Guns, Games, and Mutual Appreciation ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book I}

Chapter 10- Phone Calls

Millie's POV

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The drive back to 221B Baker street is excruciating.

No-one speaks.

John and Sherlock exchange glances every now and then, their strained faces identical. When we arrive, I'm starting to doubt my decision to come back to the flat with them. I'm clearly not supposed to be involved in any of this. I linger at the doorway, weighing up the idea of leaving them, despite my burning curiosity. I know the man's first name; Jim, as that's what is written on the piece of paper, along with his number, but that's all.

"Get out."

Sherlock gestures to the door, not looking at me, or John. We exchange quizzical glances, and move towards the exit.

"Not you, John."

John gives me an apologetic look. I leave, feeling slightly irritated, but mostly desperately curious. 

On the way back to my flat, I consider calling Sherlock, although I know he won't pick up. I consider calling John, but he'll be with Sherlock. I want to know, but I don't want to worsen the situation. I think it over as I walk.

By the time I've got home, I've made a decision. 

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I dial the numbers into my phone, and press the call button, sitting back in my chair, and closing my eyes. Remember the questions, I think.

He picks up the phone after three rings, but doesn't speak, leaving me unsure and hesitant on the other end of the line.

"Hello...?"

There's a laugh, and again, I feel something akin to nerves tighten in my chest.

"You don't know me, but-"

"Millie Shon? I thought you'd never call."

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I hang up, feeling informed but distinctly angry. 

'Jim' is a criminal. Well, he didn't explicitly tell me this, but I worked out that his activities are far from legal; in fact, I think I remember seeing him on the news, soon after Sherlock's "death". From what I gathered, he organises crime, and was the individual responsible for Sherlock's suicide scheme, although I'm not sure I fully understand why. Moriarty and Sherlock used to play a game. But this game was far from recreational, or beneficial; it was a destructive battle of wits and sensibility, one that was all-consuming and irreversibly damaging to both parties. It escalated, and resulted in Moriarty shooting himself and Sherlock jumping off a building. Neither realised the other was feigning death, not initially, anyway. Moriarty didn't tell me how he did it. It was riddles, mostly, ambiguous comments that left me questioning logic. I got the distinct feeling that he was enjoying the phone call, watching me press for answers and refusing to give them to me.

And he never said why he did it.

I'm not sure if I'm angry with myself for calling Moriarty, or at Sherlock for the way he handled the situation. Both can be justified. I slump down in my chair, letting go of the analysis and deductions, and fall into a fluctuating, troublesome sleep.

I wake up feeling deflated. And guilty. So, I pick up my phone for the second time in twenty-fours hours, and call John.

"Hello?"

"It's Millie. Do you have a minute?"

"Oh, hi Millie. Yeah, sure, I'll go out," he replies, presumably referring to leaving the building. And its inhabitants.

"Right. What can I do for you? Sorry about last night. Sherlock  was... in his version of shock, I suppose. Don't let it bother you," he says, after a while.

"I won't. I understand."

"You do?" 

"I think so. I phoned Moriarty last night, and-"

"You did what?! Why?!"

"Why? Because I wanted to know. Simple as that."

"Christ...Millie, that was stupid. Really, really stupid. Why didn't you call me, instead? I could have filled you in."

"I...I don't know."

John swears, under his breath, and I have to strain to hear him against the traffic in the background.

"So what are you going to do, now that you know the whole story?"

"Nothing. I can't do anything."

"I guess you're right. Okay, fine, how about you come over? Sherlock's moping in his room. Though I feel sorry for him. He knows he's been beaten, and you know how much he hates losing. He truly believed Moriarty was dead.  So come round, yeah?"

I hesitate, unsure, but then decide that I might as well. It provides a more interesting alternative to thinking through this alone.

"Alright. I'll see you later. Bye."

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