** warnings ... below there is animal death, and implied possible non-con with minors. ** THIS IS THE WARNING **

Yes, this is STILL a crack fill, in spite of the above, and it's the LAST PIECE. Huzzah.

Moriarty is waiting at the Liverpool to Dublin docks. It's six am, the sky is just beginning to lighten, and he is freezing his arse off. The motor launch is being prepared to take him to Dublin. Back to old Ireland. He needs.. some time. He scuffs his bespoke shoes on the concrete, and kicks a broken bottle into the water. A nearby gull glares at him. "Oh, fuck off," he mutters.

Heedless of his expensive suit, he sits at the edge of the pier, dangling his legs, shoulders slumped. Moodily he stares at the dark, odoriferous water. He'd throw himself in, but... he'd never see Sherlock again. And ruin a perfectly sexy suit. Fuck. How had he ended up like this? First that goddamned lab accident which had given him his extra... appendages, but was he lucky enough to have tentacles that listened to him? No, not Jim Moriarty! What the hell had he ever done to deserve - okay, well he'd done a lot. He wasn't exactly a nice guy.

He bites his lip. His face is puffy from the bout of drowning and hysterical weeping he'd been prey to at the pool. Oh, Christ. All he'd wanted was Sherlock. Sherlock to play with. Maybe fuck. A little. Okay, well, a lot. Like, constantly. Who was he kidding, for Sherlock he was a gay as a nine bob note. And he could have had him! He had been so close! And if it hadn't been for his fucking autonomous tentacles, he'd have a lovely little tranquilized Sherlock all of his own to smuggle to Ireland!

The fecking things. They want, they want... they were like fucking children. 'We want tentacle anime, we want a Japanese school girl dolly, we want to go swimming with John 'Sweet-cheeks' Watson... John fucking Watson!'

And just because he'd wanted them to wait, wait until the game was over before he got them their toys, they had done their best to sabotage his great game! And they said he was selfish! It wasn't fair! All he'd wanted, all he'd planned for was Sherlock, and now... and now...

A tear rolls down his pale unshaven face and plops on his trousers. A second joins it, and a third. He is too miserable and drained to even raise a hand to scrub them away. That's going to leave salt stains, he thinks. I was saving this suit for our first dinner together... me pulling down Sherlock's gag, feeding him by hand, shaking a chiding finger at him when he tries to bite... it was going to be so fun... Moriarty's breath judders in his chest, and he begins to weep in earnest. It's all ruined. I'm fucking humiliated.

Behind Moriarty, leaning against an orange shipping container, Sebastian Moran is waiting, aviator glasses reflecting grey light. He clears his throat meaningfully. Moriarty doesn't notice, nor does he pay attention when his eight tentacles push up his suit jacket and slither out abashed. They twitch at Moran.

- what? -

Moran gives them a significant nod, sliding a glance at the hunched miserable curve of Moriarty's back. Take care of it, he reminds them with a wave of his hand. You don't want to make me angry, do you? Make it RIGHT, you little shits.

Two of the tentacles roll the gestured equivalent of a heaved sigh, and reach up to start wiping the tears from Moriarty's face, jerking a little at the salty content.

- ow -

With a jerk of his arm, Moriarty knocks them away, and rubs his face on his sleeve. The tentacles confer. Beside Moriarty's leg, two pop up, and begin to pantomime.

- look look jim-host, see! We are puppets see we here are criminal and we here are we, look how we beat the criminal and take his all money bang bang! Ha ha! Bang! Bang? -

Moriarty turns his reddened streaming eyes away, only to be confronted by two more tentacles, who hold up a bottle cap.

- observe jim-host you see this round thing? We take it in one arm... like so... and go blah blah ca dabra and then! Oh! Where did it go? Gone! Oh wait... no, there it is, behind your EAR! -

"Just fuck off. Leave me alone," says Jim in a low dispirited voice. He closes his eyes to the sight of his hated appendages. Tears continue to stream down his face, and the tentacles are getting twitchy and frantic. They wave at Moran, who blows a disgusted breath and turns his face to the brightening sky.

"Not getting involved," he breathes. "You fix it. Or I will make you so sorry."

The tentacles wave around in disarray then freeze. Moriarty, eyes still closed, hears a *crack* sound like a whip and a startled squawk, cut off. Something curls around his wrist, opens his hand and something warm, feathery and wet drops limply into it. He opens his eyes, lashes wet and spiky. A dead seagull. The stupid tentacles are waiting expectantly, like some goddamn cat hoping for approval. He pushes the warm avian corpse away roughly, and it tumbles into the water. Fucking things. His dreams of impressing Sherlock, kidnapping Sherlock are in ashes, and these goddamned things can't even comprehend what it means to him -

The tentacles rummage quickly in Moriarty's jacket and come up with John's wallet which they had pick pocketed while they'd been feeling his arse up. Scattering plastic cards like confetti, they find John's drivers licence. Ah. Perfect, though they hated to... They reach into the heedless Moriarty's inner pocket to appropriate his Montblanc pen. Quickly, they scrawl a moustache on John's picture and show it to Moriarty. He only looks through them, lost in wretchedness.

