How They Met Alice (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 78

(TAXI, Alice’s POV: )

Sherlock sat in the back lost in thought, but his hand still firmly on my wrist. I sat next to him, leaning on his shoulder and trying to not fall asleep. I don’t know why he was holding my wrist. It was as if he thought I would go away if he did. He reminded me of a needy child. I smiled a little.

Partway into the journey, the TV screen on the back of the driver’s seat switched on and an advertisement started to play. It was London Taxi Shopping advertising jewellery.

“This is a stunning evening wear set from us here at London Taxi Shopping,” The female voiceover said cheerfully.

“Can you turn this off, please?” Sherlock asked the driver. The driver didn’t respond and the advert continued.

“As you can see, the set comprises of a beautiful...” The voiceover continued and I sighed.

“Can you turn this off...?” Sherlock began, louder and angrier. The image on the screen began to fritz as if another channel was breaking through. There were momentary glimpses of someone who could’ve only be Jim Moriarty grinning at the screen. Eventually the advert disappeared and Jim was seen smiling cheerfully. Behind him was a pale blue wall with painted white fluffy clouds floating across it. Jim’s voice took on a sing-song quality as if he was talking to children.

“Hullo. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot,” Jim began cheerfully. Sherlock stares at the screen, his face intense. I did the same, but feeling more afraid than anything. Jim’s image continued to smile from the TV screen.  “Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain...” Behind him, the pale blue sky got darker and the white clouds became grey and threatening. “And soon they began to wonder...” Rain began to pour from the clouds. “...‘Are Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories even true?’” 

The hand that belonged to the wrist that Sherlock gripped made its way into his actual hand, but Sherlock didn’t turn away from the screen.

Jim shook his head.  

“Oh, no,” He said ominously. “So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said...” in a dramatic whisper. “...‘I don’t believe Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.’ And then even the King began to wonder...” He frowned, raising a finger to his mouth and gazing off to the side with a wondering look on his face. Jim frowned thoughtfully as cartoon lightning bolts shot out of the clouds behind him.

“But that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast-a-lot’s problem. No,” Jim continued, shaking his head repeatedly. He looked down for a moment, and then raised his eyes to the camera again. “That wasn’t the final problem,” He said darkly. Sherlock bared his teeth at the screen as the camera pulled back to show Jim sitting with a storybook held in his hands. He looked up at the camera and finished in an even more sing-song voice,

“The End.”

Behind him, a red velvet curtain dropped down as if covering a theatre stage. The shot changed to an extreme close-up of Jim grinning hugely and showing his teeth, then the screen fritzed a few times and eventually returned to the jewellery advert. My stomach felt like the ulcer was back.