#justice for the honey-sipping heiress

[hotshotblackburn]

Another in my 'fan FL spouses' series! Even though Hotshot would never divorce his dear Companion in Amber, I always felt a bit sad that the Struggling Artist and the Honey-Sipping Heiress were relegated to 'joke' and 'never appears again' after their respective relationships while the Struggling Artist's Model and the Honey-Sipping Jewel Thief got to become full spouse options - complete with character development through their upgrades!

So these were an attempt to look at what could have been. The Artist's line references how he'll actually do the illustrations ("in fanciful colour, and only [...] a misplaced leg or tail to a handful of plates") for your Complete Account of Frogs, Toads, and other Croaking Beasts if you have him employed at the lab, while the Heiress's line reflects how...well, though you can keep seducing her in Veilgarden, she never appears again anywhere else in the game! Forgotten by all...

These were originally made in text form prior to the release of the Promethean Rogue and Incendiary Tastemaker, so no second-tier upgrades for them yet. One wonders where they could go further...

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Sherlock (BBC) Commission for @missfurr 

Pairing: Moriarty x OC (Belladonna Grimsbane); specific headcanon

Title:  In The Garden of Aphrodite

Her pleasant smile never wavered for even an instant, delicate, deliberate mannerisms giving absolutely nothing away to her guest. Indeed despite the bizarre expressions and somewhat antisocial tendencies he had displayed throughout the impromptu afternoon tea meeting, she had remained the pinnacle of grace and poise.

A hostess must never disgrace her guests, unless of course, they perform an act so vile as to be removed from pleasant company. Or so her mother had stated, many years ago. It was quite the motto to live by when hosting dinner parties and the like for those of higher society… and sometimes those of the lower tiers too.

She blinked slowly, her mouth moving of its own accord, perhaps discussing some carefully-concealed scandal of high society that seemed pertinent to her guest’s inquiries. Despite her abundant hospitality, he seemed rather bored, detached and bordering on belligerent throughout the whole affair; as if he would much rather she have met him at the door with the answer he sought provided instantaneously, and then silenced herself so he might be on his way.

Her guest fidgeted with his coat, as if it were uncomfortable or her household unseasonably warm; though from the expert cut of the clothing, and the cool chill of winter outside, neither assumption could be true. Continuing to speak, she offered a tray of small sandwiches, pastries and assorted biscuits for his perusal; all carefully selected to pair well with his tea. Absently, he took a cucumber sandwich and nibbled on it without any real enthusiasm; perhaps simply to have a counterpoint to the well-sweetened beverage.

The other gentleman had excused himself to the bathroom several minutes previously, leaving them alone; a false pretense, of course… but it was no matter. She didn’t mind if he rifled through all her many drawers and possessions, whatever it was that he did manage to discover would be ultimately… inconsequential. Besides, if at least one of the servants didn’t have a covert eye on the funny little man right this instant, she might have to fire a few for negligence...

“I see that I am boring you,” she pauses her ceaselessly positive patter, and tilts her head, widening her eyes in just the right way to appear hurt by this. She flutters her eyelashes, as if forestalling tears, and feels a cruel thrill of delight when the man before her shifts uncomfortably. Expression pained, slightly unsure and uncomfortable as to how to react to a woman he had clearly offended.

“No, I-...” Mr Holmes visibly grasps for the right words, tone suddenly awkward. Intriguingly, in direct counterpoint to how authoritative he had been earlier when discussing the investigation he was pursuing; how monotonous and somewhat condescending he had been, as if she could not even fathom the depths of his words. Without his little doctor friend here to guide the conversation away from potential social faux pas, he was at a loss for how to react.

She had never been inclined to his type, the boring self-worshipping gadabouts, the ones who were always first to look down upon others without a second thought. Whose words were weighted to drag others down, while placing themselves on a pedestal in their stead; and always, well self-assured that it was their right to do so for one reason or other.

With trademark charm, Belladonna Grimsbane, heiress to the vast fortunes and companies afforded to her by birth, simply smiled. It was perfectly warm and inviting, yet hollow; well-honed from years of being a media darling, the talk of the upper crust of society. Something to put him at ease, to soothe over the momentary disruption with practised ease; after all, even one such as she hardly thought it fair to overexert a gentleman in his twilight.

