My Red Sea [Yuukoku No Moriarty x Reader]

Prologue

London, England
Two and a Half Years Prior
———

[Y/N] paled as she pressed her back against the wall, shoulder blades grinding into the cold stone. Never in her life would she have thought she would have been in a situation like this.

A corpse lay at her feet. The blood poured into the cracks of the stone streets of London, staining her white flats into an ugly crimson. The glassy dead eyes of the man stared up at her, mouth twisted open in a terrified silent scream. His mouth was sliced ear to ear which made his scream only look all the more horrifying.

She did that. She was the one who cut his mouth wide, killing him before he did even get the chance to scream for help. She was the one who ended his life.

It's not like she hasn't done this before. This is just a mission, a mission she has done again and again. So why does this haunt her?

[Y/N]'s lips wobbled as she heard the weeping of a child in the house this man was just in, the crying ripping through her chest and tearing out her heart. A child. This man had a child.

But again, she has killed a parent before; so she has to ask herself once more, why does this certain mission haunt her? The answer scared her. As she stared down at the corpse with a dreadful expression, she knew the answer. She knew the answer as the blades in her hands dripped blood. It was because this man has done nothing wrong.

It was a mindless mission that was only for revenge for her boss. Her boss was angry, so he made her kill the person who made him that way. Most of the missions she does are easy kills that are people who deserve them; thieves, traitors, murderers, and more. People like her, criminals. That's who she kills. Never in her life has she killed a man who wasn't such, who wasn't bad, who wasn't crawling with evil. But now she did.

And it sickened her.

A cry tore through her lips. [Y/N]'s legs were weak sticks underneath her as she crumpled to the ground, the knives clattering to the stone floor. The baby inside continued to cry and she could hear the wife of the man start to stir from her room. [Y/N] needed to get up and to get away but she couldn't rip her eyes away from the dead man's gaze.

"I'm sorry." She croaked, running a bloody hand down her face as she let out a wheezing sob. "I'm so so so sorry." Some part of her waited for the man to respond, to say it was okay, even if she knew that he was gone. She wanted it to be okay. She wanted this to be right, to be moral. But it wasn't. It wasn't at all.

[Y/N] sniffled and clawed her way up and looked around the streets of London with tears eyes, not a soul in sight. It was only the misty smog in the streets that laid across the city. What should she do? She felt like she needed to do something, but what can one do in a situation like this? I have to do something, she thought.

However, her thoughts stopped when she heard the footsteps of the wife inside. Her eyes snapped to the door and stumbled back with her arms raising in defense, heart thrumming even louder in her ears and her blood ran to ice. [Y/N] could hear the woman shushing and comforting the weeping child, and then her calling out to her husband for help.

Get away. Run.

She continued to stare at the door and then glanced at the corpse. Feeling was staring to come back to her body as shock forced senses back into her brain, fight or flight kicking in. Tears continued to stream down her face as she decided to do one final thing before she ran away from the scene. [Y/N] fumbled with her scarf and wrapped it around the mouth of the man to hide it and then gently rolled his eyelids shut. Now, he almost looked peaceful with his expression hidden away.

"John! Where are you? Leona is crying again!" The tired wife croaked, her voice getting louder as she neared towards the front door.

Go now. Go.

Every nerve in her body screeched as she forced herself from the scene, grabbing her blades with her and shoving them into her coat. Her stained shoes slapped against the stone streets as she hurried down. She was tempted to look back, to stop and say she was sorry again and again, maybe even weep at the feet of the wife and beg for forgiveness she knows she doesn't deserve. [Y/N] sobbed silently as she turned the corner into the alleyway right as the door of the small house opened.

Her knees gave in and she toppled to lean against the alley wall when she heard that blood curdling scream. Her hands clasped over mouth to keep her breathing and sobs muffled and silent. There was no going back now. No chance for redemption. No chance for forgiveness. [Y/N] knew that as she listened to the begging and screaming of the wife for someone to help him.

With a weak plea, she couldn't help but think once more. I'm sorry.