Amor Before Moriarty - A Sheriarty Fanfiction (Sherlock)

Staying Alive in Hell.

Dear Diary,

Shit. I - just - no. Just, shit. What just - it was - everything - just... was exhilarating.... (Just imagine Moriarty smiling creepily for a moment now. And then the smile disappears - he goes back to scared. ;))

OK. I'm going to start at the beginning. I keep reminding myself to breathe and stay sat in the corner of my room, but I'm constantly dragged back to the darkness, flickering lights, the body, Sherlock. The woman.

Tonight was our first, official meeting of everyone involved in the... you know... thingy.

This morning there was a knock at the door. Answering it, in my boxers and vest, I was confronted by a letter on the floor. Nothing else. No one else. On the letter was a typed up address. No handwriting; no signature. No DNA, I'm sure, either; only gloved hands handled this letter. That's just how careful they are. 

Then there was the phone call. A deep voice said "Nine PM" and hung up. I'm so glad I  answered it. Jack was still asleep. It's all a bit melo-dramatic. Quite funny, really. 

So at eight thirty, I left. Pocket knives hidden around me; beneath one of my socks; taped under my vest -  at the point where it wrinkled into the waistline, and the knife in the hidden compartment at the bottom of my brief case. That hidden compartment was home-made - by my sister. 

I left, after tying my waves in a black hair-band and getting some gum out to chew. Jack assumed I was seeing Sherlock. I didn't correct him. I walked to the location; you can never trust taxis. No one else seems to think so, but I always have. Not that mum could ever afford one, anyhow. I walked up to a tall office building, just off a main road leading to town. The reception lights were on. I walked in through the main doors.

"Hello sir, what may I do for you?" The smiley blonde asked at the main reception desk. I eyed her grey skirt-suit. You know those suits with skirts? She had a name-tag.

"Hello, Barbara!" I said warmly, underneath the fluorescent lights, as people bustled by me, carrying files, boxes, phones.  "I am here for a meeting?"

The lady smiled kindly, "Sir we host a couple of meetings. What is your name?" 

"Moriarty. Jim Moriarty." Barbara's smile fell. She looked suddenly scared. I stood up straight from my casual leaning on her desk. That hadn't happened before. Did one of those brute-bodyguards tell her I was coming? Had she hoped I was a nice, normal guy? 

"Right this way, sir," Barbara said, looking anywhere but at my face, stepping out from behind her desk and leading me away. We went up three flights of stairs. She was always ahead of me, and never looked back. That was, until we reached the doorway that led form the third level. 

"Sir, just go through here, carry on through the office desks, and there at the back is our most discreet meeting room. You should spot it though - I think there was some, ah, men outside it's door." I nodded. Barbara continued to look scared as she walked away from me. I shuddered.

The doorway opened up to a huge room filled with office desks. I ignored them, ignored the few little lights still on at some desks, illuminating little normal lives, despite the main lights being out. The lights were on at the corridor situated at the back of the room, so it was easy to find. 

Entering the flood of light, I blinked. Two brutes guarded the third door down. They both wore the same get-up as last time, but this time they had guns. Could they even? Couldn't they be arrested for such OBVIOUS illegal weaponry? Or at least I guessed it was illegal. These guys didn't look like they would be given the official go ahead to buy these things. 

"Next time, you use the fire exit." The jerk on the right said. 

"Sorry, but I didn't know where the room was," I explained, calmly, smiling. And before I could react the jerk on the left grabbed my collar and threw me through the door he was guarding with a quick, "Now you do." I mean, how rude!