He relaxes, shoulders losing their awkward tension for but a moment, before a shattering crash is heard through the floor above; and he reflexively jerks his head back to stare upward. She can see how his lips part to call for the other, as he rises instinctively, knuckles white in what must be fear, or perhaps merely concern?

Delicious. It was the only way to describe the sudden look of fear that flashed across his pale, arrogant features, as his knees trembled. The weight of his body suddenly insurmountably cumbersome without warning, forcing him to collapse backwards upon the lounge in wide-eyed shock. Mouth opening and closing like a fish trapped on dry land under the relentless sun, words failing as his throat seemed to close off all air and every almost breath became a gargantuan effort for his weakening body.

Had she deigned to touch him, for certain his skin would have felt as a brand warmed in flames; as the agony coursed through his veins, sending muscles into uncontrollable spasms, and the knowledge of what must have occurred to his clever little mind. His eyes, wide and somewhat fearful fell upon her own and narrowed; the accusation clear within their depths.

Belladonna smiled sweetly, genuinely now, and swirled her teaspoon through her cup in a mesmerisingly deliberate manner. When at last she tapped it against the side and allowed their eyes to meet once more, she could see he had finally understood.

“Why yes, Sherlock… perhaps you shouldn’t have asked for an extra spoonful of honey.” Belladonna said, and sipped her tea as the light in his eyes began to fade. Only ringing her small handheld bell for the servants to remove the now-departed detective, when the body finally stopped twitching.

She took a small pastry off the table, and sank back into her chair with a satisfied air as the blank-faced servants scurried in to attend. Indeed, it had been job well done.

He would be pleased.

                                                          ~)0(~

Somehow the satisfaction seemed to linger less and less as the days wore on.

Before, Belladonna had at least felt a sense of justice, of righting grievous wrongs when she had taken extreme methodologies into her own hands to remove undesirables from society. Predators who preyed on the weak had no place in her world, be it in her public life, or… the infinitely less so.

Robin Hood was a tale her mother had read her often, as a child; always seeking to impart the inherent truth of the tale to Belladonna. That the rich accumulate wealth for themselves selfishly, and there must always be someone standing in their way to assure that those below them are not wronged, trampled or destroyed in the pursuit of further wealth. It had been taken so deeply to her heart that it could be said that the story was almost the basis of Belladonna’s personality; taking heart at the ideology of someone doing  bad, dark, terrible, wicked, malicious, nigh-unspeakable things in the pure, unselfish pursuit of justice.

Of the many things she inherited from her mother, the most notable were her money, power, intellect, wit and austere beauty. Hair as dark as a raven’s wing, and soul to match.

Still, when one is raised by a criminal mastermind such as Belladonna’s mother had been, one cannot help but to develop a somewhat skewed moral compass. That is to say, that her ideologies over what was good, and what considered bad, seemed muddled and intermingled.

Kindness was taking from the greedy and providing the needy. Hunting down the predators, as it were, and removing them from the societal foodchain; cleaning the criminal gene pool one toxic element at a time. It all seemed such a noble ideology, at least to her mind.

When Belladonna’s mother had passed suddenly years prior, to a major cardiac arrest, it had left her both alone, and in the societal spotlight. The Grimsbane family had been well-established in London for generations, patroning even the original construction in some districts; when they spoke, everyone from politician to street urchin listened. Few of her predecessors and ancestors openly flaunted their wealth, except in grand shows of charity; for some it was a genuine pleasure to assist their city, their people… and for others, merely the continuation of a well-crafted deception.

For they may rule the city above with flawless faces and unimpeachable generosity, media darlings all; but beneath the glitz and glamour, in the shadows, their reach extended even still. The current Matriarch, or Patriarch of the family tended to hold the greatest sway over the underworld, through hidden corporations and well-placed people of specific skills all poised to respond to any command received.

Belladonna’s mother had reigned supreme amongst the underworld for decades, expanding their holdings and exerting her influence with a greater force than any previous Grimsbane could ever have dreamed. Schemes elaborate, ruthless, well-crafted and conniving; every criminal undertaking was so intricately plotted it would take the overworked police force an eternity to unravel. Much less, link back to her.

