+10: Sweet Serial Killer  -Lana Del Ray [REQUEST]

Request from @the_east_wind

I'm not sure if this is quite what you meant about POV switches but I included both their POVs and 3rd person, like you asked. Anyway, all, enjoy!

-

The first thing I ever killed was love. I killed it during the night. And not just any love. I killed my own parent's love. Watched as it bled and died in front of me. Oh, I love watching things die. It's just... a thrill.

Watching my parents and their sickly love die was the beginning of me and I'm so glad I took that knife in hand, tip toed into my parent's bedroom and plunged the knife into their chests, laughing as they squirmed and gasped in a desperate attempt to go on breathing.

*

Gosh, it's fun. Sitting here; watching all the bodies drop one by one, watching those still up panicking and looking around like a lost child, watching my men stand by the door and ignore them all with small, pleased smiles on their faces.

This is what I live for.

*

Playing him always sends thrills down my spine.

It was impossible to keep a smile off my face when I met him in that pool. It still sends shivers down my spine when I remember the way he almost blew us all up. That would have been a great end for us.

I love a good romantic death. Watching the love leak out of existence more and more with each drop of blood that drips to the ground.

*

Faked it. Of bloody course he did.

But you know what that means..?

I get to watch him die all over again!

*

I think he stole my heart when he pulled that trigger. If only I could have been there to watch the man with so many sides to him put a bullet in that Magnussen's head. Oh, what a thrill that would have been!

I can't wait to see him dead at my feet...

Might have to kiss him first, though.

*

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Red splashes over the grey floor.

"Marvellous, isn't it?" I murmur.

*

I watch with a smile as the blood oozes beautifully from the cut. The gash in his skull is traumatising and utterly gorgeous. The bright red paints his forehead, the contrast on his pale skin something better than I ever imagined.

Lifting a foot, I stand on his arm and press down. His cry of pain is incredibly pleasing. Music to my ears.

I sink to my knees and watch as his eyes start to droop, the life leaving him against his will. He's different to the others. He's not struggling. He's looking at me and all I see is acceptance in his eyes.

Leaning down, I press my lips to his.

When I go to move away, I feel a pressure on my neck. Looking down, my eyes find his gun.

"Stalemate" He murmurs.

I smile. He pulls the trigger.

*

"Well, well, hellooo, darling!" Jim's voice echoes through the pool.

Sherlock thought it rather fitting that they do this here. Where, in various ways, it all started. Where Carl died. Where they first met as Moriarty and Sherlock.

Definitely fitting.

"James" Sherlock greets,  folding his hands behind him.

"So..." Jim's eyebrow go up, a smirk on his lips as his head moves to the side but his eyes stay firmly on Sherlock. "Did you miss me?"

Sherlock's smirk matches the other man's and he rocks up on his heels slightly, making a 'hm' sound. "You know the answer to that question"

"I wanna hear you say it" Jim shrugs, hands sliding into his trouser pockets.

Sherlock doesn't say a word. They just stare for some time. The minutes tick by but neither takes their eyes away and neither of their smirks drop. If anything, their smirks grew as the situation  went on. It was nice to just see the other, be together. It felt right.

This is how it's meant to be. Us. To the end.

Without speaking, they walk closer to each other. When there's a metre space between them, they stop.

"The final problem!" Jim sing-songs, almost coming across as an innocent, overexcited child.

Sherlock gives a quiet laugh. "Yes, the final problem"

Jim's face grows serious then, his hand sliding into his blazer as he produces a gun. He looks at it, as if considering. Then, with a huff and a shrug, he tosses it into the pool.

"Booooring"

He then turns assessing eyes on Sherlock. He looks him up and down in a way that reminds Sherlock of a stylist trying to pick the perfect wedding dress for a bride to be.

"Oh, there's so many possibilities! How do I choose?!"

Sherlock just smiles. Jim had a plan, they both knew that.

Suddenly, Jim launches himself at Sherlock, his hands coming up to his neck. They tumble to the tiled floor, grunting as they do. They roll around, struggling.

Jim's laughing.

It's messy. As if unplanned. It's so them.

They stop moving. Jim's on top of Sherlock with a bright grin and two hand fulls of Sherlock's hair. Giggling madly, Jim lifts Sherlock's head for a second - only to smash it back into the tiles.

He does this repeatedly and Sherlock finds himself smiling.

*

The shoes! They meant something. I can feel it. But what does it mean? How are shoes connected to a murder?

I haven't been this excited since they brought Redbread home in dad's jacket.

*

"Something different..." I smirk.

Different indeed. He's very different. Doing all this to get my attention.

I have to find whoever's behind this. My bomber...

*

James Moriarty. Jim.

Dangerously charming in his own way, intellectual to a point I get shivers, playful and yet utterly serious, and lets not forget that sparkle in his eye that lit up so much when I aimed at the bomb.

He's after my heart.

Even if he's not, I may give him it.

*

Faked it. Of course he did.

I'm so glad to have him back.

Maybe, just maybe, we'll solve the final problem this time.

*

He watches me with a smile as my hair grows damp with blood. It leaks down my face, runs down the corner of my eye - almost like a tear. His eyes follow it intently.

I see him lift a foot before pain explodes throughout my arm as he presses down enough to make a cry push it's way past my lips. It hurts.. but I don't mind. I knew this was going to be my end.

The pressure disappears and when I open my eyes, he has sank to his knees and is watching me. I find it hard to keep my eyes open but I don't fight too much. I want to see him before it all ends.

He leans down and I feel lips on mine.

While he's distracted, I wrap a hand around my gun and place a weak finger on the trigger. As he moves back, I press the tip of the gun to his jugular. He looks down at it, eyes lighting up in understanding.

"Stalemate" I murmurs.

He smiles. I pull the trigger.