Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7550002.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Jim_Moriarty/Original_Female_Character, Jim_Moriarty/Original_Character
  Character:
      Jim_Moriarty, Original_Female_Character(s), Original_Character, Original
      Child_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Dom/sub, POV_Female_Character, Original_Character_Death(s), Bloodplay,
      Knives, Guns, Suicide_Attempt, Orgasm_Delay/Denial, Original_Female
      Character(s)_-_Freeform, Pre-Season/Series_01, Daddy_Kink, Jim_Is_a
      Possessive_Fuck
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-21 Updated: 2016-11-20 Chapters: 3/? Words: 3438
****** State your business ******
by WordlessWonders
Summary
     He was sweet, kind, understanding. He seemed to be saving me, at
     first. But, I guess in the end, we can't even save ourselves.
     Jim Moriarty gave me special attention, I knew that. I just took it
     for granted and now I'm trapped. Trapped, in his world with no
     escape, meant only to be his slave. My only purpose from now on was
     to do as he said- Kill, torture, and fuck. My whole life meant
     nothing more. And I wasn't going down without a fight.
***** Chapter 1 *****
"I'm going to need to be paid in full, Horatio, today."
He sat, lent back in our black library armchair, the one he insists on using on
each and every single time he visited. He kept his gaze on a gold pocket watch,
one engraved with an intricate pattern which seeming had no beginning or end.
The rather expensive looking pocket watch; however seemed to be taking up all
of his attention, as if our predicament was of no interest to him. This was an
idea my parents took great deal in turning around, but one I knew to be a
barrier of emotion. One I used frequently on them myself. 
"The thing is, Mr. Moriarty, is that we won't be able to afford your services
any longer." My father's reply was served with a very nervous smile.
Mr. Moriarty's eyes flickered upwards for a second or two, before returning
swiftly to the pocket watch. He sighed and closed it, sitting up and resting
his hands o his knees as he stuffed it into a pocket of his charcoal suit. His
eyes switched instantly from their bored, unresponsive and seemingly tired look
to one of absolute focus with an intense anger growing like a tigress would
begin in defence of her cubs. His lip began to curl in disgust as he spat the
line with such a dark and unforgiving tone, my father flinched and I turned an
ear from my window sill perch.
"I hope this doesn't mean you won't be able to repay what you already owe for
my services." 
My father is a novelist. However; since his fourth book came out, when I was
five, we have been pushed to the face of the media and the radicals as an
enemy. We are attacked in every way possible, now my brother Thomas and I each
have taken to false identities of poor individual in an attempt to walk the
streets unharmed. This, I felt was unacceptable. That's why, I believe he came.
Mr. Moriarty, that is. He must have seen us walking around, and it is an
unfortunate truth that we are in newspapers and news stories every single day.
I never did question the car that pulled up, just knew I should get in. This
was the first of two moments when Mr. Moriarty and I had spoken alone. As our
first meeting, it was formal. He explained to me that he had felt me to be the
'leader of the pack' and 'head of the household'. He went on to proposition me
with the business we are in now, one he had  hoped to partner with me in, but
one my father swiftly took over. The second was at one of my father's many
dinner events, an excuse in my eyes to show off my mother in a sleek designer
dress. It had been a few months ago, as my father's need to impress the guests
rocketed when Mr. Moriarty had walked through the door. He took me, in his
excitement, rather brutishly by the wrist and dragged me upstairs to change. He
pulled out a dress of my mother's, one definitely meant only for the most
important of dinners judging by the low open front and even lower open back.
The skirt was split down one side leaving very little to the imagination if I
were to walk to quickly or sit down. Simply, I refused to leave the bedroom in
it, out sheer self pride and dignity. My father shouted foul profanities at me
which he will never apologise for and left me lying on the floor in his awful
gown with a bruising cheek and tears crumbling my barriers away. Mr. Moriarty
had entered mere seconds after seeing my father's solemn chance as he close the
bedroom door behind him. He had been so very uncharacteristically gentle. He
had picked me up and silently carried me to my room. He remained entirely
silent as he helped me out of my gown, an act I neither understood nor
questioned, he then pulled me into my nightgown before sitting on the balcony
with me. This was an act I considered to be reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet. We
spent hours that evening discussing several topics conversationally. We spoke
of my father's tendency to impulsive behaviour and how his decanter fuels it.