Likewise, when her mother had passed, Belladonna inherited the Grimsbane mantel and so too the wealth, power, influence and responsibility that came with it. It had been a shock, in some ways; certainly she had done things of the more illegal nature in the past, and dealt with people who were insistent on bringing harm to others with various direct and indirect methods. But this… this was different.

No longer had she the freedom to skirt danger again and again, simply for the youthful thrill of outsmarting the police by hiding on the roof above as they found the victim; no, now lives, corporations, the city itself and all the citizens relied on her to keep them safe. Or at least, that was how Belladonna saw it.

To begin her daunting task, she had first set about ordering her home to be as solid as a fortress. Naturally the servants were from uncounted generations of highly-specific, tight-lipped families who enjoyed the wealth and protection that employment by the Grimsbanes brought; sometimes a new maid or handyman baulked at the dismembering of their first body, but it was eventually routine for them.

Then, she settled about reaffirming her base of power amongst the shadowy figures who lurked just beneath the skin of everyday life in London, and indeed, across the country. Belladonna swiftly learned to see the whole web as nothing more than an elaborate game of chess, a few false moves would mean the loss of a few pawns… but ultimately, their positions meant that the more important pieces remained safe.

Manipulating other infamous figureheads within the dark recesses of London was not as hard as one would first assume… several even sought her out to begin with, thinking her utterly unlike her mother and merely a spoiled girlchild who needed their ‘guidance’. How she had loved proving them wrong….

And yet, it was comforting to know that her public face, the facade of wholesomeness and innocence was utterly believable to such a degree that even people who should know better were lured in by it. Of course, no one could accuse media-darling philanthropist Belladonna Grimsbane of being the head of an underworld syndicate, anymore than the people of Gotham would believe playboy Bruce Wayne was The Batman.

Besides, when the underworld criminals came grovelling at her door… the name dropping from their lips amongst streams of praise and pleas was not Belladonna, but Honey. Her reputation was a tightly-kept secret, and many failed to understand the implications of the pseudonym… until it was too late.

People had long come to Belladonna, or her mother, from the highly influential to the scullery maid, all to beg for aid. Sometimes it was merely a financial fix, gifting a small raise or the like to tide them over in hard times; but occasionally she would have to send one of her ‘business associates’ to speak to a ruthless landlord about raising rent to obscene levels. Though more often than not, it was people seeking justice, aid, protection; the people who captured her heart by presenting her with an opportunity to exert the calling she had dedicated her life to. They spoke of people who had done cruel, horrific, unforgivable things to them, to those they loved, to entire families… and begged for Honey, for Belladonna, to save them.

Then she truly had her time to shine.

Gilded and regal, the invitation she sent to their doors.

Bright and welcoming, the smile she would greet them at the door with.

Gracious and poised, the manner in which she would serve them biscuits or small delicacies.

Polite and genuine, the way she would inquire as to whether they would enjoy a spoon of honey to sweeten their tea.

Casual and Detached, the expression she wore as the poison would begin to spread through their frail human bodies with an unstoppable destructive force, tearing the life from them in the most agonisingly untraceable way.

She was loved.

She was feared.

She feared and loved nothing.

The world would bow down to kiss her tailor-made heels should she merely imply that was her newest wish or whim.

And then… he came.

~)0(~

Belladonna selected targets based on request, more often than not dispatching some highly-trained assassin or other to take care of whomsoever was causing the most trouble. Even high-ranking crime bosses rarely ranked the effort it took to invite them over for tea these days, it was much more efficient to send another in her stead; though that seemed quite boring.

Still, there were a few who seemed to catch the eye; the ones causing the most chaos, harming the innocents, or injuring those under her command for the sheer thrill of it. Those, she dealt with personally…

So, when it came to Belladonna’s attention that some so-called criminal-mastermind calling himself ‘Moriarty’ was terrorising her city,to the extent of even strapping a bomb to a little old blind lady just for the sake of some selfish game of cat and mouse… she knew he needed to come to afternoon tea. And so, she began to plot.

