𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 || 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ⵊV

'*•.¸♡ Riddles ♡¸.•*'
*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

You lay in your bed, tossing a Rubik's cube up and down, deep in thought. Was the enigmatic Moriarty, your brother's nemesis, flirting with you or taunting your brother? This man's mind worked in ways you couldn't properly understand. The 'Great Game ', a complex web of intrigue and manipulation, was an overthought chess game. Moriarty a king with Sherlock as the other. John seemed to be Sherlock's 'queen,' leaving Moriarty without one... The cube sat still in your grasp before a mobile began ringing, the sudden noise startling you.

You crawled out of bed, following the ring. You pushed through your pile of books that had collected on the floor to find a burner phone. You snatched the mobile before pressing the answer button. Your breath hitched as you heard the unmistakable sound of gunshots, each one echoing through the receiver, making your heart race. Fear gripped you, its icy fingers tightening around your heart.

"Tell me, Y/n," he paused as two more shots were fired. "How are you liking your newfound freedom?" You stayed silent, the small phone shaking in your grasp. "Darling, I know it's you... your shaky breaths are the same from the warehouse~ Answer me." His voice, a chilling whisper, carried a hint of something more, something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"The definition of freedom is 'the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without restraint or hindrance,' and I most certainly don't have that."

The line was silent for a minute or so before the sulky voice spoke. "Would you like to?"

Would you like to? Escape the Holmes' grasp to live an authentic life. You most definitely would, but making a deal with this man seemed to be making a deal with the devil. Your mind raced, torn between the desire for freedom and the fear of the unknown. "Go on," you mumbled into the phone, your voice barely audible.

"Your infuriating brother is about to enter your room. More on this later~ Ciao!"

Silence. Seconds later, Sherlock barges into the room. "What are you doing?"

'Going to bed. What's it look like, genius?' you spat, quickly shoving the mobile under your f/c comforter. The thought of Sherlock discovering your secret conversation with Moriarty filled you with dread. You'd seen the destruction their battles had caused, and you didn't want to be caught in the crossfire. 'I'd appreciate it if you'd knock... I could've been naked.'

Sherlock stood stone-faced in your doorway. "Goodnight." You mumbled a quick 'night' as Sherlock left, shutting your door behind him.

Thankfully, you were still in Pjs, so your story was somewhat believable. You rushed to the edge of your bed, sliding the phone out of its hiding place. Only one number had been set in the phone: Moriarty.

You held the mobile, debating whether to text the rumoured psychopath.

'What are the rules?'

The phone hadn't moved a centimetre in three minutes, so you decided to get some sleep. You rolled over just to have the phone vibrating seconds later.

'Rules?'

You snatched the phone, scoffing at his response. 'To the game, genius,' you replied, hoping your tone dripped with sarcasm. You knew he was trying to get under your skin, to provoke a reaction. But you were determined not to let him see how much he affected you. You were determined to shield your fear.

'Watch your tone.' A few moments passed before another message was sent. 'Who said anything about a game?'

You groaned. You knew this man was being like this to aggravate you, and hell was it working. His refusal to give a straight answer, to play by the rules, was infuriating. But you also knew that was part of his charm, part of what made him so dangerous. 'I'm not daft, and neither are you. You know exactly what I'm talking about.'

'I enjoy your rage.'

You gritted your teeth, trying not to snap the phone in half right then. This man was igniting a fire inside of you. 'What are the rules?' you demanded, hoping your tone filled with a mix of anger and curiosity would translate through text as your fingers slammed against the screen. You were determined to understand the game he was playing to gain an upper hand.

'Games are no fun if played by the rules...'

This man was going to make you lose it. Your fingers had been unknowingly ruffling your hair as you texted Moriarty. 'What is my 'purpose' in your grand scheme?'

Nothing. Not a single text in 15 minutes. Then, a sharp ding breaks the silence.

'I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I'm sometimes the hardest to express but the easiest to ignore. I can be given too many or just one. What am I?' Moments later, another message pops up.'Find the answer, then we'll talk.'

Of course, it's a riddle. You stared at the flickering screen for an hour, trying to decipher the most likely simple riddle but coming up short.

Why were you even doing what Moriarty wanted?

Why did you feel the need to impress him, to flaunt your skills?

Why did you crave the attention you received from this psychopath?

Why were you slowly becoming entranced by Moriarty's words?

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*