Work Text:
you are not born james moriarty
you have another name, pretty and cute , fit for a princess when all you ever wanted was to be the king/queen of the world
you are 13 and you have long hair,
you sit with your knees spread, a smirk on your face, and you kill a boy
you change your body to make it easier
you probably could do it the black market way but it’s amusing to sit in front of the therapist and practice being the perfect man that he wants to see
years later , the act is called jim moriarty and fools even the most observant man on the planet
you wish there was more time to show him though
putting on the wig and the red lisptick, the femme fatale you
you imagine his face, shocked for a millisecond then regaining composure
the calculations clumsily hidden , what sex under your westwood skirt (no but really, the women suits are even better than the men’s), are they real breasts, jim moriarty, crossdressing villain ?
but when he says « not a man, but a spider », you have trouble not being pleased
then it is the end and you think of how they would tell you that it’s an accomplishment to die as a man
and how the only thing you would do is laugh in their faces