Chapter Text
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ִ ࣪𖤐 Thank you for reading this fic, I have made a playlist to go along with it as I often do. It's made to aid in the reading experience so feel free to listen while you read. Some of the songs may contain spoilers (if you know what you're looking for) but just ignore that for now haha. Enjoy! ִ ࣪𖤐
Symphony Of The Serpent Playlist
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Glistening sunlight burned through the sheer curtains like the flaming feathers of a Phoenix. It illuminated the dark velvet, gold, and crystal-draped parlour. Venus Flytraps danced in the streaming rays, perking their flat heads toward It's source.
Jim Moriarty was lonely. He'd rather die than admit it, but on quiet mornings like this, the truth was inescapable. He was forced to acknowledge the curious prick in his skin. Was he alone in this world? That horrid question had made a home for itself in his unwelcoming mind.
"What are you doing moping over there? Come eat the stew I made you," called Sebastian Moran, his clingy right-hand man.
"I don't need your handouts."
His refusal was swiftly ignored, and soon Sebastian was before him, blowing on a spoonful as if he were a petty child. Jim curled into his ruby seat with a cold glare as it hovered in front of his lips.
"Oh please, you're as thin as a sheet of parchment and by the looks of it you haven't left the house in weeks, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't try to force some food in ya'?" Soon, the spoon of cooled stew was shoved in his mouth. Jim, with much annoyance, swallowed. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Okay, so maybe he was being a tad dramatic. He wasn't completely alone, Sebastian had made sure of that, but when it came to intellect, he had yet to meet his match. As much as he tried, Sebastian couldn't see the world he did. He listened to his ramblings with awe, not understanding. It didn't take long for the praise to get boring.
"Why are you here, Seb? Like I said, I'm not sick, I'm not secretly dying, and I don't need any help. I just got a little caught up in my studies."
"A little?" Sebastian raised a brow, "You have a solar system where the carpet used to be, and I found a dead Fox in your icebox. I am sure this place is riddled with rats by now."
"And here we go again! I told you that Fox was an experiment."
Sebastian stepped over the many books and notes scattered across his floor and tried to avoid stabbing himself in the foot with an abandoned quill. "I don't know how you can live like this."
"It's all very important and organized, so don't touch anything."
He nodded lazily before plopping down on the loveseat and unfolding his newspaper, "Oh, I'm sure."
Jim watched him quietly, the way his golden locks shone in the dampened sunlight like fallen autumn leaves, how his crooked teeth bit down on his bottom lip and rolled it between them. His eye caught a glimpse of a face plastered on the back of the newspaper he held. Its dark curls were like swirls in a Van Gogh. The man hadn't stuck around for a proper portrait, resulting in a crude sketch.
"Who's that?"
Sebastian followed his gaze, "Hm? Oh, Sherlock Holmes. Calls himself a consulting detective."
Birdsong echoed through whistling leaves and snuck through the open window. Jim, already bored with his inquiry, glanced outside. The singer was nowhere to be found, but a murder of cawing corvids perched on the branches of a large oak in the front lawn. They threw their angular beaks to the side to reveal strangely human eyes. Irises of blue, brown, and green. He watched them dig their inky talons into the roof and poke their beaks between the shingles. If he were any good with a paintbrush, he'd make stroke after stroke trying to emulate their otherworldly beauty.
He envied their freedom. For if he had wings, he'd fly far away and find a comfortable place to rest for a while in the forests of old. That sounded peaceful.
Sebastian left not long after with an impolite chug of his tea as if it were cold whiskey. With him gone, Moriarty retreated to his bedroom. He collapsed into the warm sheets and allowed his headache to lull him into a deep sleep.
Tap...tap...tap...
Moriarty rubbed his face into the cold comfort of his silken pillows. His white blouse slipped off his shoulders as he pressed his body into the sheets and forced himself back into dreamland.
Tap...tap...
"What!?" He roared, throwing his head toward the window in question.
Another pebble hit its foggy exterior, and Moriarty finally got to his feet, propping open the window to peer down at his tormentor.
Sebastian dug his boots into the muddy grass with a smug grin, "Evening, care for a stroll?"
Sebastian led him through the empty midnight streets with the cheerfulness of a man with nothing to fear. Eventually, he was led to a small alcove overlooking the coast. The waves glistened under the moonlight with raw elegance. Sebastian brought his hand up to cup the one hugging his forearm, dragging his fingers over every bone and vein. Moriarty allowed the touch for a while, finding comfort in its gentle embrace, until finally he grasped the hand and hovered it before his lips, placing a gentle kiss to the cold skin.
He had the hands of a survivor, a soldier. It was a rare occurrence they sat still, and yet under his sole affection, the shaking slowed. After a moment, he dropped it and left their bubble of comfort to lean against the stone fence overlooking the water. He allowed the salty wind to brush past his face with a hesitant smile.
"So, was it worth it?"
He scoffed, "I suppose."
Sebastian joined him by the edge and looked out at the sleepy seagulls, "I'm glad I could get you out of that damn house, it's eating you alive. A monster of your own creation, but a monster I'm willing to kill for you, just as I always have."
His smile grew, "My brave knight. You don't always have to fight my battles for me."
"You've fought enough."
Tilting his head down, he caught a glimpse of the street directly below. There was a large group chatting under a solemn lightpost. He could feel the tension emanating from the scene. Eventually, a stretcher was wheeled out of the darkness, holding a cloth-draped body.
"See something interesting?"
"Is that him? The detective from the paper."
The two watched the mysterious figure as he examined the body. He brought his magnifying glass close to the victim's face with a scrunched nose and lifted its slack eyelids.
"I'd assumed so," Sebastian began, "he sure has an odd way of doing things."
In the glow of a smoking lantern, Moriarty caught a glimpse of the man's face again, when suddenly, nausea struck him. Somewhere in his mind, a lock snapped off, and a door to previously forgotten memories swung open. With a gasping breath, he stumbled back. Disbelief clouded his vision. It couldn't be, could it?
Sherlock...with his long overcoat and cool demeanour, that Sherlock, the Sherlock.
How...interesting.