We then spoke of my mother's place as an ornament for my father's exploits. He
seemed most interested in; however my ability to blend in with crowds, appear
normal. I thought nothing of it, feeling my usual barriers slip away as I
excitedly explained my invisibility in public to him.
"I guess we're going to have to find an...alternative mode of payment."
My father seemed taken aback, his usual brash behaviour gone entirely in the
presence of such a domineering character as that of Mr. Moriarty.
"I have plenty of Jewellery, and expensive clothing, I would be more than
willing to make a tr-"
Mr. Moriarty cut my father off with a mere wave of his hand. Silencing him as
he gazed intently into my father's eyes, a sickening smile played on his lips.
"I will only accept one method of payment. Your daughter."
I stood up and walked straight out of the room. My first instinct was to run;
however I was more than aware the I would most definitely will be caught.
Instead I took one of mother's wine glasses, a bottle of Merlot and my father's
cigarette case out onto the balcony. I stood there looking out at the grounds
of what had been my home, sipping a wine I had no taste for and smoking a
cigarette I had no stomach for, completely understanding why my parents did it
so often in the Iives. 
"Time to go."
There was no sincerity in his voice, and no malcontent in my pace as I followed
him out to a sleek black car without even a sideways glance at the family I
never will, nor wish to see again.
***** Chapter 2 *****
The drive was short, lasting only a half hour drive across the city centre of
London. As we came to a stop, Mr. Moriarty stepped out of the car, gliding
round to open the door for me. He stood there, in front of the door a small
smile playing harmlessly on his lips. I took his hand, and he led me gently;
with one hand on my elbow to the front desk of the lobby.
The hotel was one I had stayed in before. My father had been having a private
meeting with someone, I never found out whom, and he wanted me, mother and
Thomas out of the way. Mr. Moriarty’s mere presence in the lobby caused the
young attendee’s skin to go as white as the bed’s Egyptian cotton sheets and
begin to shake in fear of the man approaching her with a huge, animalistic
grin.
“Brittany, darling! Have you prepared my room for me, just the way I like it?”
“Y-yes, sir. I saw to it myself, just like you asked.” She handed over the key
and ran through the list of instructions she had been given. “Top floor, every
room; each room has identical bedding and ornaments.”
His eyes bled an icy tone at her words.
“Er- w-with the exception of the room on the Farthest corner from the stairs-
that has the larger frame you asked for- and I wore that perfume you requested,
sir.”
His expression had softened slightly, but still held a menacing undertone that
made the whole room on the hottest day of the year seem cold.
His voice was quiet, stood next to him; I had to strain my ears to catch the
quickly uttered words from just above his breath.
“Eau de toilette?”
The young girls face, somehow, faded to a more ghostly shade of white as she
began to splutter and stutter a response that undoubtedly meant she had worn
that, and she wasn’t supposed to.
Mr. Moriarty took out his pocket watch again, twirling it in his hand, before
opening it for the first time today. He stared at it for a few seconds, then
snapped it shut and turned back to face the petrified young girl.
“Room 207, Twenty minutes- and you were showing so much promise.”
He turned towards me again now, showing the same grin he had entered the
building with. His hand found my elbow again and began to, almost forcefully;
take me across to the lift. He let go of me until the lift doors had closed.
His hands came gracefully up to my cheeks, holding me in place. His lips felt
soft against mine, bringing in a tsunami of emotions for the man stood before
me. I felt relief wash over me for the first time in my life, finally I was
free from the pin, the hatred. I never had to hide away in ear again, so long
as I had Mr. Moriarty.
As the lift doors slid open he began to pull away, but my passion at freedom
forced my hands to his neck, preventing him from ending the kiss. It just made
his laugh pierce me deeper.
“My, you have quite shown your heart there, Elizabeth.”
I fell back a few millimetres as I frantically searched his face for some,
reciprocal of how I felt. He just grinned further, draining away all my hope of
a happy life.
He brought his lips gently to my ear, kissing softly before whispering in a
cold tone, everything I didn’t want to hear.
“Oh, Elizabeth, I’m going to enjoy breaking you in.”
He moved slowly, romantically almost, pulling me by my hand into room 206. He
let go of me by pushing me forwards into the room and onto the bed.
“Strip.”
