Moriartys Girl - A Sherlock Story

6 - I'm a Little Tied Up

"I'll be right back" Moriarty smirked and walked out the door to my left.

I moved around, trying to get my hips to my right hand. It was difficult. But I managed to get my hand in my jeans pocket. Thank fuck for that! I pulled out my pocket knife. He thought I was nothing.

I managed to flip the knife out and turn it in my hand so the blade faced the rope. Digging the knife between my wrist and rope I felt it pierce my skin. I always made sure it was sharp in case anything happened. Not that anything did in the three years I had been down London, until now.

I managed to saw out of the rope, freeing my right hand. I looked down at the cut on my wrist. Blood was running down my arm as I cut my left free. I went to my ankles and cut the rope there.

Standing up I rubbed my wrists, the ropes had cut in more than I had thought. I looked round the room. There was nothing. Just that table, the chair I was tied to and the door Moriarty went out. I walked over and there was no handle, just a lock. I leaned down to try look out, but the key must be in the other side. Standing back up I looked round the room again.

The light swung from the ceiling as the door slammed open. There was Moriarty. "How did you escape?" He spat as he walked in

"You need to check your prisoners. Sloppy mistake" I retorted as he walked over to me, "Don't try it" I warned. He carried on, getting closer. My heart beat increased, blood pumped throughout my body. I could feel myself getting angry. The feeling I always got with Dad when they thought I was nothing. Moriarty thought I was nothing.

I lunged and kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over, unable to breath before I took a big swing and punched his face. He fell backwards against the wall. I ran over, kicked him in the nuts before pinning him against the wall and holding my knife to his throat.

He chuckled, "Who are you?"

"I'm Alexa Hudson, daughter of Richard Hudson. Or how the criminals may know him, Ronny H" I spat at him. His eyes lit up on the mention of my father's name. "Ding ding. Lightbulb" I mocked him, pushing the blade harder into his neck, "Surprised you didn't put two and two together sooner. I mean a 23 year old hanging out with Sherlock Holmes and Mrs Hudson. Who is she? My lovely Nan. Her son, my dad, you knew him. You lit up. You loved him" Moriarty laughed, "I've met his old 'colleagues'. They all thought I was useless. I was nothing. Well, one by one they got to know" I said slowly looking at the blade, "What a turn of events" I smirked.

"You wouldn't dare" he hissed at me.

I leaned in closer, my lips were only paper thin away, "Try me" I whispered and bit my lip.

I felt his body tense up as I did. He looked down at my lips as I let it go.

"You wouldn't kill me" he purred back.

"Maybe. Maybe I would" I pressed the knife in harder and I felt his skin pop under it. I looked over and saw his blood run along the top of the knife, "Look at that. You were wrong."

Before I could push it in more, he grabbed my arm and pushed me away. My back hit the table and I dropped the knife from the pain. Moriarty picked me up and threw me on the table. My back still stung as he clamped my hands in metal straps and moved to my feet.

"You can't beat me" he whispered as he climbed on top. He knelt between my legs, stroking my thighs and moving to the band of my jeans. He looped a finger inside my jeans and bent down, "I. Always. Win." His eyes were dark again. But there was something else. I looked to his neck as blood dripped down and fell on to my chest, just above my top button of my shirt. Moriarty moved his hands up and slowly undone my buttons.

"Get off!" I shouted at him as he reached the last one, exposing my chest and stomach. I hated showing people, I never wore short tops. I couldn't bare people asking questions...

His fingers traced my lips and moved down my neck, between my breasts and stopped above my belly button before moving to my left.

"What's this?" He ran his finger over one of my scars, "Looks like a bullet wound."

"It is" I put simply. Not wanting to carry on the conversation.

"How?" He ran his thumb over it as he looked at me square in the eyes.

"I was shot"

"I got that much. By who?"

"One of dads colleagues. He said I was nothing and shot me. Dad killed him, stitched me up and taught me how to handle myself." He nodded and moved his hand below my belly button. I hated talking about my wounds, but I hated the ones that were there.

"What are these? Stretch marks? Were you fat?" He smirked

"No" I held back the tears as I felt the lump in my throat form. I couldn't talk about it.

"Then what?" He asked, looking at all my stretch marks. They covered the whole lower half of my stomach. His fingers traced each one. And with each touch the tears formed, falling down my cheeks. He looked up to me and I closed my eyes, "Pregnant". I nodded. "What happened? I haven't seen a baby come in and out of there so where is it?"

I swallowed hard as I looked up to him. His eyes had changed again. He didn't look scary, he looked worried. "I was 30 weeks when I lost the baby. Something about internal injuries that weren't properly fixed" I kept my eyes locked on him.

He frowned as he moved his hand away, "Sorry. I wouldn't have asked if I knew it was a sensitive subject". He swallowed and got off the table.

What the hell? Why would he just change his tune like that?

I turned my head to look for him. He was nowhere around. The door was still wide open. "Moriarty!" I shouted as I wriggled my ankles and wrists in the restraints. No reply. "Oh for fucks sake!" I shouted, stopping my escape plan. It wasn't working anyway.

As I lay there I thought back to Sherlock, and our baby.