Moriarty's Musician

The Master Blackmailer, Part 2

Annabelle shut Sherlock's door and leaned against it. When she played the violin, she felt so free. All the worries that plagued her mind were lifted as she entered her own private Utopia where no one was allowed. The solitude helped her understand the road she must now take. Her tutor was right when he told her about this secret place in the recesses of her mind.

Annabelle scanned her phone and saw it was 9:05. She only had 10 minutes to gather her things. She was leaving London. She was sick of being controlled and whoever was trying to kill her, well, they couldn't do it if they couldn't find her.

She walked down the stairs to her vacated flat. Unlocking the door, she quietly entered. She went to each room and confirmed she was alone before sighing with relief. Quickly, she grabbed her suitcase and filled it with her clothes and anything else she could jam into it.

Her one regret was leaving her phonograph and records. Annabelle thought about Sherlock and how impossible he always seemed to be, but he did appreciate music, that was a certainty. She smiled sadly, knowing without a doubt that he would take care of her treasures.

She gave the flat one last scan for anything else she needed. She would send a note to Mrs. Hudson and let the kindly landlady know she wouldn't be returning and if she could donate any of her things that she didn't want. As for her uncle and aunt, she would also send them a letter once she got settled to let them know she was well. Annabelle smiled at the thought of their new little addition, soon to be greeting the world. She didn't spite Uncle John for hardly seeing her during her time in London as he was so worried about Aunt Mary in the latter stages of her pregnancy.

Annabelle shut the door of her flat. Reaching for her bag, she heard her phonograph singing Mozart's Symphony No. 40 from the top of the stairs. She thought of Sherlock listening to the music. How foolish she had been to think there could ever be something more between them. "You're an idiot, Annabelle," she said, shaking her head. She pulled her suitcase down the last few steps.

Taking a deep breath, she peeked out the front door. Right on time, a red Aston Martin sports car pulled up. She saw Nicholas get out of the car and look around as he approached her door. She was struck by how handsome he was. Just like the night at the symphony, his hair was neatly combed back off his face. His white, cotton shirt was tucked into slim jeans and topped by a brown, leather jacket. Annabelle shut the door quickly and took a couple of deep breaths to calm her nerves. Before he could knock, Annabelle opened the door.

They looked at each other for a moment. Unable to read his expression, Annabelle smiled at him. "Nicholas, I'm so happy I got your text. I wanted to tell you..."

He held his hand to his lips to gesture her not to say anything. He looked down at her suitcase and gave her a questioning glance as he took it from her quickly. With his other hand, he took her arm and hurried her to the passenger side of his car. Opening the door for her, he promptly shut it as she got in. He popped the car trunk and tossed in the suitcase as he quickly got into the driver's side.

Sherlock watched the sports car drive off. His lips tightened into a thin line as he saw a black car discreetly follow behind them. He dropped the curtain and turned away from the window. Reaching into his pocket, he sent a few quick texts then settled into his favorite chair. He pulled a cigar and matchbook out of the little box that sat on the side table. Holding the ignited match up to the cigar, he took a deep puff and blew a large cloud of smoke above his head. It won't be long now, he thought as the smoke settled around him and the music continued to play.

~~~~~~~
They drove for long minutes, neither saying a word. Annabelle nervously fidgeted with her fingers, the silence nearly unbearable. She had to say something. "Nicholas, I'm sorry."