Orphan on Baker Street

Twenty Fifth: Lounge

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you out here," Moriarty's smooth voice says. I don't say anything. "It's because you're valuable."

"Bullshit. Everytime you say it, all I hear is bullshit," I respond immediately. He just smirks.

"But you're curious, aren't you? That's why you came..." I scowl as he slowly raises his teacup to his lips. Moriarty keeps his eyes locked on me as he takes a long sip of the liquid that still steams. Then he sets it down on the saucer, his gaze still scrutinizing me.

"You're clever, Mick. You're not like anything I've ever seen," he says finally.

I'm still not convinced. "What about Sherlock? He's more valuable than me; we both know that."

Moriarty smirks nostalgically, but then it fades. "We aren't really on speaking terms right now, but you aren't boring like he is. He's a goody two shoes, but you'll take risks, Mickey - not just for show, either. Plus, you're dying. And what's better than spending your last days doing exciting things with an exciting person?"

There's silence between us for a moment, and I focus on the soft murmuring of others and clinking of glasses as I think. "I'm not dying," I correct him weakly.

The man opens his mouth to speak, stops, and starts again. "I know; sorry. It's just the whole cancer thing, and that's confusing because, like, who doesn't die from it? And-"

"Could we please just change the subject?!" I say it a little too loudly, and a few eyes glance our way.

"Right, sorry! Well, anyway, what I'm really getting at here is, um..." He looks nervous but excited, like he's about to present a powerpoint on weed. "Do you want to work with me?"

There's a pause. "What would I get out of it, exactly?"

I have to play it cool and look like I'm considering, since I kind of am - sadly. How would Sherlock react, though? He'd get me kicked out, I'm sure.

"You'd get to work alongside a wonderful mastermind. It's probably better than any internship ever. I know what you're thinking," - he puts on a voice that mocks mine - "'What if Sherlock finds out and kicks me out of his flat?' Well, I've already arranged a nice place you can stay free of charge and free of Sherlock. Honestly, I don't see the losing side here."

"I-I'm not sure," I stutter nervously. What if he doesn't take rejection well? There are just so many risks - the cops, he could be lying, Sherlock finding out, Mrs. Hudson finding out. Plus, I already kind of work with a mastermind.

"It's fine to not be sure. I'll give you until, say, Monday. You can let me know then, alright?"

I nod.

"Glad you understand." He puts some money on the bar. Then he just pats my shoulder and leaves.

Now all I want to do is go home and sleep. Maybe I'll forget all of this, and he will too. I wait a moment before leaving, in case I end up in a cab with him. Then I meander my way from the "lounge" and onto the curb.

My hands sit in my pockets for a while as I decide to walk for a bit. The street lights guide me down an unfamiliar path, and I decide to call a cab soon.

Suddenly, a finger taps my shoulder. I snap my head to the side quickly and look at my possible killer.

Sherlock towers over me with no expression on his face. We stand there in silence for a moment. I'm scared that if I speak, he'll suddenly speak over me with the anger and speed of someone chasing their wife's killer in a field.

He raises his chin slightly, and that's when I prepare myself.

"You met with Moriarty," he says calmly. "He offered you a job. I already knew that; when I went to find him, I found him, and he told me. Did you accept?" He doesn't speak as quickly as usual, and I suddenly realize that he's trying to keep his voice steady. Accepting this kind of offer from Moriarty must not be very smart or safe.

"He gave me until Monday," I say quietly. Sherlock stares around at the emptying streets. The tall lamp posts cast shadows across his face that send chills up my spine like when Moriarty talks.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." My voice stays soft as I hold back tears. I've disappointed him again; he's going to tell Mrs. Hudson. I've let everybody down, and Monday I'm letting an enemy down. Well, maybe I can go off and live with John. He wouldn't let me feel like I let him down, even if I did.

"We should get a cab," he says finally. Conveniently, headlights round the corner, and a lit up sign sits on top of what looks like an invisible moving object. Sherlock waves his hand into the street. I look away and wipe under my eyes with the back of my hands.

Then the two of us get into the backseat of the cab and return to 221B in silence.

--

Author's Note:

Okay, 1) I'm sorry that the updates are more spaced out than I planned (time wise); and 2) I'm also sorry that this chapter is so short. My weekends are getting piled with homework and laziness, so I don't really set aside much time to write.

On a better note, thank you to those of you who continue to read!! I'm already thinking up possibilities for the next chapter, so stay patient c:

You da best,

Nae