Moriarty did not come solely for a gilded envelope as many others would, no, he needed to be enticed to visit with her. Belladonna spent many a night thinking of how to lure him to her parlour, and eventually conceived of the idea to leave a rather convolutedly coded message in several areas of the city. All wherein Moriarty had committed various acts of cruelty or chaos, and was certain to notice; as, like many murderers and sadists, he was reported to enjoy returning to the scene of the crime to reminisce.

“Mistress Belladonna, an envelope has arrived for you.” stated Vernon, her well-dressed and rather droll butler. He held it carefully within gloved hands, and she saw that it appeared to have been quite distressed by its long journey; crumpled, torn and slightly soiled on some sides. “It has been scanned and tested for any form of trap or substance, ma’am, and it simply seems to be a letter. My apologies for its appearance, based on intel provided by the courier it has been moved rather haphazardly across London to reach you.”

Belladonna laughed, gesturing to take the letter. “Of course it was, he does seem to be a cautious one, doesn’t he?” It almost fell open, the letter sliding free of its filthy confinement as if in relief. Her eyes danced over the elaborate, and somewhat flowery essay of a response within. “Hmmm, it seems he is more than delighted to receive my invitation… Vernon, be a darling and have the kitchen staff make ready a full spread for this afternoon, it seems we are to have company.”

~)0(~

She could not help but be a little taken with him, despite the purpose for which she had called him here. Moriarty practically waltzed into the mansion as if he owned the building and everything within it; politely ordering servants to take his things, and allowing his charm to persuade them into complying.

Belladonna was not exactly an imposing figure, she was of average height and build at best, but she was quite striking in appearance and she knew how best to accentuate it so as to create a lasting impression. There was a small flare of annoyance in her abdomen when she first saw his gaze glance over her well put together ensemble, and move right on to some of them more tastefully lavish decor instead. Ever the gracious hostess, she simply waited with a smile frozen upon her angelic features until her guest deigned to bring his wandering attention back to her countenance.  

With an almost overly-dramatic flair, he stepped forwards to take her hand and bestow a kiss. “Madam Belladonna, it is an honour to be in your presence and your home… many thanks for giving me this opportunity to gaze upon such beauty.” he fawned, and it caught her somewhat off-guard. His tone sounded genuine, and yet he had utterly dismissed her existence before.

Before she could puzzle it out with her normally swift intellect, he was rattling off some additional flattery that seemed to feel less forced than the last. Belladonna tried to tell herself it was meaningless patter, the kind she had heard a million times before from admirers and people begging for mercy. Yet… somehow it seemed the words slipped under her guard, leaving her feeling slightly flustered and off-kilter.

Normally she was the one who charmed, not the other way around… things were slightly off-script before she’d even had a chance to welcome her guest. Belladonna’s mind was flaring a warning to be careful, this man was as slippery as his tongue and twice as dangerous…

“Thank you so much for attending my invitation to tea, Mr Moriarty. If you would kindly follow me into the lounge, I believe the servants have set out a spread that you will find most agreeable.” Belladonna says, gesturing him to follow her past the stairs, down the hall and into the well-furnished lounge and relaxation room. As promised, the table was utterly bedecked in finger foods of all kinds and formations, from the obscenely decadent cupcakes through to delectable looking sandwiches and mini quiches.

It seems the kitchen staff deserved a raise…

One of the serving staff, a young maid by the name of Molly, strode in rather stiffly, as if deathly afraid of the tray she carried. She was new, and Belladonna made a show of telling the young woman that it was alright, and if the tray fell… why then, they had dozens more cups and saucers in the pantry. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Moriarty noticing the unusual activity, but visibly relaxing somewhat as the chatter between the two women stole the tension from the air.

Excellent, his fears appeared allayed by her theatrics. Molly placed the tray deftly, waited a moment and bowed upon dismissal.

“Ah, new servants are always an interesting experience…” she stated casually to Moriarty. “Sometimes they just don’t seem to grasp the concept that working for the obscenely wealthy means that a shattered plate or twenty can be easily replaced, and no one will be punished for it. Well, I won’t, because I like to see the good in people. How about you, Mr Moriarty? Do you have servants or are you more inclined to do things yourself?”

