Greta //(A BBC Sherlock: Moriarty Fanfiction)

Chapter 18: "I will literally punch you in the throat!"

AN: Hey! Just wanna clear up some things that may be confusing or annoying. I HOPE that you don't feel this way, but if you do...KNOW EVERYTHING I WRITE IS INTENTIONAL! I really hope you don't feel like I make James talk too much about Greta, but I want you guys to see how obsessed he is with her. All he wants is a normal relationship with Greta so that's all he thinks about. 

I write what I feel he'd think. He's still a psychopath as established in the last chapter, but all of his insanity is caused by his never-ending obsession with her. IT IS ALL INTENTIONAL I PROMISE! I feel his original character would cling onto her like his last chance at redemption I feel everyone (even insane and murderous characters) want in life. Even though he (and Greta) explain to you readers, that life is boring to them. 

Life is boring to me too. 

Unless you honest to goodness have something to live for. 

They have each other, and James Moriarty will never let go of that fact. I'm just establishing the idea that he feels that way. 

HAPPY READING!!! (sorry bout the rant) 

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Moriarty POV- 

-past, one week later- 

I had seen Greta almost everyday, just hanging out with one another and getting to know each other. Well, if I'm honest, I was mostly getting to know Greta, not the other way around. 

I always stopped by the store, and sometimes I got there before she did which was awkward hanging around Calvin because Maurice was normally gone. I never tried to make conversation because he annoyed the crap out of me already, and I was never properly introduced to him. 

I think her face was priceless when she came in to see me sitting in her chair with Maurice's glasses on the tip of my nose, and I helped some costumers on my own. Calvin was rolling a joint across the road. He even asked me if I wanted to come with. Multiple times. When I responded with a gun to his face, that was the end of it. 

Yeah, I know. I'm in America, trying to get some from a girl, and I'm carrying a pistol. The ultimate lady-getter. 

But I am a criminal, so you can't expect me to be perfect. But I sure as hell am close. 

Whenever I wasn't around her, I was around the store, hoping to get a peek of her every now and then. I tried to spy on her from the huge window that Maurice was staring at us from a couple days ago, and when she'd look my way, I'd disappear from the other side. When I returned to stalking, I had a mini-heart attack when Greta had her face pressed against the glass, making a face right in front of me.  

Today was the day before I left for London once again, and I was really stressed out because I had grown to like Greta the moment I actually met her. 

I was more than infatuated with her, and I don't know if I can go a day without talking to her. It had become a normal thing in a matter of one week, which shows how fast things have gone and how well I've hit it off with her. 

Most of the girls I've ever met were one-nights, one-times, one-conversation, one-deed. Greta was an eternity in an hour. She was more than just a woman to me. She was way more than Greta Levine, and she was more than enough for me. 

I had decided I was going to do something, no one would ever picture James Moriarty to do. Something that never in one hundred years would I dare to do again. 

I would ask her on a real date. 

It seemed like the only way to preserve the relationship I wanted with Greta. Taking the next step.