Millie's POV
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No skype calls, no text messages, no e-mails.
I haven't heard anything from Sherlock or John for the last two weeks. I try to ignore the dull tendrils of panic clinging to my chest. I'm sure nothing has happened to them.
Moriarty.
No, he wouldn't make a move, not now. I've been in Africa for three months, and I'm scheduled to return in a few weeks. If Moriarty wanted to get to either of them, he would want me to be there to witness it. I sit down in the cafe, exhausted; the heat here is tiring. I order a drink, and think back, three months ago, when Sherlock received the text. We left immediately, curiosity and numb fear fuelling us to the perceived confrontation with Moriarty.
He wasn't there.
We arrived at Hyde Park, and waited an hour, on edge, expecting to hear a broken Irish accent or see pinpoints of red light dance across our chests. Nothing. None of us predicted what would happen next, though. We arrived back at the apartment, irritated and dissatisfied, and found it destroyed. The furniture was upturned, the wallpaper torn, and papers scattered. At first, we thought it was a burglary, with good reason. But Sherlock observed that nothing had been taken. And then we saw it. Spray painted across the mirror, the words:Can I play too?
It was that evening I got a call from D.I Lestrade, informing me about an important investigative case in East Africa. I couldn't pass up the opportunity. But it turned out to be a complete waste of time- no leads, no information, no evidence. And I miss them. I miss the cases, the debates, the danger, and, although I don't like to admit it, I miss their company too.
I can't think like that now. Only three more weeks to go.
It's just... it's not like them to cut off all communication. Ok, Sherlock might, if he became totally engrossed in a case, but John... he wouldn't forget, would he?
I could call them.
I stare blankly at my phone for a minute, then firm my resolve. I press the dial button. It rings, five times, and I am about to cancel the call, when-
"Hello-"
"John..?"
"I'm sorry, I can't take your call right now. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you. Bye."
I hang up, severing myself from the automated message.
Something is wrong.
Agitated, I drum my fingers on the table, weighing up theory against probability. I don't like to go on instinct alone, but I can't fight the underlying sensation that something just isn't right.
I pay, leave the cafe, and re-adjust my sunglasses.
I'm going home.
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YOU ARE READING
Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*
Fanfiction"That is not danger," said he. "It is inevitable destruction. You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organisation, the full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realise. You must stand clear...
