Devil Take The Hindmost •Sequel To Life Is But A Dream•

•A Scandal In Belgravia: Part Nine•

Chapter Nine: A Not So Pleasant Reunion

I opened the package in the car as John gazed out the window.
"So much for that." He said, and with one final rip the paper came off and I held the dark blue book in my hands, with the smell of an old book filling the car.
"What's that?" John asked, looking to me.
"A present from her." I said fingering through the delicate pages, then handed it to him. "Careful." I said unconsciously.
Before he could look at it, the car stopped in front of 221B, and he handed it back to be before getting out.

I followed him, going around the car, and noticed the note on the door:
CRIME IN PROGRESS
PLEASE DISTURB
Not long after did John rush in, hurrying up the stairs. I followed, spotting faint scratch marks on the wall.
When I got to the flat, I saw a man bound to a chair by ropes, and duct tape on his mouth. It was obvious his nose was broken, and displaying blood running to his chin. I look to the side to see Sherlock in a chair, the phone to his ear in one hand, and a gun in the other, aimed at the man.

"Jesus, what's going on?" John asked him and Mrs. Hudson, who was on the sofa.
"Mrs. Hudson's been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe." Sherlock stated.
"Oh my god, are you alright?" John asked, putting an arm around her. I stepped back and leaned against the wall, staring at the floor rather than the scene in front of me.
"Oh I'm just being silly." She said, sounding like her head was in her hands.
"No, no." John conforted, and I felt that sick feeling again, one I felt that other time when he was comforting Sarah at the Chinese Circus.

"Take her downstairs and look after her." Sherlock ordered.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" John asked.
"I expect so. Now go." Sherlock said, and John went with Mrs. Hudson.
"Coming?" John asked, but I shook my head.

"Lestrade!" We've had a break in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance." Sherlock spoke into the phone as he went to the table and put the gun down.
"No, no, no, no were fine. No, it's the burglar. he's got himself badly injured."
The man looked at Sherlock in anxiety as he gave him a stare. "Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull... suspected punctured lung... He fell out of a window." he before hanging up.

"Go check on Mrs. Hudson, now would you?" He asked me, and I obeyed, walking down the stairs to her kitchen, where John was tending to her wounds.
"Oh that stings." she complained before a body descended outside her window onto some bins outside.
"That was right on my bins." she said, then a groan came from the body.
*
"And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?" Lestrade asked Sherlock later that evening as the ambulance drove away.
"It was a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count." Sherlock said, yet Lestrade looked to me. I shrugged my shoulders, making him walk away.

I did the same, away from the flat.
"Hey!" Sherlock called, but I didn't look back. I only adjusted my bag to at least show him I heard his call.

My phone buzzed as I walked on the sidewalk.
Happy New Year!
-Wyatt
I found myself smiling at the message, then turned off my phone.

It's then I notice the strange man quite close behind me, bad if he was following me. I put my phone in my bag before stopping abruptly at a cross walk. He didn't run into me like I thought, rather he went to my side. When I could walk, I sped up my tempo, eventually jogging away from the one who pursued me. That didn't stop him. Soon I broke into a sprint, my mind alerting me of who it was. I tried to loose him by turning into an alley, but only tripped, making my bag fall off my shoulder.

"God, your so pathetic." I heard Jim Moriarty chuckle. Pretending not to hear him, I began to gather my books.
"Don't you have better things to do?" I asked, my voice only shaking a little.
"Better? Nah." He said. "Thought I'd pay Sherlock a visit, but then I saw you walking away from the flat."
"And? What do you want?" I asked, my voice growing as I shoved the books into my bag, expect for the one Irene had given me. Before I could pick it up, he beat me to it. The speed I moved my arm was so great my sleeve rubbed against one of my scars on my arm. I tried not to wince, but he saw anyway.

"I expected better than these fairy tales." he said, then slammed it shut and threw it back on the floor. "But anyway, I wanted to talk to you, Aspen." he said, his dark eyes pushing me down into a hole I was working to escape.
"Go away." I squeaked.
"How was Christmas? Anyone visit you?" He asked, and my expression turned to confusion.
"What's it to you?" I asked, and he put on a face that was only sarcastic surprise.
"She's got an attitude!" Moriarty exclaimed.
"But really, anyone?" He asked.
"Maybe."

"Oh please, don't act like you don't feel anything for that boy." he teased, patting my shoulder. Now slightly annoyed, I backed up, my fear turning to anger.
"You don't know what your saying."
"Did you like the part with the rose?" He chucked, a smile that could scare the devil.
"Shut up." I said, my nails digging into my palms.

"Did you really think someone could like you? Be honest, honey." he asked, and I felt a new kind of sadness inside me.
"Go away." I said, my anger morphing back into fear.
"He's just an illusion, princess. I mean he's alive, just whatever you think he's said, anything he's done, it's fake. Even you should know that." He told me, putting thoughts into my head.
"What's his name? Winston... William... W-Wyatt! Yeah. That's it-"

I interrupted him by throwing my body into his, knocking the both of us off our feet. My hat had fallen off and was in the few feet between my head and his feet. I sniffed, my hands and knees on the grime.
'Why should I believe him?' I thought, my mind torn between what I thought was real and his words. 'It was strange how he just appeared, though. Not just that day, but every day after that. And Christmas... That was just bizarre.'
I let out a small sob, giving Moriarty the satisfaction of me believing him.

"Just saying," he started, picking up my hat and putting it on his head. "It's unlikely you'd ever have friends.
"You're mad." I said quietly.
"You just figured that out?" He scoffed, then walked away.

I picked myself up, and went against the wall of the alley, bricks being my comfort.