What Kind of Man || Jim Moriarty

Thirteen

Lucy had been stuck there for a week. One whole empty and boring week.

She'd admit, the first night and the couple of days which followed had been relaxing...though unsettling. After Moriarty had left she had been allowed to explore the vast, fashionably empty space she would temporarily call home, from the sounds of it. The master bedroom had been the first stop on her tour, a room bigger than even Mr and Mrs Samson's had been. Two of the walls were a stretch of windows from the middle, up towards the ceiling. There was a large king size bed complete with two bedside tables and a flat screen TV, all of which sat upon a silver, velvet carpet. The room attached was a walk in dressing room the size of her old bedroom, but it had been bare, only now the single item hanging up was her dress from the dinner with Moriarty a week ago. Through a second door in the dressing room was the master bathroom which was hands down, the most stunning room she had ever seen in a house ever; in real life and on TV. A two meter wide mirror, two sinks, a large bath tub and shower cubicle built fully out of glass and large enough to fit about 4 people into comfortably. All of it cream marble. Absolutely gorgeous.

Upstairs was the most special though. A kitchen with a fridge she could literally climb into, a wine cooler the same size and shiny grey cabinets she feared to touch incase they became smudged. The living area made up the whole floor in an open plan type set up, with a couple of sofas and a dining table made up to sit 12 people where ever you stood in the room though, there was an amazing view of three angles of London City out of the almost floor to ceiling windows. Finally, a small room was partitioned by a large sliding door. A more cosy room with dark grey papered walls, a dark couch accented with warm orange accessories. A tv bigger than what she could express with her arms and a glass table without so much as a finger print on.

Lucy had just sat in one of the chairs the first night she was here. Sitting in silence and looking out at the city at midnight, thinking what she would have been doing had none of it ever happened. What she'd be watching on her brick shaped television or what's she'd be eating for dinner. That chicken would be going off in her fridge and there'd be no one to throw it away. All her clothes...all her belongings. Lost.

It had scared her at first. She'd cried a few times before telling herself she was stupid and she'd gotten herself into this. But after a few hours, she'd pulled herself together and went to bed, crawling under the plush duvet and feeling very out of place. No sleep came that night.

Though, Moriarty had stuck to his word as on her first morning there, a knock at the door had sounded and the person behind it had stated Moriarty's name. Deeming it safe, according to his instructions she had opened it to a middle aged man carrying a bag. It had been a delivery. The man who had failed to state his own name had handed her the bag, said nothing and then turned to go back down the corridor. It was very regimented. Strange. But totally fitting to what she thought of Moriarty so far. In the bag had been some food, a cool bag containing milk, butter, eggs, chicken, bacon and fruit and salad varieties. And in another bag; bread, cereal, a couple of tins. All normal stuff but she doubted Jim had gone out and done it himself. There had then been some lounge clothes, a pair of Jack Wills jogging bottoms, a couple of vest tops and a pair of fresh cotton pyjamas. Finally, toiletries had been gifted to her. Shampoo, conditioner, shower gel and bubble bath. Finally she had a reason to do something normal and take a long bath while looking over the far stretch of London skyline.

Six nights in however, things were still feeling unreal but it was becoming more normal. Most of the time Lucy felt as if she was waiting around; waiting for some sign from Jim and trying not to get too comfortable. He'd said he was going to find her someplace more suited to her, meaning lower class, so she tried not to touch anything or grow too attached to her late night baths looking up at the light polluted city sky.