It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

97 - On The Run

A/N - Are you ready?

Only two more chapters after this! 😱😲

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In the taxi cab, Sherlock sat silent. It wasn't unusual, he didn't tend to talk to the cab drive unless he was telling him where to go or paying him. But in his silence, he kept hearing her in his head, kept seeing her sat beside him in the corner of his eye of which he tried so desperately to ignore.

You still love me. That's why it hurts so much, why it aches.

He ignored the illusion of his mind palace and looked out of the window instead. London at night was much calmer than in the day. He liked that. Less small-brained people forcing themselves to walk down every street because cars were slower in the day.

To stop it hurting, you have to confront me.

Over his dead body did he want to look at the thief's face again. But why? What was he afraid of? It wasn't like she could attack him and he didn't think she would try to do that anyway...but she lied. That was pain enough.

Surely, you want to know why?

He did and he didn't.

The taxi TV switched on suddenly, advertising jewellery, "This is a stunning evening wear set from us here at London Taxi Shopping."

"Can you turn this off, please?"

Something's not right...

"As you can see, the set comprises of a beautiful - "

"Can you turn this off - "

And just as he had said that, he could have sworn he saw Jim's face as the screen glitched. Again, the picture wobbled, fragmented, revealing the criminal's face more often, more frequently as though the recorded version of him were trying to break the TV itself. It finally stopped on a close-up of Moriarty.

"Hullo. Are you ready for the story?" Came his cheery voice, "This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot."

Sherlock watched with his mouth agape.

"Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he'd slain." As Moriarty spoke, storm clouds gathered behind his figure, "And soon they began to wonder...'Are Sir Boast-a-lot's stories even true?'" He shook his head sadly, "Oh, no."

The detective's eyes glimmered in the light of the screen as he listened.

"So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said: ‘I don’t believe Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.’ And then even the King began to wonder...but that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast-a-lot’s problem." Lightning struck from cartoon clouds as Moriarty shook his head again, "No. That wasn’t the final problem."

Sherlock's lips quivered as he bared his teeth furiously at the screen. No. This couldn't happen. He wouldn't be called a liar too. He wasn't.

"The End." Jim shrugged on screen, a red curtain falling around behind his figure as the screen glitches back to the jewellery advert.

"Stop the cab! Stop the cab!" Sherlock yelled at the driver, rushing out of the door to look at the cabbie, "What was that! What was that?!"

The cab driver turned his head to reveal Jim in a cap, eerily similar to that of Jeff Hope, the serial killer cabbie.