Trust in Sherlock: Book 2

Chapter 32- Maggie's POV

Two gunshots had shattered the silence behind me. My hair fell in my eyes as I turned to my right, my mind making assumptions I could not fathom if they were to happen.

Had Kathy shot Sherlock and John?

I hurriedly brushed my frizzy curls aside, my wide blue eyes frantically checking both Sherlock and John for bullet wounds. I found no blood in sight on either of them.

What I hadn't expected was Sherlock and John to be looking at me with concern in their eyes. Why were they-

Pain.

I doubled over, placing a trembling hand on my side. When I pulled my hand away, blood coated my fingers and shirt, along with the flesh underneath.

"Oh dear, is she dying?" A voice came from down the hallway.

I grimaced as the pain intensified when I followed the source of the voice. My vision swam as I tried to focus on the figure. I failed and sunk to the ground. The pain in my side sapped me of my strength.

"Maggie!" John's voice shouted as I fell to my knees. The wooden floor was rough underneath me, poking into my skin uncomfortably.

John joined me on the floor, his blue eyes narrowed in concentration and worry.

I looked over John's shoulder, towards the voice that had spoken earlier. My eyes focused on the floor, a thick crimson liquid seeping into the cracks of the wooden flooring. I followed the stream of blood to a collapsed body resting on the floor.

My mind was blank as I struggled to believe what I saw ahead of me. "J-John-" my voice was quiet and weak.

It was a surprise John could even hear me. He was focused on my side, peeling my soaked shirt up just enough so he could see the wound. "Don't worry, it's just flesh wound. A few stitches should be enough to-" he paused in his diagnosis when he looked up at my eyes. He must have known exactly what I was staring at, as he sighed and said, "It's over, Maggie."

My eyes were wide as I saw Kathy's still body crumpled on the ground. Her blonde hair was messy and coated in her own blood. Her face was hidden from my view, which I found to be a blessing.

Kathy was dead.

So, why did I still feel uneasy?

"I think a simple 'thank you' is owed. I don't order the death of someone who means nothing to me very often, you know."

I looked up the staircase ahead of me, my eyes landing on a pair of polished, black dress shoes. I winced as John touched the wound in my side. "Sorry." He said softly, his concentration still on slowing the blood flow.

"Here, let me start for you, 'Oh, Jim, you're my savior! I must express my gratitude to you for shooting that god-awful woman laying dead on the floor!' and now you say..." James Moriarty pointed to me with one long finger while he cupped his other hand behind his ear, dramatically waiting for me to finish his sentence.

"What are you doing here, Moriarty?" Sherlock spoke up, anger clear in his voice.

Moriarty looked away from me, focusing his black eyes on Sherlock's still form. He put his hands in his suit pockets, shrugging his shoulders. "Well," he sang in a higher pitch than normal, "I came to save the day! What else would the magnificent Jim Moriarty do?"

Sherlock squinted his eyes, folding his hands behind his back. "What are you getting out of this? There must be an advantage."

Moriarty raised his hands in surrender. "Alright," he began, taking a step down the staircase. "I'll tell you." He descended down two more steps before he continued, "I was...jealous." He closed his eyes and held his hands out in front of him mockingly while wincing dramatically.

Sherlock didn't change his expression. "Jealous?" He asked, his tone showing that he didn't believe the man in front of him.

Moriarty opened his eyes, lowering his hands as he looked disappointedly at Sherlock. "Well, I was hoping for a bit more emotion out of you, but I suppose that will do."

I winced again as John increased pressure on my side. He sent me a quick look of apology before looking back at my wound. "You definitely need stitches." He looked up at Sherlock. "Come on, Sherlock." He said as he helped me to my feet.

Moriarty turned to John, his eyes narrowed. "Ah, come on! We were in the middle of a dramatic confrontation!" He stomped his feet on the ground, much like a trouble toddler.

John returned Moriarty's gaze, holding back his glare. "Well, Mr. Moriarty, unless you want your little 'life-saving-act' to go to waste, I would suggest that you let us do what we have to do to keep her from bleeding out!"

Moriarty lost his glare, slowly looking over at Sherlock. "I don't like him when he's angry." He whispered, his voice much like a child's, yet it still sent a shiver through me. His angered expression returned. "Please keep your little pet in line if you don't want his head to be disconnected from his neck."

Sherlock tensed, obviously unhappy about the threat towards John.

The two men- Consulting Detective and Consulting Criminal- maintained eye contact until Sherlock took a step towards John and I. "Come on, John. Maggie." He began leading the way to the front door.

"I wasn't trying to save her," Moriarty called from behind us. I stopped walking, causing John and Sherlock to halt as well. My head turned so that I could see Moriarty over my shoulder. Moriarty grinned at me, "If I was, she wouldn't have been shot."

I pressed my lips together, trying to ignore the pain in my side. "You were saving Sherlock." I said, my voice stronger than it had been before, albeit still soft in tone.

Moriarty's grin widened. "Just thought I should clear that up before you left. I wouldn't want you to think I actually cared about you. Miss. Larose was in the way of my...future intentions." He sighed, "Plus, she was an annoying gnat that was better off dead, anyway."

I never thought I would ever agree with James Moriarty, yet here I was, failing to hide my slight smirk at his remark.