Chapter Text
Jim Moriarty: 10 Years Old –
Jim Moriarty wasn’t allowed to have toys. In the orphanage where he lived, the pathetic array of second-hand toys were off limits to him. While Jim had the utmost respect for them when it was his turn, he would often ruin them if he saw someone else playing with a toy he had used previously. He wasn’t sure why but seeing the toy in another boy’s hand was just wrong. It was wrong and the toy was his and they should just keep their stupid hands off.
Jim grew up in the orphanage. He never had any delusions of a family whisking him off to a better life like the other children did. He had plans for when he was able to leave this horrid place. He didn’t want a family. They would only get in his way.
When he was ten years old, a family took him home to “see if he was a good fit.” Jim slept on a bed that was so soft it set his teeth on edge. The man and women were always so cheerful around him that it made him want to snap. Eventually they took Jim back to the orphanage after he almost succeeded in killing their cat by tying firecrackers to its tail.
Jim was labeled as “disturbed’ and someone was brought in to “deal with him.” He was forced to talk to someone twice a week in order to get his moods under control.
After the counselor, Mr. Kinkade, brought up words like “emotionally disturbed” and “psychotic” Jim decided to retaliate. He snuck into Mr. Kinkade’s office late one night and destroyed everything on his desk. Jim smiled when he saw the damage he had done. There was something beautiful in it. Something thrilling. Jim licked his lips and smiled. It was a work of art.
He slipped out of the counselor’s office and nearly ran smack into another boy. The boy was short, with blond hair, clearly new. He didn’t have that broken look that the lifers had.
Jim searched for the name. John Watson. He’d heard a few of the boys talking. John’s parents and sister had died in a car crash. John was the only survivor and without any other relatives, he had ended up here. Jim hadn’t bothered to meet him. Cute, blond haired, blue-eyed kids like him never lasted long. Someone was always looking to snatch them up as if they were a precious commodity.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” John told him, pulling Jim from his reverie. “You’ll get in trouble.”
“I don’t care,” Jim snapped back, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Yes you do,” John said levelly. Jim’s eyes snapped up and stared at John. John didn’t back down and his eyes were piercing. They were knowing. Jim didn’t like being looked at in such a way.
“What do you know?” Jim snarled, pushing his way past John.
John reached out and grabbed Jim’s arm. “You’re only going to get yourself in trouble,” John warned.
Jim scowled at him. “What is it to you?” Jim challenged, ripping out of John’s grip. “I don’t need your help.”
Jim stalked off down the hall. He didn’t care if he got in trouble. He didn’t care about anything.
***
The next day, Jim woke up to a commotion. “What’s going on?” Jim asked one of the kids he could tolerate but hadn’t bothered to remember the name of.
“The new kid destroyed the counselor’s office,” he answered before rushing off.
Jim frowned in confusion. What was going on? Had John been spotted outside the counselor’s office and they had just assumed he was the culprit? Why would they do something so stupid when it was obviously Jim?
He made his way towards the counselor’s office. He knew better than to return to the scene of the crime but in this case he didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t going to let Watson take credit for his handiwork.
Jim shoved the door open without knocking. John was sitting in a chair opposite Mr. Kinkade and the lady who ran the orphanage, Mrs. Fairchild. John looked small in the chair as if shrinking in front of the two adults. For some reason this bothered Jim more than it should.
“Not now, Jim,” Mr. Kinkade said, dismissing him.
“I’m the one who ruined your office,” Jim blurted out. He stomped over and stood beside John.
“What are you doing?” John asked, staring at Jim incredulously.
“What are you doing?” Jim shot back in annoyance.
“Boys, this is very serious,” Mrs. Fairchild informed them. “Now answer honestly, which one of you did it?”
“I did!” They both shouted in unison.
Mr. Kinkade sighed. “I’m much more inclined to believe this was Jim’s handiwork than John’s.”
Jim glared at him in response.
“No, it was!” John insisted. “I was upset when Mr. Kinkade said that I couldn’t help me with my nightmares so I – I lashed out.”
“Shut up, you idiot!” Jim snarled at him. “You’re going to get in trouble.”
“I’m fine,” John answered, staring at Jim evenly. Jim blinked in response.
“Just what are you playing at?” Jim asked, unable to figure this new kid out. Why was he doing this? Was he expecting some kind of favor from Jim?
“I’m not doing anything,” John answered, turning away.
“Okay, John,” Mr. Kinkade sighed, shaking his head. “Please leave us while we discuss things. We’ll come up with a suitable punishment.”
Jim followed John out into the hall. John stood with his back pressed up against the wall and Jim just stared at him. He was analyzing. But as smart as Jim was, he couldn’t figure John out.
