.・゜゜・｡･:*˚:✧｡ james moriarty
A new life. A new city. And a hell of a lot of trouble.
Renzo, otherwise known as Rens Drake, is a Scottish boy, recently moved to London for a fresh start. However, with a criminal lifestyle, will pickpocketing informat...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
NERVOUSLY, my pale freckled hands wrung together. Sherlock was questioning the cabbie, though the cabbie was more than willing to comply. That's what's making me nervous.
He seems to know he's getting out of this, and it makes me worry for Sherlock's safety.
I've been texting Jim about what may happen tonight, he hasn't been answering, typical.
A hand over my own pulls me from my thoughts, Sherlock sensed my worry acting to comfort me, though it's small I am grateful, knowing that this is foreign to him.
I probably should have paid more attention to the driver than my thoughts, as I have no idea of his plan. Though if I were to guess I would assume that he'd continue his suicides game.
We pulled up outside of a university campus building, quickly catching the name of the building my first thought is to text John our location, however my phone was instantly snatched from my hands as the door flung open.
"Can't have that now can we? C'mon." The cabbie began to walk off, gun and phone in hand, knowing we'd follow.
--
Nothing, I had no information from Jim and no way of getting any. Three bottles sat on the centre of the table, the pattern of life and death unknown to Sherlock and myself. Luckily the three of us have already established the fake gun incident and now are onto the gambling game of who has the life pill and who will experience a painful death.
"You'll pick one, you need to be right Mr Holmes." The cabbie taunts rather calmly. "I'll take the one you two don't take."
I turn to Sherlock to see him contemplating the outcome of his next action, knowing he'd be absolutely no help in this situation, I scramble through my own mindscape for an answer. I look to the pills on the table, gingerly picking one up, opening the bottle and emptying it's contents into my gloved palm.
Thinking back to the coroner reports of the supposed 'suicide' victims. Glancing to the cabbie, reviewing the information he had given us. He meets my eyes with a curious glint of his own, playful and challenging, much like a man I greatly admire.
The pill is rather large, licking my lips I look back to the table for a drink to swallow it with; there is no water given. Only someone who was capable of producing an unusual amount of saliva, or someone who had experience in taking pills would be able to swallow this thing dry... experience like taking pills for internal illnesses, such as a tumour?
Visibly having an idea, I take the pill and dry swallow it, earning a shocked look from both the cabbie and Sherlock. A sudden ping alerts us all and the cabbie takes out his phone, looking slightly disturbed by the text.
"Ex-wife?" Sherlock taunts, getting petty revenge from the minutes previous, though the cabbie didn't seem too bothered by this and answered honestly.
"Much worse."
I shiver slightly at his answer, knowing who he meant though not saying anything. Sherlock boldly grabs a pill bottle from the table, the cabbie soon following and grabbing the other. The pair stood up near the table behind me.
He was watching. Though was he here? Or was he watching through someone or something else?
A loud bang sounded behind me, grasping me from my whirl pool of thoughts. A gun shot. Whizzing around I see the cabbie on the floor, bleeding out from the shoulder. Kneeling down beside the aging man, I grab his phone and mine without Sherlock noticing.
"I'm sorry."
The whisper leaves my lips, only the cabbie heard it, only the cabbie needed too. Sherlock started getting frustrated as the dying man wasn't answering any of his questions, going as far as to press into the man's wound.
"Sherlock for God's sake!" I shout, shocked and disturbed by my partners behaviour, so much so that I allow my London accent to falter and my actual accent to show through.
"Who is it!? The one whose paying you! Give me a name!" Sherlock screamed, his aggressive behaviour kind of scaring me.
"Moriarty!" The cabbie screams with his dying breath. I sat back shocked. Silently I get up off the floor, pocketing the phone, and make my way over to Sherlock.
"What is wrong with you!? That was bordering torture!" I shout, slapping him lightly against his chest, then proceeding to walk out of the room and towards the exit.
I pull the phone out of my pocket, checking the message the one that had disturbed the still un-named man. Luckily the phone had access to notifications through the lock screen, I read the message that I knew was from Jim.
He dies, your kids follow. JM
I shivered, guilty to be enjoying the fact that he didn't want me to die, horrified to know that he'd go as far as to murder innocent children.
When I got outside police and ambulances were already at the scene. I walk to John, however pause on my small journey when my phone beeps.
Need to talk. Meet me x JM
I huff and make it to John.
"Are you okay? Where's Sherlock?" He was panicked but keeping his cool.
"I have to go. Sherlock is on his way out. Oh and... nice shot." I smile before walking off, hailing a cab and driving away.
"You know where to go." I say to my driver, who I can tell is Jim's assistant even from the back. And thus I await the long drive to Jim's mansion, subconsciously drifting off to sleep in the back of the taxi.
