"I will burn down the whole fucking world until you have nowhere to turn but my arms."
Jim Moriarty has always loved fairytales. In particular, grim, macabre ones that end in bloodshed. You've been abused by your step-family for years - in every me...
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"IF YOU WANT MY HEART, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ASK."
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Moriarty arrived home in a flurry of bodyguards. He stumbled through the grand entrance of the mansion grinning, his dark eyes alight with amusement as he called out for you. "Oh Cinderella, I'm hoooome."
The sound of his voice is muffled by the walls between you, but you quickly make your way out of his study, where you had been sequestered away whilst texting him, to join him in the foyer. The sight of the grandiose house doesn't disturb you the way it once had. This isn't imprisonment. You had experienced imprisonment - it was cold, dark, scary and rage-inducing.
You didn't feel any of those unwelcome emotions as you looked at him. "I'm glad you're back." The words slip from your mouth before you're able to stop them, and you try not to react too visibly to the pleased look that passes over his face.
Wearily, you eye his attire. Rich Brook didn't have a great fashion sense - he was all cable-knit cardigans, jeans that didn't fit right and scruffy hair. He was the complete opposite of Moriarty, which was precisely how he had been designed. His very appearance had been composed specifically to sow doubt.
"It feels like every time you come home you're wearing something atrocious." You scoff.
"Mmh, not very kind of you, Cinderella." He retorts teasingly. There's no real bite to his voice - there rarely ever is when he's talking to you. Ice and rage are reserved for others, others who could never even begin to comprehend the two of you.
"For somebody who dislikes ordinary people, you seem perfectly content to dress up as one." You remark.
Moriarty rolls his eyes. "Only for the game."
"Good, because I'm not a big fan of the cardigan."
He sighs, "You didn't like the hat either. There's no pleasing you, is there?"
"I am pleased. When you dress normally that is. I don't know - I just don't like seeing you dressed up as somebody else. Somebody normal. God, it's weird." You stumble over your words, descending into rambling as you glance up at him. You feel moderately more at ease now that he's back at home.
With an almost blank look, he shrugs the cardigan off, flinging it in the direction of one of his henchmen. Said henchman scrambles to catch the garment, snagging it from the air before it has the opportunity to hit the floor. Moriarty doesn't even spare him a second glance - he's much more preoccupied with looking at you.
There are a great many people on earth who would prefer him to be normal - to assume the visage of a normal man, somebody like Molly Hooper's boyfriend, the tourist, the cab driver, or his most recent moniker, out-of-work actor Rich Brook. The world would, undoubtedly, be safer that way.
