Stuck in a web {BBC Sherlock}

Graffiti messages

My hand clenched into a fist. This man had no right to be after me, and why? He knew Sherlock, so I guess he can help me. Wait, why would I want his help?

Martha had read the note over my shoulder, and took the paper from my clenched fist, trying not to rip it. I tried to grab it back, but she handed it to Sherlock. I frowned at her, folding my arms. Sherlock read the note and his eyes widened at the end, his nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. This 'JM' person obviously made him angry. He handed it to John.

"Who is he?" I demanded. "You have to tell me."

"Jim Moriarty." John said "So, he is alive then?" He asked Sherlock

"It would seem so." Sherlock said calmly

"Hey he could be related to Mrs Mo, her full name is Samantha Moriarty." Martha said happily. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. I shook my head.

"Tell me who he is." I demanded again

"James Moriarty is the most dangerous man you will ever meet. If he wants you, he will find you. And you're in trouble. James Moriarty isn't a man at all. He's a spider."

I gulped, panic starting to wash over me. 

"I'll take the case." He said jumping up.

"What case?" I asked

"Your case." he said walking into a room off the kitchen and shutting his door.

"Case?"

"He's a detective, consulting detective. Only one in the world, he invented the job."

So that's how he knew I was Irish.

"That's him for the night." John said stretching. "You're welcome to sleep here if you want." I nodded gratefully "If you need me, I'll be upstairs."

Martha made herself comfortable on the sofa, so I chose one of the armchairs. I sat down, and gazed out of the window. The seat was still warm because Sherlock had been sitting on it, for what seemed like a long time. As I looked out of the window, it was starting to get light. I noticed on one of the walls, some graffiti. A heart, that looked as if it was on fire- with the words 'I'll Burn You' Inside in white. As I looked at the next piece, my breath hitched in my throat. It wasn't pictures, It was words.

'I am Coming -JM'

I didn't sleep at all that night.

***

The next day, I heard Sherlock come in at around 6. Grateful for the company, I slid off the chair, rubbing my eyes, and walked through to the kitchen. I screamed at the sight of Sherlock standing there, a human hand in his hand.

"What are you doing here?" He said "And who said you could sleep in my chair?" He practically yelled

"I didn't know it was your chair. And John said I could stay here."

"Well it isn't John's decision. He doesn't live here. He's just staying while his wife's away."

"He's married?"

"Yep." He said popping the 'p' and putting the hand in the fridge. I cringed.

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Are you married or anything?" I meant it as light conversation. But he didn't seem to take it that way.

"I don't do 'sentiment'"

"Why?"

"Because I -" He stopped himself, looking me in the eye. I could see confusion in them, masked by his plain facial expression. "Because I don't." He grabbed his coat from the chair and tied his scarf around his neck. He flicked a postit note off the pile and wrote something, leaving it on the coffee table next to Martha.

"Come on." He said to me, prancing down the stairs.

"Where to?" I said, following him regardless. He didn't reply. I followed him out of the house and onto the street. He waved his hand for a taxi. Just as I got in, I saw a man in a hood, holding a camera in our direction. Behind him, the graffiti, reading 'I am coming -JM'

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