Fake Death - Tumblr Posts

Can I have the prompt 3 ‘Stay with me” with Moriarty please ? 😍 thanks for your hard work you are my fav writer ? ❤️

Thank you for your sweet words, I did my best

Rating: G

Category: F/M

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Relationship: Jim Moriarty/Female Reader

Tags: Imagine, Fake Suicide, Fix-It, Sherlock And Moriarty Need Some Help

Words: 1845

Notes: I’m not a native, please, forgive my mistakes. Gif is not mine. I hope you’ll enjoy it

“What the… Ok, could you repeat it more calmly, please?”

The two supposedly geniuses facing Y/N shared a sorry look. They seemed to think the explanations they were giving were the simplest thing in the world, really. Y/N wasn’t stupid, she should be able to understand. Bringing his hands to his temples, Moriarty started again, slower:

“Sherlock and I are not enemies anymore.”

The Detective enchained:

“Jim explained me I had been rigged by my sister…”

“What? You have a sister?”

Sherlock looked at Y/N, puzzled.

“Y… Yes! But it’s a too long story to be told right now. As I said, Jim had been manipulated by my sister to commit all these crimes and…”

“So, there is a purpose to all of this, finally?”

“Could you, please, stop to interrupt me and listen to the explanations you asked for?”

“Sorry.”

“Well. What… What was I saying?”

Moriarty looked positively ready to burst.

“You were saying we’re not enemies anymore because your crazy sister forced me to be a monster.”

“Exact. So, Y/N, Moriarty isn’t really the monster, you see? I have to help him.”

Y/N was very sceptic but, well… Maybe the rest of this explanation would be more convincing…

“And how will you do that?”

“With your help.”

Of course. Y/N wasn’t even surprised, she wouldn’t be standing on the rooftop of Saint-Barts Hospital, stuck between a consulting Detective and a consulting criminal who had deadly played cat and mouse for months if her help wasn’t needed. But, how she would extract these two jerks out of this mess, that still was a mystery.

“So, you suppose me to believe you when you say this man isn’t a dangerous psychopath, because your unknown sister is the dangerous psychopath, and you want me to help you. Tell me, how can I help you? Do you want me to miracle you both away? Preferably far, far away from here, where both of you won’t be such a pain in the ass? On the Moon, maybe?”

“No.”

“It’s simpler than that.”

How can one be as clever as them and don’t understand sarcasm… Another mystery.

“I do hope so!”

“I will phone to John…”

That’s a first bad idea.

“… And make him believe I will jump from the roof…”

That’s so much a bad idea…

“… Because Moriarty forced me to, otherwise, he would kill all the people I care for.”

At that, Y/N throw an outraged glare to the criminal, who started to fumble

“That’s how the plan was supposed to go…”

And that was supposed to excuse everything, of course!

Sherlock resumed his explanations:

“But, before that, he was supposed to kill himself…”

Ah.

“… Since it’s the stupidest idea I never heard in my whole life, we will stop all these nonsenses and do it my way.”

Here, Y/N agreed with Sherlock. How all of this was presupposed to work?

Then, the curly genius turned to his new not-enemy and conversationally asked:

“Are you sure this sister you’re talking about is really this genial?”

Moriarty answered, with a disgusted shudder and a horrified face:

“She is. She is… Horrible…”

There was a moment of hesitation. Then Sherlock spoke again:

“Ok. So, I will shoot in the air to be sure the gunfire is well heard, Jim will scrunch in a pill of faked blood and lie over there.”

For more emphasis, he gestured to a part of the roof.

“I will call John, tell him that all of what Moriarty said was true, then I’ll jump of the roof, then…”

“Excuse me?!”

Obviously upset by being interrupted once more, Sherlock snapped:

“What is it this time?!”

Was he really serious?

“Well, where should I begin? How do you want to make doctors believe he’s dead while he’s not? I know you find them stupid, but they’re not this stupid. Why do you want to tell John you’re really an impostor? Why the f*ck do you want to jump off this bloody roof? And how am I supposed to help you in this madness?!”

Sherlock could have been upset if hadn’t been as happy to show off, even in a moment like this.

“Doctors will believe Jim, here, is dead, because, just before scrunching in a pill of fake blood, he will take another medicine made from rhododendron – I did it myself, don’t forget I’m a chemist – which will slow his pulse until it’ll be undetectable during a good hour. Then, when he will be declared dead, Molly will take care of his “corpse” and help him to escape the morgue. I want John to believe I’m an impostor because I need him to play the game, people must believe Jim and I are really dead, or he will be in a great danger. If I explain him all the plan, I know him, he will jeopardize everything. So: I’m an impostor who killed the man who had made discover the trickery and I committed suicide, according to my sister’s plan. He will be sad… Maybe. But I know someone who will make sure my honour will be restored afterwards. I need your help to exfiltrate Jim from London once he will be out of the morgue. Is this all right?”