The very command sent a shiver down my spine. I took my cloaked jacket of
quickly, before forcing myself to calm down. I unbuttoned my shirt slowly,
whilst knelt on the bed, my back to Mr. Moriarty. I felt my skin prickle as I
lowered the shirt from the shoulders, a trail of sensation cut across me in the
path his eyes drew across my slim figure.
I slipped off the bed to remove my trousers, peeling away the black, skin tight
denim. My socks came next; I toed them off carefully, not wanting to fall over
in front of Mr. Moriarty. My hands moved to my hips, but I stopped, and raised
my gaze to meet Mr. Moriarty’s.
He was sat on the bed, fully clothed; however his tie and jacket had been hung
on the door and his shirt sleeves neatly rolled up. His eyes met mine in a look
of pure pride and adrenaline. I slid my pants down my legs and stepped out of
them.
“Come over here, now, Elizabeth.” His tone matched that of one my father uses
to make me feel like a child again. I froze.
“Elizabeth, now.”
Fear flew from me as I began to beg.
“Mr. Moriarty- please!”
He just kept looking at me with the same pride, and the same adrenaline fuelled
rush as his gaze forced me to submit to his orders. I sighed, moving slowly
onto the bed, stopping in front of him, on my knees. His hand slid gently over
my cheek, forcing a shudder out of me. Somewhere in the back of my moral line
of thought, I knew this was wrong; however something, somewhere told me to just
keep going- let him take me, use me. I don’t know why, but it felt...right, to
just follow orders.
He leaned in closer to me, pressing his nose into my dishevelled brown locks,
inhaling deeply.
“Mm, Goodness, Elizabeth you just smell gorgeous.”
I whimpered, his hand coming up to form a death grip upon my arm. I tested his
grip by pulling back slightly, only to discover his first grip had been loose
by his standards. In seconds the dull ache of my over worked vein had rocketed
to a state even fire would admire. My breath began to quicken and my eyes
fluttered shut. I felt his hand come into contact with my cheek, leaving a
large red bruise blooming on my cheek.
“Eyes on me, Elizabeth.”
“Please, Mr. Moriarty...”
His eyes closed for a second, as if savouring the taste of my words.
“I do like that title, very...commanding. Mr. Moriarty. Most of my clients drop
the ‘Mr’, but you- Hmm. But, I think I have a better title for you to use. In
fact, I’ll give you a choice. You can call me sir- or Daddy.”
His smile was devilish; his eyes held a darkness of pure demonic nature- I
automatically knew which he preferred. I shouldn’t give in, I thought- but who
was going to rescue me now? I walked away from my whole family and now... now
Mr. Moriarty is all I’ve got left, by my own choice. By my own choice, the only
person I have left in the world is
“Daddy.”
His mouth crashed against mine, his teeth connecting with mine as he completely
overpowered me. I gave in, merely knelt there and allowed him to use me as he
pleased. He guided me, again, with the same gentleness as before off the bed
and stood in front of him. His hands began to caress my waist. His touch left
an invisible trail of pure molten metal, scarring deep into me. Our eyes met
for the briefest of moments, his eyes pure black, mirroring the darkness in
both his heart and intent.
“Mine.”
His voice was low, deep, commanding. There was no choice here; my choice was
set, made. Tears began to stream down my face.
“Yours.”
He froze, staring at me.
“What did you say?”
Panic ebbed its way up me as I repeated myself, with a hand on his upper arm.
“I am yours.”
He threw his head back as he released a high pitched whine, one hand reaching
down to pull out his cock though his fly.
“Elizabeth, why? I wanted to take that from you slowly, show you my world
gently- but now; oh, Elizabeth...Now, I just can’t wait.”
And with that he thrust in to me, in one fluid motion, his zip rubbing against
me painfully as his hips connected with mine. I felt myself being ripped apart.
I had never been penetrated before, but worse I didn’t want this...My body was
dry and on fire, taking him fully on each and every hard, painful, unwanted
thrust.
He kept up his relentless pace, pushing seemingly deeper and deeper into me
until he came, hard, spurting stream after stream of his hot, oozing, abhorrent
come, moaning deep and low from the back of his throat.
He needed no recovery time as he quickly pulled out and tucked himself back
before wrapping his arms protectively around me.
From the next room, I could hear a faint buzzing that reminded me of an
electric drill, or saw.
“Well, I guess Miss Brittany is read for me now.”
His smile was demonic and wrong. He left one last chaste kiss on my abused lips
and swiftly left the room.
