says as the police take away him possessions. He winks at the officer that puts the cuffs on him, making them uncomfortable, and they lead him to the man that was obviously in charge. 

After this man barks out something about taking him back to the scene, Jim leans into him, and he pulls away when he gets too close but Jim just leans in closer. 

“This new game is going to be interesting,” he whispers slowly. The officer does not understand what he is saying, he assumes it is the ravings of a lunatic. 

Bored with the lack of attention, Jim begins to rock back and forth on his feet and then stumbles, forcing the policeman to catch him. “I really need that cane you know. A bloody soldier got to me.”

*Le wave*

Out in the day light, the fear and concern for Sherlock completely drains from Jim’s body. He was reasonably safe. For now. His leg was aching though, and without his cane he could not get anywhere very fast. As he stumbles down the street he turns to watch his building crumble. What was causing it anyway? Curiousity got the better of him and he walks round the side of the building to investigate.

Jim leant against the wall of the building as he peeped his head round to get a look at the scene. The place was swarming with police, all searching for something in the rubble. Sherlock. Jim laughs at the image of Sherlock trapped under all that brick and concrete. 

Suddenly he hears shots, a black car with tinted windows speeds round the corner and fires at the police. Jim recognises the number plate instantly - it was one of his men! 

“Thanks guys, late and in the wrong place as always.” He pulls out his phone.

Round the back you morons. JM

After a few moments delay the car turns and spins off in Jim’s direction. But Jim does not miss the policemen that follow. Quickly he calls the passenger in the car.

“Do not stop as you pass me, just throw out a cane, that God damn detective took my best one. I must make him pay for that, I was very fond of it.”

Jim tucks himself in the bushes of someone’s front garden as the car drives by. On the opposite side to the police so they could not see, the window scrolls down and a long thin black object is thrown into the air. Jim waits until there is silence on the road again before picking up the item and heaves a sigh of relief as some of the pain is taken off his leg.

“Well,” Jim says as he looks down at himself, “it’s not the same without the chair and my best cane, but I still have the cape and my diamond ring,” which he proceeds to slip onto his middle finger. “It will have to do.” 

Jim straightens himself and begins to walk towards the police, standing right in the middle of the road where they cannot miss him. Slowly, as each police man and woman notices him, it goes quiet, everyone staring at him, not quite believing their eyes.

“Hello boys,” Jim grins, raising his arms high. “Take me.”