A friend of mine sent me this prompt, so I couldn't resist. Need two more people, and seven more votes/comments/appreciation for stories until part II for Wolf, Sir. Thank you guys! I loved seeing things you loved, and got a lot of new stories to add to my library!
He needed a new one, that was what he claimed, at least. And the fact that he'd just got a new order of seven suits the day before didn't bother you in the slightest. You enjoyed scouting the Westwood, Alexander McQueen, Armani, and many other collections, looking for the absolutely perfect ones. By far, Westwood was your favorite. You could go on for days about the unique stitching patterns, and grandeur, yet subtle, look thy held. Even more so when they were on Jim Moriarty. Of all your clientele, he was the one who really fit the bill. Sure, there were a lot of wealthy, handsome, and powerful men that ordered their suits through you, having you tailor each one to their exact measurements, but Jim really took the cake, and well, everything else. For one, he radiated power and control, which was really emphasized when he stood in the sharp suits. And unlike your other clients, secondly, he had a softer side that he had no trouble showing (or hiding when absolutely necessary), which completely embodied the delicate stitching, that you felt was more like embroidery. The suits were truly a piece of art, and so was Moriarty. Which leads us to the final piece, and the kicker, who wasn't just handsome. He was downright sexy. Oh, but t wasn't just enough for him to show off that crazy, so wildly hot it made your heart bleed, smirk of his--Oh no. He just had to make everything in your life worse by removing his shirt. It was only once, and it was likely a total mistake, but he was just so fit. His new Armani suit pants, buttoned but with his belt completely unbuckled, and the suit's jacket draped gorgeously over his toned shoulder. It was like seeing paradise from a dried wasteland of a place, but never being able to reach it. Worse yet, he insisted it was fine that you take his measurements in only the pants, beings you'd already measured the suit's jacket and shirt on him. You'd felt every tidal wave of heat as your fingers brushed against his toned skin. He really did love to look his best, didn't he? In, and out, of clothes. Shaking the thoughts out of your head to explore more into the depths of the suits, seeing this thought pattern was completely inappropriate, you selected on a grey Westwood, hoping to see more in depth of it.

He placed the phone carefully back into his desk, tapping his fingers against the heavy wood. This was his third call to her in the last five days, surely she had to understand by now. The meek little tailor, that he'd originally barely spared a glance, had caught his full attention. And everything she did was in the limelight, to him, at least. He just wanted hers, for her to give him more than just the 'client' look. He knew that look. It was the look he used on all the little people his business was built upon. No, he refused to accept that as the way she saw him. Honestly, there would be no other way for her to interpret the past couple of weeks. Originally, he'd start out simple. Brought her coffee when he came to pick up his suit, sending her a wink and to-die-for (as he'd been assured) smirk as he headed out the door. Still, she hadn't seemed to get the message that he wanted to see her outside of her small tailoring boutique. So, he took it a step further. Made a bold move, more to see how she would react, and to grab her attention. At first, it had worked. He could vividly remember the look she held when she saw him half-clothed. She looked completely helpless, frozen in place for a moment as her eyes drank up the whole of the scene in front of her. Her fingers twitching like she wanted to take a picture or something. He wished. At least then it meant he'd succeeded in planting himself into her head, one other than him just being an ordinary client. His moment of praising himself ended much too soon, however, as she went to work and becoming just as professional as before in even less time then it had taken for it to completely drop. His final, and most desperate, attempt had been just seeing her. He felt weak, and hopeless, for it, but he really didn't have any other choice. She'd started being able to have a client call in their order (rarely accepting walk-in ordering anymore because of her social anxiety), and someone else usually handled the first-seen time, now. It used to be that he'd walk in to order a brand new suit, casually trying to catch her eye while she took her notes. In two days, he'd be back to see what she'd gotten, and though it was only about a fifteen minute appointment, he liked watching her eyes light up as she pointed out different things each suit had that really made them the 'only real choices'. It was so pathetic and innocent, yet oddly alluring. Another day or so, just so she could iron the suit before taking the measurements, and the intoxicatingly fleeting touches of her fingers brushing the fabric. The same touches which had made him regret his second choice of action, because they were even more addicting when it was her soft touch on his skin. The memory of each one was seated into his mind, and all memories of her were like brands on his brain, the pain doubled by the crippling fact that, in her mind, he was still simply another client. One who shared her love for fine clothing manufacturing, yes, but a client nonetheless. A few more days and the suit(s) would be ready to pick up, always with her doing a gorgeous job, and casually complimenting her handiwork. Which was truly magnificent, he'd admit. Many people tried to echo the original stitching when they tailored suits such as McQueen and Westwood, and from what he'd seen in the past, pretty much all failed. Except for her. She was talented, that was simply a fact, and it was one often shown by his inability to even notice if she'd tailored it at all. He often wouldn't know until he actually tried it on to find it fit like they'd seen him into the suit. Truly artful, a brilliant tailor, indeed. But that wasn't all she was to him. No. she had to be this witty, clever woman, whose eyes sparkled the reflections of everything he could name that was considered wonderful, and vibrant with the coloured E/c glass, that she claimed wasn't the work of contacts. But lately, his days with her had been limited, and he was beginning to feel the drawbacks. He'd been through withdrawals of countless addictives, but none had ever been so painful. The aching in his chest made him want to go to hospital, and then thinking of the fact that he couldn't simply waltz in there unannounced, because she was likely with other clients came round, and he longed for someone to just shoot him. It'd be a lot less painful. He was left counting down the days until his next appointment, that is, until he realized that if he ordered more often, he would see her nearly twice the amount. At first, he'd rejected the idea, knowing it'd put so much strain on her that she would probably pass out at her work station. Just in time he noticed that she was actually dying for more work. Said something about her sister wanting her to go out more, and that she no longer had the excuses not to. Pure indulgence, and, it was pluses on both sides. Now, one may think that the statement had been a joke, but when he'd tested the idea out, as it turned, she really did love the excess. So, around they went, once more, him wondering how long it'd take for her to realize she'd seen herself right into his mind, and taken his heart in payment. It wasn't supposed to happen, not really, but it was impossible not to truly love this little timid tailor with kind eyes, and a spectacular attention for detail. (And not just in clothes, either.) At least with this order, it was a legitimate need. He was planning on stealing the Crown Jewels soon, so that guaranteed a court case. A lot of his previous requests had been for dark colours, which never faired well with the jury, and most of his lighter ones were outdated or long gotten rid of.