He had a mouthful of a mini-quiche at the time, and had to swallow almost too-quickly before responding. “Oh no I-...,” he paused to cough, and clear his throat as the pastry tried to fight against the natural downward egress of his oesophagus. “Ahem, excuse me… as I was saying, I rather prefer to do things my way. Servants would only find me frustrating, and far too eccentric to deal with, no matter how many zeroes I’d put on their paycheck…”

Acting as the concerned hostess, Belladonna immediately moved forwards toward the tray placed close at hand atop the table. “Oh dear, I fear the mini-quiche was a tad too dry for an unlubricated throat… please, have a sip of tea to wash it down!” she fusses, pouring the steaming liquid into a dainty cup at hand, and then holding up the lid of an additional jar. “...Honey, Mr Moriarty?”

“No, I… don’t think I will. You are already sweet enough company without going overboard…” he replies, carefully accepting the teacup and saucer with the ease of one who has been schooled on the etiquette rigorously. His eyes pierce into hers over the rim as he drinks. “Something tells me that a spoonful of honey might have been the death of me… or so I’ve heard.” he adds, teasingly.

She of course happened to have a knife strapped to her thigh under her attire, and yet, the thought to use it does not cross her mind at all. Clearly, he knew who she was… a Grimsbane was always known above and below board. However, to have realised she was also Honey, infamous criminal element executioner and protector of the people? It hadn’t yet happened before, she was, that is to say, quite in shock.

He smirked, eyes twinkling. “I am thinking, my dear honeypot, that perhaps instead of playing this game of pleasantries… we should speak plainly. Of what we can each offer one another, as criminal masterminds at opposite ends of the spectrum I’m certain we could come up with something quite… sensational!”

Moriarty’s eyes lit up, a passionate fire behind them that seemed to captivate Belladonna. His cup touched the tabletop with a loud clink that almost shattered the moment, but he was already moving, whirling about the table to kneel on one knee by her chair, holding Belladonna’s hand. “Can you even begin to fathom how we two, a ravishing intellectual queen like yourself, and I could do to this town?”

His fervour was a little alarming, almost no one ever spoke to her like this, she was often fawned over or begged for mercy but not… this. Belladonna’s eyes were wide in surprise, heart beating a little faster, but she did not pull back her hand as he continued.

“That is to say, my beautiful assassin, my poisoned jewel in the crown… with our combined efforts we can easily take all of London, no, the country by storm! Imagine being able to remove those heartless bastards who prey on the weak with just a word, whether they were next door or a continent over? Could you comprehend the justice you could rain down upon the sick, the perverted, the cruel and sadistic with our unified might?” he cajoled, painting in her mind’s eye a world where no villain, no criminal was ever out of reach of her smiting hands. It was as if he could read her mind, know her dreams and wishes.

She startles to reality again to find her hand firmly entwined with his, as he continues to talk. Belladonna wonders at how she hadn’t noticed in the least, but… for some strange reason, the idea of breaking this physical connection made her chest feel tight. Perhaps because he was so emphatic? Or… no, maybe it was simply that she rarely allowed touch? Or… well, she didn’t know.

But it felt… good, she supposed. His enigmatic tone and grand ideas seemed to seep into the core of  her being and lift Belladonna up, raising her aloft and making the criminal mastermind quite dizzy. Giddy, almost. It was wonderful, and she would love that future but…

“But you have killed innocents.” she said, and the elated mood of the room seemed to snap as if a scythe had been swung through it. Her eyes fixated on his, grip crushing his own somewhat. “Your silly games have hurt so many people who didn’t deserve to die…”

He seemed to struggle with that concept for a moment before finally stating, “Yes, I have, haven’t I? Excuses will not undo what I’ve done, dear Belladonna, but… the puzzles I made, the games I was playing, they’re ended for good. Hah, literally! I no longer design deathtraps and devices to use against the common folk, the people who have done nothing but be born into an average life… it is those who lurk in the shadows, the people like me… or like I was, those corrupted officials in power that we must take down!”

Truly he was a torrent of words, like a fountain, like a waterfall. She was struggling not to drown as he twisted one way then another with his grandiose turns of phrase and the speeches that promised many things. Moriarty spoke… and for once, the woman who normally gave orders and brooked no argument, listened.

