The Great Moriarty(1)

2 - The Man.

Once I get home, I have to rush to get ready. I was already off schedule. How does this happen everytime! I decide to wear a little black dress, but undone think it's much of a change from what I was wearing earlier.

It isn't too reveling, but just enough. I keep my hair and my shoes the same. Then I do my makeup a little heavier.

Both my makeup and my dress are sure to impress. My date is Sherlock Holmes. It was hard to believe that he had chosen me, but then again it could have been John making him be social.

I get to the restraunt. It's very romantic. I was right on time, for once. I looked over the the crowd as I came down the grand staircase. No Sherlock. I'll wait. Five minutes go past. Then ten. Then twenty. I'm done. I should have known! I get outside and text Sherlock.

You better have a danm good excuse for this one! - AJ

It's useless. There are tons of other guys in the world. I just had to get stuck with that one! I have to do something besides walk home in silence.

I put in my earbuds, which I always have on me, and play Bulletproof by La Roux, including all the other songs from that album.

Another thing that makes me feel good is that everything is in walking distance from my house. It's nice. I found myself not paying any attension to my surrondings and just focusing on my goal, to get home quickly without any distactions. Then I bump into someone and falling.

I close my eyes ready for the impact, but it never came. I opened my eyes and found that who ever I bumped into had caught me. Now, I am akwardly being held in this person's arms. I soon stand up and get my composure back.

The person that caught me was a man, has dark, brown hair, dark brown eyes, and is wearing a fancy suit.

"I'm so sorry, sir. Thank you. I really appriciate it," I say.

"It's ok. It was my fault anyway," he replies. Irish accent. Hot.

"No, no, no. I wasn't paying attension to where I was going. It was completely my fault," I protest.

"Well it was probably both of our faults," he protests.

"True," I admit.

"Can I get your name," he asks.

"Abigail. Abigail Jenisus. With a J. It's pronounced like geniuses," I answer.

"Abigal Jenisus! Don't you own London Fasion," he says excitedly.

"Yes, I do, and what is your name," I ask.

"Where are my manners! Jim. Jim Moriarty," he says with a smile.

"Well it was nice meeting you Jim, but I have to go," I say, trying to get out of the conversation.

He grabs my wrist when I turned to walk away, "Can't you stay a little longer! You do look quite adorable in that dress and your American accent. I'm guessing it's from your collection?"

"Sorry, but I really have to go. Goodbye Jim." I then wiggle out of his grip and walk  away.

"Please, call me Moriarty. You'll be hearing from me. Promise," he yells at me I quickly walk away.

That felt too easy. Why does that name sound so familiar?

I'm not good at looking at the news. I only hear about stuff from my friends and Sherlock or John once and awhile when they bother texting me. I don't think I want to run into or talk to him again, but the way that he sounded, I think I'll have to.