Just Your Average Annie (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

• Five •

Moriarty watched Annie from his place on the sofa, observing her every move as she inched closer and closer to the phone.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he threatened, his voice breaking the silence like shattering glass. Annie flinched.

"Sorry," she apologized, glancing longingly at the device. Despite her wished to call for Sherlock to save her, Annie returned to the kettle she had set on the stove. "Why are you here? I thought you said you would leave me alone."

"I did," Moriarty admitted, shrugging his shoulders, "but I lied." He suddenly stood from his seat, making his way towards her. By the time he stood in front of her, she was as stiff as a board. As much as she tried to hide it, Moriarty terrified her. But what she didn't know was that he felt the same about her.

Now, it wasn't because she was scary. Annie was anything but intimidating. It was because of the company she attracted, the skills she had obtained, and the fact that she had achieved all of this while being completely and utterly ordinary.

And it terrified him.

How could one so incredibly, disgustingly average become friends with his greatest challenge, Sherlock Holmes? How could anyone?

It made absolutely no sense to him. She was just your average Annie. It was her friends that made her worthwhile. Even she knew that.

That was what made her such a threat. She could call upon them at any minute, and they would do exactly what she said, no questions asked. What made her such a threat also made her such a potential ally, but she had already refused that position long ago.

But Moriarty couldn't exactly blame her. He had killed one of her friends at the time, one who had suddenly needed to be eliminated. She had watched him from the sidelines as he made someone burn her friend alive, tears running down her cheeks and a vengeful look on her face. No, he decided. He couldn't blame her at all.

But that didn't mean he couldn't use her for other means.

"I've been keeping my eye on you," Moriarty explained, rolling his eyes when Annie turned pale. "Oh, don't look so surprised. Anyways," he drew out the end of the word, a mischievous smile on his face before his voice turned into a harsh whisper, "How's Sherlock?" Annie turned even paler, much to his amusement. "Speechless? I'll take it he's doing just fine in little ol' London." Moriarty shoved his hands in his pockets, walking out of the kitchen with Annie trailing behind him.

"Don't you hurt him!" Annie yelled. Her hands were curled into fists. "I'll - I'll-"

"You'll what?" Annie bit her lip, thinking. She lowered her head, refusing to look at him as he turned to see her reaction. He tutted at her, shaking his head. "So normal. Tell me, how did you become friends with someone like him?"

Annie shook her head, refusing to answer. Moriarty merely sighed, checking his watch. Without another word, he made his way to the front door, allowing Annie time to call out to him.

"You never answered my question. Why did you come?" she asked, peering around the corner to watch him leave. His back turned to her, he stepped through the doorway.

"Welcome to the game, Annie."

And with that, he shut the door behind him.

■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■•■

Her cell phone rung from its place on the armrest beside her. She swiped her finger across the screen, denying the call.

It was the seventh phone call she had received (and denied) from Sherlock. He had resorted to calling after eighteen texts, twelve emails, and several calls from John.

Half an hour later, on the eighth call, knowing he would only continue through other sources if she blocked his number, Annie answered the phone.

"Annie?" She blinked, surprised to hear John's voice on the other end of the phone instead of Sherlock's.

"John?" Annie questioned, curling up on her chair. John sighed in relief.

"Sorry, I would have called you on my phone had Sherlock not THROWN IT AGAINST THE WALL!" John shouted from the other end of the phone. "Anyways, how are you? Sherlock's been worried sick."

"Fine, fine," she assured him, wiping a tear as it escaped her eye.

"I don't believe you," John said bluntly. "Sherlock's went insane when you wouldn't answer him. Mycroft is downstairs with him now, I think. You know what, I'm going to go get him."

"No, wait!" Annie shouted, regretting her words as soon as they exited her mouth.

"What? Why? Annie, what's wrong?" John asked. He turned in his armchair to call towards the door. "SHERLOCK!"

He put the phone on speaker and set it on the table, looking up only when Sherlock burst into the room, Mycroft following a moment later.

"Annie?" Sherlock asked frantically, taking a seat in his chair and leaning forward. Annie's breathing could be heard on the other end of the line, but also sniffling and the occasional whimper. When Annie spoke, her voice sounded much different than moments before. It sounded broken.

"Sherlock," she cried, trying to blink away the tears that just continued to stream down her face. "Sherlock, I'm scared."

Sherlock gripped edge of his armrests tightly, something only John seemed to notice. Mycroft seemed to be in a similar trance, his umbrella in an iron grasp as he stood behind Sherlock.

"What does he want with you?" she whispered, sounding much more fragile than the girl John had first met. Sherlock stood straight, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Moriarty. She had to be talking about him. "What does he want with me?"

Sherlock froze. Mycroft gasped quietly, a look of shock crossing his face.

"He found her." John muttered, looking over at Sherlock. The consulting detective met his gaze, looking almost conflicted. "He found Annie."

"He found your weakness."