“Is it true what you said in there?” Jim finally asked. “About the nightmares?”
John nodded sullenly.
“Why are you doing this?” Jim took a step closer to John. He couldn’t understand it. It didn’t make any sense. John didn’t make any sense.
“You look sad,” John whispered, glancing up at Jim. “And lonely.”
Jim’s eyes widened with surprise. He was dumbfounded.
“I’m sad too,” John offered, reaching out and taking Jim’s hand. “I thought maybe…maybe…”
Jim stared at the fingers laced through his own. They were shorter and thicker than Jim’s. Jim swallowed hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been touched.
“I want to be your friend,” John told him softly. He gave Jim’s hand a small squeeze.
Jim glanced up at John. He looked for any sign that John was joking, that this was all just some kind of cruel trick. A friend. He’d never had one of those before.
“Why?” Jim asked.
“I just do,” John said, shrugging. “Maybe then we won’t be sad anymore.”
Jim chewed his bottom lip and considered it. When he finally nodded in consent, John’s face broke out into a wide smile. Jim liked it. He wanted more of it. Jim had a new toy. A friend.
***
Jim could hear crying. That wasn’t so out of the ordinary for the boys’ dormitory where he slept. It’s that the sound of the voice is familiar.
“No. Please.”
Jim got out of his bend and silently crept towards the noise. He tiptoed past the rows of beds, searching for that familiar dark blond hair.
“Don’t take them. Please.”
Jim stopped when he was standing beside John’s bed. The covers had been kicked aside and John was turning restlessly. Jim tentatively reached out and placed his hand on John’s cheek. John body jerked at the contact and then settled once it registered there wasn’t a threat.
Jim crawled into the bed with John. It was a tight fit but it meant the Jim got to remain close to John. He draped an arm around John’s waist and snuggled in close. John huffed out a breath and his eyes opened.
John was crying. Jim found this unacceptable. John should never cry, should never be unhappy. That was Jim’s job and he was failing. John had said they were friends so they wouldn’t be sad anymore. Jim was failing. Yet he was completely at a loss on how to comfort his friend. He’d never had to do anything like this before.
“Jim,” John said, his voice breaking.
“Hi,” Jim responded, shifting awkwardly. What did people do in these situations?
John grabbed Jim’s t-shirt and buried his face against Jim’s chest. He let out sobs that seemed to wrack his entire body. Jim simply held John, trying to think of the right thing to do or the right words to say. Nothing was coming to him.
John’s sobs eventually quieted down into small hiccups. His breathing eventually deepened and the next thing Jim knew, John was asleep. His small hands were still fisted in Jim’s shirt, making sure Jim didn’t go anywhere.
Jim didn’t sleep that night. He kept a watch on John, making sure he would be there if John needed him. John slept silently and deeply for the rest of the night.
Perhaps Jim wasn’t failing after all.
***
Jim Moriarty: 12 Years Old -
Jim felt the hand connect with his face and pain shooting up his nose. He let out a cry and stumbled back.
“Freak,” Carl Powers spit out, hitting Jim again. This punch made contact with Jim’s stomach and he doubled over. His hands stretched out wildly as he tried to grab onto something. They were in the boys’ dormitory and everyone else had gone down to breakfast. Jim was just glad that John wasn’t there. He would have gotten caught up in it as well. Jim didn’t like seeing John get hurt.
“You think just because you’ve got Watson hanging around you that you’re safe?” Carl said with a grin – all teeth. He grabbed Jim by the hair and pulled. “You’ve always thought you were better than the rest of us. We’ll no one wants you either, you little shit.”
Jim winced in anticipation of the next blow. It connected with his jaw and he groaned in pain. He retreated inside himself, focusing on anything besides the pain.
The way John’s hair smelled in the morning.
John’s smile.
Ways to kill Carl Powers.
Places to dump the body so no one would ever find it.
Mr. Kinkade’s voice echoed in his head.
Emotionally disturbed. Psychopathic tendencies.
Another punch and Jim fell to the ground. He was definitely going to have a black eye. He vaguely registered that Carl was screaming at him but he tuned it out. It wasn’t important.
Not like the way John looked when he was sleeping. That was important.
John was important.
Violent outbursts. Lack of empathy or remorse.
A kick came and Jim pawed at the cold ground beneath him. There was a red splotch beside him. It took him a moment that realize that it was his blood. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. He’d spit out the blood when he’d been kicked.
Narcissistic behavior. High intellect. Pathological liar.
Jim heard footsteps and tried to focus his vision, which had gone a bit blurry.
“What’s going on here?” The voice was unmistakable. John.