When it ended, he merely kissed the stunned Belladonna upon her hand and strode out, thanking her concisely for such a hospitable tea service… and stating he would come again. Confused servants stared in his wake, predominantly wondering as to why they were not ferrying his corpse to the basement… and Belladonna?

Belladonna was gathering her scattered wits and emotions, trying to fathom what this could mean for either of them. And yet, a smile graced her lips as she whispered, “He said he would come again…”

...and he did.

~)0(~

The whispers in her ears always took on his voice, guiding gently and carefully with flowery words and conviction. Moriarty was her biggest supporter, her critic, her rival and… her lover.

Or at least, she hoped one day he would be; for he only seemed to say the right things to cajole her into action on something he wished to occur. Still, perhaps he was not as affectionate as she… Belladonna had not been in love before and could not be certain of what was normal or not.

She poured the tea, wielded the knife, gave the orders to remove people he brought to her attention. Each time gaining a modicum of adulation and attention from the man she adored, whom she felt most kindred to… and so, she started to lose herself. Normally, Belladonna would at least task one underling or another to do a cursory review of circumstances prior to enacting Justice upon someone. But the way Moriarty detailed their many affronts to her… it just seemed so natural to trust that his word was genuine, that he felt the anger that surged through her own body when injustice was done.

And so it was, for months, years even. Sometimes Belladonna found herself wondering if perhaps she was not as in control of herself as she believed… but then he would be there, saying just the right thing and bringing her extravagant things to show his devotion, and nothing would matter more than pleasing him.

It was in the autumn one year when Moriarty’s honeyed words whispered urgently into her ear that there was someone out there creating hoax mysteries far greater than even he had in his heyday. A man, no, a monster whose little antics were endangering the lives of even the most innocent of them all, children, just to sate his lust for fame and fortune. He corrupted all the good men and women who revolved around him, especially a certain ex-military doctor; who had been pressed into murder, to protect this underhanded creature’s miserable life.

Irrational hatred sprang forth from the very mention of his name, as Moriarty hissed it in her ear with loathing drenching the tone. Belladonna did not even hesitate for a moment; rapidly creating, signing and sending an invitation to afternoon tea…

...to one Mr Sherlock Holmes & Doctor John Watson.

~)0(~

Sweeping in as enigmatically as always, Moriarty arrived in the doorway to the lounge as the servants were carrying away uneaten fare from the afternoon tea. He seemed surprised, and raised an eyebrow.

“Did we have a guest, my dear Belladonna?” he smiled, sweeping around to take her hand and press a kiss to it. Such a thing appeared to be his main manner of expressing affection, even if it seemed a little strange that he repeat the action whenever they met. Still, it did make Belladona’s heart flutter…

Today, she took his hands in hers, and smiled brightly as she rose to look him in the eyes. “Come, I have a gift for you, my clever little heart-thief…” Belladonna said, guiding him from the room and up the spiraling staircase near the entrance. He seemed mildly perplexed, but agreeable to traversing along behind; his clear display of trust filled her chest with a giddy delight.

Past one guest room, another, past the bathroom… and there, an open door to a decoy master bedroom. She could barely contain her glee as she led Moriarty, her Moriarty inside to display the latest enactment of justice.

His gasp was like a child beholding a much-desired toy for the first time, and she felt him squeeze her hand tightly as he beheld them. Neatly arranged on the bedcovers, awaiting nighttime disposal, the silent forms of their greatest adversaries…

There were tears in his eyes as he spun to her to face him, and a smile wide across his features. Moriarty was as delighted as she that the world was now safe from these abominable men.

“You did it…” he breathed, hands cupping her face gently, as if she were too precious for this world.

“No, we did it.” Belladonna answered back, beaming and overflowing with pride at having pleased him so utterly. Her heart nearly stops when he finally whispers, ‘God I love you…’ and closes the gap between them to kiss her more passionately than anyone ever has.

This is what love feels like, she realises in that moment.

If only she knew his eyes were not on her, but focused on the blank-eyed corpses behind, elated at his victory over Sherlock Holmes once and for all.

_________

The End