the king's crown | j. moriarty (18+)

forty two

"THE HELL WAS that Elizabeth?" John Watson directed his outrage at the both of them, his arms flying out and his figure rigid. He placed a hand to his mouth, wiping harshly across his face.

"What was what?" John Watson puffed out his cheeks with a warning noise to filter his anger. Furiously he tackled the air around them, still heavy and off from Magnussen's visit.

"Did you notice what he did?" Sherlock asked, looking intently at his blogger.

"Wh...there was one moment that kinda stuck in mind, yeah."

"Exactly-" Sherlock was beaming, pacing across his apartment absently declaring it was his again, spinning on his heel when he reached the far wall. "When he showed us the papers." John Watson made a strained noise, he threw his eyes to Elizabeth with his lips parted and with no reaction from the girl, who right now was equally baffling him, he stood straight and closed his eyes in disbelief.

"...Okay."

"So he's brought the letters to London." Sherlock rambled, "So no matter what he says, he's ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weaknesses - the 'pressure point' he calls it." Sherlock bundled his coat in his arms and shoved it on roughly. "So clearly," Elizabeth noted how he only ever addressed John during his speeches when she were in the room. "He thinks I'm a drug addict and no serious threat." Sherlock stumbled to one of the windows of his lounge and Elizabeth puffed out her cheeks. She was leant against the coffee table, now with one arm across her chest and her cheek resting lightly on her fist.

"Or he thinks that you're the consulting criminal of 221B Baker Street that's been all over the news for the past four years." Elizabeth huffed, dropping her hand from her chin. She looked up lazily, bored - why had she chosen to do this again? Oh that's right, she remembered bitterly, I killed someone. Sherlock snapped his attention to her, suddenly deflated. Elizabeth sucked in air in a long childish breath with her head hung low, when she lifted her face back up to the room, her eyebrows were drawn together and she decided to speak to her audience instead of mumbling to herself. "Funny how you two know so much about each other and yet we know nothing." Elizabeth referred to John without looking at him and though John wanted to deal with her later, not sure what to make of his friend in this present moment, he nodded at her words. She had a point. Sherlock watched Elizabeth with a venomous stare and neared her with impressive speed. Elizabeth huffed another breath and gave him a dorky and quick smile that fell as if it were never there.

"Funny how none of us know anything about you at all." Elizabeth moved her eyes from his stare with her eyebrows lifted. She hummed in a way that told Sherlock and John to step away from her; a hum that sang now, that's certainly not game we're playing. "In fact, I don't think you explained your reason for being here Elizabeth-" he emphasised her name, all of his words cynical and dismissive. "I don't think you ever told us who you are." Elizabeth looked at John, seeing curiosity on his face. She frowned. Sure, John and Elizabeth had been friends for more than a year now, best friends, but in that time they'd been silently consoling each other. Eventually John had a tendency to reveal what was bothering him; Elizabeth did too. But Elizabeth always discussed the present: she was imagining Jim, she was exhausted, depressed. She didn't tell him things about her life before they met again at the psychiatrists office. She wasn't even telling him the truth about herself right now. She was actively in love with James Moriarty; she was going to tell him everything that was happening here; she was a murderer.

"I have." Elizabeth said simply, and then she rolled her lips together, not approving of the intimidation Sherlock always tries to enforce upon her. "Or, if i haven't you've certainly done your research." She looked back into the cold blue staring back at her, still sceptical and she pouted. "What?" Elizabeth dragged, "Is that not true?" Sherlock leant away from her, watching her features; of course he'd looked her up. She baffled him. He couldn't see her like he could everybody else. Everything about her seemed too simple to be true. She was so normal it became the opposite. She was hiding something, she was a liar? He didn't know. And it infuriated him. "Go ahead, Sherlock." She pushed, a false tone of support and equally fake smile on her pink lips. "Tell us what you know." So he did.