- fuck! - The tentacles are really worried now. - okay, okay... yes, that picture! -

They snatch at a photo John had kept in his wallet, a candid photo of Sherlock and himself together at Angelo's. John is laughing, head down and eyes scrunched shut in amusement, and Sherlock is looking at him with bright eyes, lips parted slightly in a soft smile. The tentacles rip it in half, hesitate and stuff the John-piece back into the wallet. Tenderly they nudge the Sherlock half of the photo into Moriarty's view.

He looks, and his breath catches. Sherlock never looked like that at me. And he never will. Oh, why not me, Sherlock...? He presses quivering lips together and turns his head away, but a sob tears loose, and then he draws his legs up, wraps his arms around his knees and buries his face in sodden wool.

- no no nononono! Jim-host... jimmy don't cry, we're sorry - The tentacles pat his back, his head, his shoulders. - we promise we promise just don't cry anymore jimmy please! -

"He's all I wanted, and you ruined it!" Moriarty wails, voice muffled. "Don't say you're sorry, it's no fucking good! You can't fix it!"

- no no jimmy we can't take it back we're sorry. We can help. We promise... we will. -

"You were supposed to help me from the start," chokes Moriarty. "See how well that went."

- oh jimmy. - The tentacles lift his chin, and smooth his hair. - we are so alike, you and we. All we wanted was quid pro quo. -

Moriarty gulps a breath. "Quid pro quo. Really."

- yes. You wanted Sherlock, we wanted the schoolgirl dolly. so... -

Moriarty sniffs, rubs his face on his knees, and straightens his back. "So... what you're saying is... that if... if I get you that fucking Japanese doll... you'll really help me? Really?"

- yes jimmy. We will help you, and he won't stand a chance. Once we are working together, both getting what we want... just don't hold out on us okay? If we want something... -

Moriarty's breath catches. "You're fucking not kidding me, are you? Guys... that would be... you promise?"

- pinky shake on it jimmy -

Moriarty snorts wetly, but extends his little finger. A tentacle tip curls around it, and they shake solemnly. "I promise too. No holding out." The tentacles begin to wag in relieved excitement.

Moriarty jumps to his feet, beaming hugely. "If you help me, really help me I... I promise I will even kidnap a Japanese school girl! Just for you. Well... us... but mainly you."

- OH! -

The tentacles ripple ecstatically at this, and then turn Moriarty around hurriedly, and begin shoving him towards Moran, whipping down to pull on the ground to hurry him. Moriarty laughs, high and happy. "Fuck's sake, you slimy bastards, slow down!" But he is smiling as he swears lovingly at them.

Moran walks forward to meet his boss. His face is imperturbable, but behind the aviators his eyes are crinkled in pleasure. He nods at the tentacles, who wave shyly at him.

- see we fixed it - they sign behind Jim's back. - don't be angry anymore, it's all good -

Moran's mouth quirks up, but that is the only sign of approval he gives. He passes Moriarty a packet of tissues and a new mobile phone.

"Boss? The launch is prepared. Are you ready?"

Moriarty claps his hands together in joy. "Am I ready? Am I ready! Let's go, Sebastian! We have plans to make! People to see! Consulting detectives to molest! Well, defeat and kidnap first but still... Oh! The things we'll do!"

"This way, then, boss." Moran guides Moriarty to a large sleek boat. "What's the destination?"

"Oh Dublin, Dublin," replies Moriarty distractedly, as he climbs down into the boat. "And then... Sebastian, help me out here. Where's a good place to find bus-tours of Japanese tourists? I need one. Maybe a few. Okay, yeah, a few."

"You don't want to find a tour in Dublin?"

"Christ, no, not where my house is! Though Dublin would be better off. I fucking hate tourists. Cameras." He shudders dramatically, and then snorts a laugh. The tentacles are wrapping around the railings and pulling him to the prow. "Yeah, all right guys, let Sebastian talk already. I'm going."

Moran thinks. "How about Vancouver? Lots of international traffic, lots of tours." The tentacles wave frantic agreement.

- yes yes we like misty weather! All those rivers too! -

"Why a bus tour, boss?"

"Oh, we'll just hijack a school tour. Let my tentacles have their choice. Like a box of chocolates."

The tentacles shudder lasciviously at the thought, then stiffen as another idea occurs to them.

- jimmy! We have a thought! It doesn't have to be just a Japanese school girl though we like the uniforms -

"Yeah?" asks Moriarty cautiously. "What, then?"

- If you kidnap a boy too then we ALL will have fun! A nice tall one? With blue eyes! And pale skin!-

Moriarty closes his eyes a moment, mouth opening. "Oh, Christ, you guys... Jesus... oh. Perfect."

All eight tentacles wrap around Moriarty and hug him. He smiles widely, stroking a hand over one softly. "You guys... You are so sweet sometimes."

They squeeze him once again, and unwind. - you too, on occasion. Can we do it now? -

Moriarty eyes the prow. "Um. Last time, we got really wet. Soaked. And you hate salt water."

In answer, they prod him forward. - but you like it -

Sebastian Moran grins widely and relaxes, slouching against the pilot house as Moriarty, giggling, clambers over the railing of the prow, plants his feet and grips. The tentacle twine around the railings. The boat is moving away from the pier, heading out across the Irish Sea. Moriarty's voice drifts back faintly.

"Okay. I'm ready. You won't let me fall?"

- of course not, jimmy. We've got you -

And Jim Moriarty releases his grip and leans forward into the wind, smiling his widest, happiest smile.