Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chess, Violins and Musings

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT: CHESS, VIOLINS, AND MUSINGS

A/n: Okay, so a lot of things are going to happen in this chapter, so try to keep up. Dedicated to the wonderful JustHandMeTheBook because I managed to convince her to ship Sherlia and she called me the spawn of Mofftiss, which I take as a compliment. The chess board that Amelia compares Moriarty's game to is to the side. It took me ages to make so I hope you actually take the time to look at it.

Amelia paled considerably, her silvery eyes locked on Moriarty. “What do you mean?” She asked nervously as Moriarty took a step towards her. “What do you mean you’re going to have to change that?”

James shook his head slowly, grinning, “He needs to finish this game, Amelia.”

“No! No, he doesn’t, James!” Amelia shouted as James slowly approached her, eyeing her as if he were a shark. “You can stop this nonsense. No one else has to die.”

“Oh,” James said, chewing the inside of his lower lip as he looked at her condescendingly, “but I want them too.”

All of sudden, the lights went out. Amelia desperately looked around the room, her eyes not adjusting quick enough to the cover of darkness that had set over the room. She spun in circles, frantically searching for James.

“Don’t worry.” James maniacal voice cackled, “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Amelia heard the opening of a switchblade and heard the rapid approach of James’ feet. She screamed as the metal pressed into her forearm, all her emotional control lost. She was sure that if it had been anyone else who’d attacked her, but it didn’t matter now because Moriarty had lied.

Because it hurt like hell.

~~~

“Sherlock?” John questioned as his friend stormed down the stairs, a stony expression on his handsome face. He hadn’t seen the detective like this is quite some time, not since Amelia had moved in with them at least. “Where’s Amelia?”

Sherlock remained silent, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he fought to remain in control of the rage that surged through him.

“Christ!” John exclaimed as he followed Sherlock outside, “You left her with Him?!”

Sherlock spun around vehemently, his green-blue eyes blazing in fury. “I didn’t leave her, John!” He growled forcefully, “She gave herself up again to save us both!” Sherlock kicked the rusted metal fencing in front of the house, leaving a significant dent in the weak metal. “Dammit!”

John wasn’t quite sure what to do or say but then a loud, ear-splitting shriek rang out into the late night, unmistakably Amelia’s. John’s eyes widened, “Sher—”

“I heard it.” Sherlock said, his voice pained. He clenched his hands at his sides; mind racing with all the possibilities of what Moriarty could possibly be doing to Amelia to make her scream this loud. Sherlock briefly closed his eyes, taking comfort in the darkness that rested behind him. His eyes snapped open as he heard footsteps come down the stairs, the sound muffled by the door that separated Sherlock from the house.

James Moriarty stepped out of the house casually, cleaning off a small switchblade with a handkerchief. He arched his eyebrows at Sherlock and John, “Oh, you’re still here.”

“You son of a—” John started.

“You might want to tend to your sister.” James said, cutting John off, “She’s bleeding quite profusely.”

“You’re leaving her with us?” Sherlock drawled slowly, narrowing his eyes at Moriarty as John quickly sprinted up the stairs to take care of Amelia.