Chapter Text
He had come for a drink. Double whiskey, neat.
He should have known better.
New York had been fun in its day, but he was ready for a new town. New fun. But trust the seductive London to lure him in to the one place he should never have gone.
From his booth in the dark corner of the club, the room hazy with smoke, James Moriarty lazily eyed the crowd, evaluating his competition. From what he could see of London’s underworld, it would be an easy piece to take the crown for himself from these small time gangsters.
That is, until his roving gaze landed on a table near the center of the room. A circular booth occupied by three. A blonde-haired woman with a sweet smile and murder in her eyes who was whispering into her man’s ear something no doubt inappropriate for a public setting. Her gown was a shimmering black number that emphasized an hourglass figure and hid no less than three deadly weapons. And by the way his finger stroked the rim of his glass, her date was a sure-shot, as well.
But it wasn’t the blonde, canoodling couple that piqued Jim’s interest.
It was the lone wolf sitting beside them, arms on the back of the booth, surveying the club as if he owned it. His hair was curly, but he had made a concerted effort to tame them back and his suit was of the highest tailored quality.
This, Jim deduced, was the King of London.
And it would be Jim’s pleasure to dethrone him.
The man started to turn his head in Jim’s direction. But then a heavy, sultry beat began and an excited hum grew through the crowd. The man’s gaze immediately flew to the stage.
Jim quirked an eyebrow and took a sip, intrigued, as the lights dimmed and the music began. If this man ran the show, now would be the ideal time to go snoop about for more information, while he was distracted by the performance.
He had moved to the edge of the seat, about to slip out, when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.
In a dress that threatened to come undone with one strategically place cut of his blade, she stepped out onto the stage and the lights fell on her. Her long brown hair covered half of her face and she lowered her head, peering out at the crowd through half-lidded eyes, a sinful smile playing on the corner of her red lips.
As soon as she began singing, Jim was hers. Mind. Body. And whatever part was left of his soul.
He sat back in his seat and watched, entranced, as she serenaded him, her beautiful voice pulling him in like a siren seduces a sailor. Her hips swayed to the beat and she teased him with a flash of skin as she stepped down into the crowd.
Men and women alike followed her with their eyes, Jim silently promising to kill each one that dared touch her.
But when she drew closer to the king, Jim narrowed his eyes in realisation. As soon as she locked eyes on the lone wolf, it was as if everyone else ceased to exist. She sang for him.
A burning rage filled him.
As her fingers trailed seductively across the king’s broad chest, she smiled. Not a seductive smile, but a genuine, loving smile. The king caught her hand before she could move out of the way. Her song didn’t waver as he pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, his eyes never leaving hers.
There was no doubt in Jim’s mind that the two of them were deeply devoted to the other.
A wicked grin spread across his face.
He had always loved a challenge.