Moriartys Girl - A Sherlock Story

17 - Proposition

I felt a duvet over me and a soft mattress underneath. I blinked a few times before sitting up. My legs were still so sore; my arms ached as I pushed myself up. All I had on was my underwear, plus some bandages round my arms and my right thigh. My left leg had a few stitches in a couple of cuts but other than that all the cuts were free.

The room wasn't familiar. It was all dark wood and purple. It looked rich and posh. Only one place for this, Moriarty's place. I stood up, grabbing hold of one of the posts at the end of the bed. There was a black shirt hanging over a storage box at the end of the bed. I couldn't see anything else to wrap round me so I put that on. It was obviously one of Moriarty's, why it was there I had no idea but I wasn't going to go wonder round his home in my underwear.

I walked out the room and turned left down the hall. I reached the balcony and looked over to the hall. No one was there that I could see. I walked down the stairs slowly as each step made my legs hurt. I found a door slightly open so I peeked inside. Moriarty was sat at a big desk looking at some papers. I walked in and he looked up, "Looking good in my shirt" he smirked and I leaned back on the open door, holding each handle with my arms crossed over behind me.

"I asked to be taken home" I said bluntly. He didn't seem to care, just looked up, raised an eyebrow and looked back down.

"I couldn't take you home in that state. They'd think I did it."

"Pretty much your fault" I told him sternly

"Joey wanted you anyway. He would have found you one way or another."

"Does my Nan know I'm here?"

"Not wondering about Sherlock?" He still didn't make eye contact with me, just scribbled something on one of the papers.

"No, why should I?" I lied. Of course I wondered about him, but I wasn't going to show my weakness to him.

"Well you did share a child with him". He looked up and stared me dead in the eyes

I burrowed my eyebrows at him, "How did you-"

"I can find out anything" he interrupted me and got up, walking over to me, "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"It's none of your business"

"Why Sherlock?" He stopped by a couch that was only a few steps in front of me.

"I didn't exactly plan the pregnancy you know"

"No." He leaned back on the arm and looked me up and down. "Why do you stand with him? You should stand with me"

"He's a friend."

"He doesn't believe in you"

"He keeps me safe"

"Did he save you from Joey? Or was that me?"

"Only because you were working with him"

"I work with a lot of criminals. I can protect you better, not that you need it really. You're amazing. You're so strong. There's nothing going you cannot do."

Hearing him say those words made me remember my dad. My dad always believed in me, always said I was strong and if I wanted something I could get it. He never saw me as a weakness, I was his strength. The thing that kept him going. I made him alert in danger as he would always protect me, until he couldn't.

"Don't you miss it? The thrill of a case, the moves of a game, the pull of a trigger?" He got up and walked over to me, stopping right in front of me.

I remembered how it felt when I shot Joey. It was amazing to be in that much power. His life was in my hands and I took it. It gave me a thrill at 15 and it does now too. Watching the light go out in someone's eyes is amazing. My stomach always turned before I pulled the trigger, but after I felt like a God; like I could do anything.

"Sherlock doesn't think you can do it" my eyes shot to him as he spoke, "He wants to protect you because he thinks you're delicate" he was right. Sherlock didn't believe in me. He just thought I was someone who he could play with when it suited him. "A delicate, little flower" he stroked my cheek and leaned in closer, "I know you for who you truly are. What you can do. Join me. We'll be unstoppable."

"What would I do?" I asked as his lips brushed mine

"Kill" He whispered before kissing me passionately. I loved the taste of his lips, it's like I could taste the danger on them. I pulled away and we looked into each other's eyes. He could read me just as well as Sherlock could, maybe even better.

He smirked before I even answered, "OK".