“No,” Jim croaked out. “John.”
John’s footsteps sped up and then Jim could feel his presence beside him. “Jim,” John said softly, checking him. “Jim, look at me.”
Jim groaned in response. His head was swimming and it felt heavy against the ground.
John got to his feet and spun around quickly, staring down Carl Powers. “I’m going to make you pay for this,” he warned. Something in his voice was different. It was stronger, almost stern. It made John sound older than his twelve years.
Jim tried to stay awake. He could hear noises and crashing sounds coming from the distance. He wanted to help John but his head hurt. Sleep sounded too good. He could only close his eyes and hope someone would come to help John.
***
“This friendship isn’t healthy,” Mr. Kinkade told John and Jim. “Jim seems to be a terrible influence on you, John.”
“No he’s not,” John said defensively. “It wasn’t his fault that Carl Powers is mental.”
“Your parents would be so disappointed to see you fighting like this.”
Jim glanced over at John. John had his hands clenched into fists.
“Don’t talk about my parents,” John snarled. “You didn’t know them.”
“Mrs. Fairchild and I think you two should stay away from each other from now on,” Mr. Kinkade informed them.
Jim looked down at his hands.
“That’s not going to happen,” John said firmly. Jim’s eyes snapped up and he stared at John. He couldn’t help staring at John as if he blazed brighter than the sun. No one had ever stuck up for him before. It was…surprisingly satisfying.
“John, I appreciate your loyalty, but you don’t seem to understand what Jim is,” Mr. Kinkade informed him.
Jim’s smile faltered. Don’t tell him, Jim begged silently. Don’t you dare tell him.
“He’s a psychopath, John,” Mr. Kinkade informed him. “He can't care for another person. I’m sure he manipulated you into this friendship in the first place. He has no compassion for other people, he’s incapable of it.”
Jim glared at Mr. Kinkade. What did that idiot know? Jim glanced over at John, begging him not to listen.
“Jim didn’t manipulate me into anything,” John informed him. “I asked him to be my friend. And he is my friend.”
Mr. Kinkade sighed. “So you won’t listen to me.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kinkade, but you’re wrong about Jim,” John informed him. “And I won’t abandon my friend.”
With that, John turned on his heels and walked out of the counselor’s office. Jim lingered for a moment, wondering if he should say something in his own defense. He decided against it as he didn’t want to give Mr. Kinkade more fuel against him. He followed after John.
John didn’t stop until they were back in the boy’s dormitory. Jim could see where his blood had been hastily cleaned up. The sight of it made John even angrier.
“John?” Jim called out hesitantly. “Are you okay?”
“No,” John said, turning around and pulling Jim into a hug. He was careful of Jim’s injuries, not hugging him very tightly for fear of injuring him further. The knowledge of that made Jim smile. “They’re wrong about you. They’re all wrong.”
“No, they’re not, John,” Jim said with a heavy sigh.
John let out a disgruntled noise. “Don’t say that. You’re not allowed to say that.”
“It’s true though,” Jim informed him.
John pulled back and stared at Jim intently. “You’re my friend, right?”
Jim paused for a moment and then nodded his head.
“If I left, and we weren’t friends anymore, you would be very, very sad, right?”
Jim frowned. “You’re not allowed to leave. Not ever, John.”
John smiled as if pleased by this.
“I’m serious, John,” Jim informed him. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”
John’s smile widened. “I won’t,” he promised.
It sounded to Jim like he meant it and he found himself pleased as well.
***
Jim Moriarty: 15 Years Old –
John liked pretty girls. It was a problem and one that Jim didn’t know how to deal with. Even if he could keep John away from them, he couldn’t stop John looking. He would have fantasies about taking John’s eyes. John would be completely dependent on Jim with no way to see around. Jim would lead him around and take care of him. John would be his completely and his eyes wouldn’t wander.
He would be able to tell John things, whisper in his ears. He would be John’s eyes, his connection to the world. Perhaps he would take it further, remove John’s hands, legs and nose. The only thing John would be reliant on would be Jim’s voice in his ear. John would look so lovely like that – almost skeletal. Jim would keep him thin, only feeding him enough to survive. John would thank him for every mouthful. He would thank Jim for keeping him alive.
No, Jim thought bitterly. John wouldn’t thank him for that. John would hate him. The thought was unbearable. So Jim played nice with others. He’d always been able to fake his way through social interactions. He listened to John prattle on about his girlfriends and pretend to be interested. When he was inevitably forced to meet them, Jim was all smiles and charm. He would never let John see how much this was destroying him. Each time Jim felt like he was being flayed from top to toe. John didn’t even notice. He was killing Jim little by little and he didn’t even see it.