There were no words to tell at what point this wasn’t all right! But it seemed Sherlock had been tired of giving explanations because he answered a “All right” at his own question before squeezing Y/N’s shoulder, then Moriarty’s hand, shooting in the air and… Jumping off the roof. All of this in something like a minute. Maybe one and a half. Panicked, Y/N was rushing towards the edge of the roof to see if Sherlock had really been able to challenge the laws of physics when she heard a loud thud behind her. Moriarty, covered with fake blood, had just swallow the rhododendron-of-death pill. The only thing the two lunatics had forgotten to tell her was what the hell she was supposed to do right now! Since she didn’t want to be caught on this roof with a corpse (even a fake one), Y/N decided to go down the stairs as quickly as she could and to hide in the morgue with Molly waiting for her hour. Waiting for everybody except Molly goes out, hiding Moriarty in a mortuary bag, bringing him to the basement, then driving the car as near as I’ll be able to, shoving him in the passenger seat, making a detour by a clothing shop and then… Then…

Y/N didn’t know why she was doing all of this. She didn’t owe anything to Sherlock, they were barely friends, not to mention Moriarty. However, Y/N was oddly happy to know the criminal wasn’t the one he pretended to be, strangely willing to believe there was, at least, a sparkle of humanity within him; maybe more. No one could become this cruel for not apparent reason. There must be a story, a wound somewhere to explain all of it. There must be something to fix, something to listen to, something to understand. Understanding… How most people were ready to judge and condemn before even trying to understand, to put themselves in the place of the person in front of them, was scary. That was a shame. And Y/N didn’t want to be part of these silly people. That’s why she had decided to help the criminal.

Two hours after having lived the weirdest moment of her life, Y/N was welcoming Moriarty in her car: so far, so good. After a stop to a shop to buy some decent clothes to the man, she was quietly driving them both to the address he had given her when he interrupted her thoughts:

“Are you scared of me?”

Y/N take advantage of a red traffic light to turn to examine the man. There was definitely nothing to be scared of.

“No.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Neither.”

“Why are you doing this, then?”

Y/N let out a sight.

“Because I won’t be able to trust you until I give you a chance. Because Sherlock seems to trust you… In his own way. Because I couldn’t let you die for real in the morgue? But if you’re not ok with that, you still can get out of my car. I’m rather tired.”

That was maybe a little harsh. But it hadn’t be a good day and Y/N was sure the criminal had heard and said worse.

“I like you.”

That was unexpected, to say the least. Blushing slightly, Y/N stayed focused on the road and groaned a little:

“Much better for you…”

When they arrived at their destination, Y/N was ready to leave as soon as Moriarty would be out of her car. Another surprise came when, instead of leaving, he started to fidget with his hands and throw a look of frightened Bambi to her. Well… Next time Y/N will step on another dimension, she would be thankful to someone to inform her.

“What is it?”

The words came far less roughly from her mouth than before.

“I… Hum… Stay with me. Please?”

There were countless good reasons to say “no”. Countless. The answer was already on the tip of her tongue when she remembered why she was here. It would be difficult to help him without talking to him, without opening up to him, at least a little.

“Eh… If you want to beat me to death, let me get out the car first, or your seats will be all ruined…”

A chuckle escaped from Y/N lips.

“It looks like your methods, not mine.”

Well, that wasn’t something very friendly to say to a frightened Bambi…

“I don’t know your methods, maybe you’re worse than me? You do understand I’m on the car of a perfect stranger, all at your mercy? I’m the victim there!”

But frightened Bambi wouldn’t make jokes, would he?

“If you’re a victim, I’m a mermaid… And if you answer I am one because I’m half woman, half tuna, I will forget about the state of my seats, I warn you!”

“I never would say a thing as rude as that. Especially not to someone who’s helping me. Especially, especially not to a pretty woman like you. You’re really a mermaid, though, half woman, half goddess…”

Was he… Was he flirting? When he answered to the disbelieving look on Y/N’s face by a wink, she had been sure about it. James Moriarty was flirting with her. And she didn’t hate it…

“Ok, I’ll stay with you a little. But just because I need a cup of coffee to stay up, don’t even think about anything else!”

“If it’s what you want to believe, beauty, that’s ok.”

Another blush made his way to Y/N’s cheeks. That had been a hell of a day, sure, but maybe it wasn’t the weird end of a strange story; maybe it was the very beginning of another far sweeter one.

***

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