Playing Games With The Devil - A Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter nine: Moriarty's Wrath

Unknown POV

I was walking along the crowded London streets when I saw her. Brooklyn Porter. She looked ill, staggering around until she finally fell hitting the ground hard. I walked over to her, and saw her helpless body laying on the pavement.

Oh, how easy it would be for me to end her life right now. That would be merciful compared to what she truly deserves. I contemplate it for a moment before picking her up instead.

Getting revenge on this bitch is going to be the greatest moment of my life...

***

Brooklyn's POV

I wake to find myself sitting limp in a chair, my hands are in handcuffs around the back of it and my ankles are tied. My initial instinct is to pull harshly at the cuffs trying someway to get lose.

Then I begin to think logically. I take in my surroundings; I'm in some sort of condemned building by the looks of it. An old apartment complex most likely. The room I'm in was probably a lobby once.

I don't recall ever passing a place like this when I left Marylebone hotel so whoever brought me here must have taken me pretty far. I crane my neck looking around but I'm the only one here. Could someone have dropped me here to wither away in this dump?

I shake the thought from my mind and try screaming. Pain engulfs me. My throat is still unbearably sore from where Sebastian cut me. I hear footsteps and the sound of laughter. I jerk my head around to see who it is.

To my surprise, I don't recognise him. Why would someone I don't even know abduct me? He registers the confuse look on my on my face and his smile falters. "That's just great. You don't even remember me do you?" Anger and tint of sarcasm drips from his voice.

I shake my head not wanting to speak. "You killed my family, ruined my life and you can't even be bothered to remember." The mans voice is so steady and callous it's scary.

"You have the wrong person." I choke out. "You're Brooklyn Porter. Do you still think I have the wrong person?"

I stare in shock and try to remember who this man is. I come up blank. "What do you want with me?" I ask. "I want to torture you until you beg me to kill you then I'll leave you here to suffer." He says glaring at me with intense hatred. My breath catches in my throat. "Who are you?" I ask wanted desperately to remember what I could have done to warrant this level of loathing.

He begins laughing again but there's no humour in it this time. "You burned down that house knowing she was still inside! I remember you, whether you remember me or not, I can't get the image of you out of my head. I begged you to let me save her but you had that brother of yours knock me out. I woke up in the hospital and I just knew, I knew Jessie was dead. And now, I want you to pay."

I'm overcome with guilt. For the past seven years I've done my best to suppress that memory, to push it so far back that I forgot it even happened. I guess it's true what they say; if you run from your past long enough, eventually it'll catch up to you.

"I-I'm so...sorry." I say sincerely, but I know it won't make any difference.

I feel his fist connect with my jaw and I taste blood. He continues punching me over and over becoming more forceful each time. The pain in near unbearable. I try to block it out; to shut off the part of my mind that feels pain, but it doesn't work.

I choke, coughing up blood. He stops hitting me and reaches into his pocket. Even though my vision is blurry I can easily make out that it's a knife. I brace myself, preparing for the worst when I hear a gun shot.