Oh, the suit you'd chosen was just gorgeous! And the tie. You could swoon at the beauty of it. In open lighting it'd seem like any normal ivory/floral white tie. But, in a more superficial lifting, such as the ones towards the back of your shop, it appeared a more snow or ghost white. One of the best you'd chosen, so far, and from a newer designer you'd found. Plus, since you'd been so psyched to see their line and future pieces, they gave you the matching handkerchief, free. You may or may not have ordered the entire line, first, though. At least you'd have plenty of suits for future orders. For now, you sat waiting for your absolute favorite. The mischief maker, himself. You knew he'd love it, but it didn't stop that tiny voice in the back of your head from strewing doubt into your head like an oil spill. The little bell dinged once, alerting to you that it was definitely him. You never knew how he could slink in so practically silently. You'd seen him do it, it wasn't like he held the bell to stop it ringing or anything, it just stopped ringing after the first one.
"Come on back, Jim!" You called from the back room, and he swore he must've sprinted back. It was rare these days that you actually were the one to show off the suits, too busy. His mind entertained the idea that maybe, just maybe, you'd wanted to see him just as much as he wanted to see you. Even if he really knew it was the suit you were excited for. He slipped in behind you, knowing you hadn't heard him sneak in through the door. He hadn't even seen the suit yet, he didn't care all that much.
"Afternoon, Darling." After jumping out of your skin, your hand connected with your chest as Jim chuckled behind you.
"Chuck!" You spun around, slapping him playfully on the shoulder, your touch sending a welcomed vibration down spine, "You scared me!" Your soft laugh was a work of art, painting its beauty onto the canvas flowing between the silence. Her hand laced around his wrist, her touch flaming his skin, and racing from the point of contact, and all the way through him.
"Here, come look!" She led him giddily to the new suit, her eyes lit up, the joy echoing through her. Yes, she was definitely something special.

Sebastian was going to be helping him around places today, which partially pissed Jim off since that meant he'd be intruding in on his tailoring appointment.
"You know, Boss, if you like 'er, you coul' always ask her on a, I dunno, a date?" The sniper commented, looking at his fidgeting boss through the rear view mirror. Jim really thought Sebastian had lost his mind.
"HA!" He laughed humorlessly, "Ask her on a date? Me? You've really gone off the rails this time, Seb." Sebastian sighed as he parked the sleek black car in front of the small shop. He'd never met the woman Jim raved about, but he might as well have lived with her. He could tell you anything and everything about her- from her favorite suit brand, to colour, and even her exact measurements. He wasn't sure how Jim got ahold of the last one, but he was sure he didn't want to know. Jim spent no time entering the shop, not completely opening the door, but making only one small noise as he did so. Rolling his eyes, Sebastian followed allowing the bells to ring, just as you entered the main area.
"Hi, Jim. I'll be with you in a minute, and yes, room three is waiting for you." You shot him a small wink as you slunk back into the second room. Sebastian followed Jim into the reserved room, somewhat wondering why room three was so special. Jim snuck a glance into room two as he passed. Tux, likely for a wedding. He continued to the room that was nearest your work station. Knowing you'd only be a few minutes, he quickly hung the jacket on the small silver rack, and loosened his tie, and beginning to examine the suit to be tailored. There was something... new about it. The small tie pin of a fox. He didn't remember that from last time, and he just knew you'd chosen it.
"I put a few finishing touches on, and ironed it. Try it on, then come get me whenever you're ready." Her voice was smooth as she told him, and he only got a glance of tied-back h/c before you'd been back in your workspace. He didn't waste any time switching his navy suit for the grey one, and straightening it, just as you walked in. Sebastian nearly laughed at how Jim instantly straightened up.
"I must say, Jim, it suits you." You continued pinning the suit into the proper places, and Jim struggled to hold his tongue.
"Say, y/n right? Your boyfriend must be real lucky, you being a tailor and all." Sebastian pointed out, pulling a laugh from you as  you swiveled the pins through the fabric.
"That's not really my area." You admitted, and Sebastian nodded, a thought coming to him.
"Uh, girlfriend, then?" That was even funnier than the first. Jim glared at him, raising his arms in a 'T' so you could properly get the arm measurements.
"No, um, that's not it either." You continued the pattern of silver pins. Silence hung in the air while Sebastian gave Jim a look that could only be interpreted as 'you're an idiot'. Jim looked ahead, trying to ignore the sniper.
"Well, that's all I need. I'll call when it's ready, Jim. See you in a couple days." And with the all too familiar line, the cycle, repeated.