Chapter Text
Jim Moriarty died twice. Once when he was eight, and again when he stood off with Sherlock at thirty five.
In the eyes of the public, Jim Moriarty will go down in history as the man who built a syndicate and died at the hands of a genius on the right side of the law.
But Jim Moriarty is, and always will be, the strongest and kindest boy alive James had ever known.
James Moriarty died twice. Once when he was six, and again at thirty three under his brother's name.
James Moriarty was six when Jim died at the hands of their father. Jim had tried to protect his younger brother from harm, and had paid the price for it.
A broken neck from being thrashed around like a rag doll had done the eight year old in. That's when James first experienced rage. That's the day he knew he couldn't be kind. Not if it meant he had to suffer the death of the people he loved. Police arrived to find a boy covered in red clutching his older brother's hand with a vice grip.
The lead officer at the time, DI Sylvester, was familiar with the poor family and tried to talk the boy into separating himself from the corpses. "James? That you kid?"
"Me? James?" He giggled hysterically, shaking his head as if that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "No, James is dead. Can't you tell?" The boy paused, then frowned. "No, wait, you probably can't. Everyone always gets us confused." He gave a gap toothed smile, and puffed out his chest. "But I did good, didn't I? I killed the bad guy that killed James."
Sylvester eyed the adult behind the now dubbed Jim, and then back to the boy. He nodded very carefully and crouched low, "Yea, you did good kid. Now how about you come to me and we'll get you all cleaned up, okay?"
Jim frowned again, shaking his head. "Why? I'm fine right here where I am."
"Maybe, but you might not like the smell after an hour or two."
"I've been here for an hour and a half."
"I'm sorry."
"Why?"
Any human being with sound judgement should've sensed the warning signs right there and then. The danger the boy could be to society and the harm he might be to himself or other people if he isn't rehabilitated properly, but all Sylvester could see was a traumatized little boy who defended himself after watching his father kill his own brother.
Sylvester swallowed and extended his hand to him. "You shouldn't have to be here at all."
Jim laughed at that. He laughed and laughed and laughed until he'd fallen over on the floor, covering himself in even more blood than what he already had on him.
The DI moved, hoping to scoop the boy up, but Jim sat up and snarled at him. Sylvester recoiled, jumping back to give the boy space.
"Don't touch me." The boy said darkly. He then got up, his entire body soaked in red, and walked purposefully out of his house. "If any of you stupid melonheads need me, I'm going to be at Ms. Daley's house next door to take a shower. I stink, and you know it." Jim said loudly as he walked out.
Sylvester couldn't make heads or tails out of that, and decided to let it go to work up the report on this.
The court case itself didn't take long. Jim was absolved of any guilt on the matter, both legally and mentally, and the record was sealed and expunged as soon as he could get it approved.
Jim walked away gaining two things, his brother's name, and the freedom to disappear as he pleased.
Now, we begin the story of Moriarty and how he rose from the ashes to make an empire only to watch it all implode from the inside out. If there's one thing you should know, this is not a story about triumph or hardship, this is a story about survival and how far people are willing to go to sustain that survival.