My first instinct was to run, but my shaking became unbearable in the cold
room. Grabbing the nearest blanket, I wrapped myself in it, before clambering
under the bed. I sat with my legs pulled up to my chest, my head resting on my
knees. My neck pressed painfully against the underside of the bed frame, but I
couldn’t bring myself to care as a new voice, one dripping with pleasure,
emitted from the next room.
“Brittany, darling- have you missed me?”
I didn’t dare move, listening to the girls sobs and pleads; then eventually she
was silent.
No-one came to my room, no-one talked about me. I was alone. Under the bed.
Hiding.
***** Chapter 3 *****
I opened my eyes quickly, not bothering to let them adjust to the light- what
was the point anyway?
“Coming out yet?”
It was strange, when I registered whose voice was rising from the slight dip at
the end of the bed, he seemed almost soft as he spoke.
I began to move sideways, the nearest exit from under the bed and immediately
cried out as I began to move my legs. Jim was with me in a flash, arms reaching
out to me. His face was stricken with pain and fear.
I flinched before his fingertips even brushed my bare, ice cold skin. He pulled
his arms back slowly, as if expecting me to reach out to his touch. I didn’t. I
couldn’t. I felt the bed above me creak as it was slid effortlessly away from
me, releasing some of the pain in my neck and back. I refused to look up.
I felt his touch, gentle, on my leg. His hands were soft, probably manicured,
but I wouldn’t look.
“Elizabeth.”
His voice wasn’t emotionless, but it wasn’t definably any emotion either. I
still couldn’t look at him. Neither of us spoke, but I didn’t stop him either-
after everything I had agreed to yesterday, how could I? He ran his hands
gently up my legs to my entrance, gasping as he felt the damage. Blood had long
since dried, welding me to the carpet beneath. Tears immediately ran down his
cheeks as he aimlessly tried to form a sentence. He tried to remain gentle, but
I could feel the slight tremble in his hands as he felt the tears in my walls.
His kept his fingers shallow, not wanting to cause me to flinch or tremble more
than I was doing.  He gently picked me up off the floor, wincing more than I at
the sounds of the carpet ripping away from me echoed through the large, silent
hotel.
He carried me out of my room. I took a quick glance at the room next along and
convulsed. Heaped in the middle of the floor lay the young girl from yesterday.
Her jaw lay ripped and gaping, blood oozing down her teeth and displaced chin.
Her eyes were wide, lifeless- none the less you could still see the fear in
them. Her legs curled underneath her, pressing what was left of her face into
the carpet. My breath quickened and my grip tightened instinctively around the
neck of the man holding me- reality dawning, I pushed away from the murderer,
toppling to the floor with a scream of agony. My vision blurred and then
everything went black.
“Feeling any better?”
The voice was soft and caring. It took me a minute to place it.
“Jim...”
I knew I shouldn’t go to him, but the pain shooting through me stopped any
protests as his hand reached to mine.
I slipped back into sleep again, seemingly to continuously drift in and out of
consciousness for god knows how long. Eventually, my eyes focused. The room was
grand- mahogany furniture in every corner, red crushed velvet drapes and a
king-sized fourposter surrounding Jim and I.
He refused to meet my gaze, at first. Kept darting to every atom that faced the
opposite direction to my timid, vulnerable state- shivering and isolated.
I spoke a little clearer, trying to appear firm faced and confident.
"Jim."
He chanced a glance at me, instantly frozen in sorrow as he registered my
hardening heart.
"I'm sorry…"
I lost his gaze once more.
I could barely move, barely do anything from the pain shooting through me.
Wincing, I tried to shift round to look at him. I cried out, collapsing down on
the pillows again. Jim was by my side in an instant- begging his apology and
checking on my wounds. After a few minutes he pulled away, averting my gaze he
explained the damage.
I went paler with every wound he named. I have several internal rips, deep
bruising on my waist and legs and have damaged the vertebrae in my neck.
"You're going to need to rest. A lot. I'm sorry for this, but I… I wish I could
justify it, but… I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I should have been by myself yesterday.
I should have kept away from you, but it's hard to do the right thing when
you're in the wrong place."
I wish I knew how to respond, or even understood what he was talking about.
Instead, I merely gazed at him, wide eyed and completely terrified.
He leaned in close to me, trying to reassure me that he was safe. He placed a
chaste kiss on my lips and left my room.
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