Am I The One That Got Away, Dear Sherlock?

Chapter Ten: Let My Mind Be, Mr. Holmes.

            John came back to me, grabbing my hand towards the table. I sat down, with John next to me; where Sherlock had to sit across from me.

            “You were saying, Mr. Holmes. The women were supposed to get married?” I asked him; he looked at me, surprised that I remember what we were talking about. He took out his pipe and started to place tobacco in it.

            “Yes, all to different men; which means we are back to square one. Though what Watson found out though, all the women were expecting.” I looked at John, who ordered the table a pint each. John took a sip and placed his hand on my back.

            “All women were expecting, that is true. Their uterus was still intact though. Only kidneys were taken, just like the Ripper back in London.”

            I took a sip of beer and looked at John, “What about the other expecting women? What are the police doing to keep them safe?” I questioned them; John started to rub my back in order to calm me down.

            “Settle down, Olivia. They will be looked after; do not worry. Let’s just eat and forget about this for a moment.” John’s voice soothed over me, calming every nerve in my body. Although, I couldn’t help but feel a set of eyes watching, I looked across the table to see Sherlock staring at me. I had to look away, I couldn’t think about him. It was wrong to see Sherlock in that way, but why can’t I stop?

            I was quiet for the rest of the evening. John and Sherlock were discussing the case; where I was sitting there, bored out of my mind.  I looked around the pub only to see something familiar. I saw a man, with a hat, reading the paper. Soon he brought the paper down to reveal the man of the hour: Moriarty.

            He grinned at me, pointing to Sherlock. I tried to look away but my eyes always lead back to him: to that horrible man.

            I got up from my seat, which they did not even notice I left. I went over to his table to sit across from him. I saw that a cup of tea was waiting for me; I was still skeptical about it.

            “Why are you here?” I sneered at him, not breaking eye contact with him.

            He chuckled, folding up his newspaper; handing it to his muscle man, which wouldn’t stop staring at me. “Dear Ms. Teller, when are you going to give me Mr. Holmes?”

            He sipped his tea, where I balled my hands into fist, “I told you, I am not going to do—“

            “Because you love him.”

            I was taken back; huffing air out for nothing for no words could explain what I was feeling.

            “I never said that.”

            He leaned over the table, getting close to my face. His breath rolled over to my face, the smell was so overwhelming that it cased me to crinkle my nose. “If you don’t love him, just do as I ask and lead him to me.”

            I leaned forward, pushing Moriarty back into his seat, “I will not do anything to harm, Mr. Holmes. For he is John’s closest friend and means a lot to him. Get that though your head, I will not be your Irene.”

            As I was standing back up, he chuckled; placing his pipe in his mouth, “I can see why Mr. Holmes would love a woman like you. It would be a shame if anything happened to you.”