Loving the Insane (Moriarty Fanfic)

A Nightmare Disguised Like A Daydream

Chapter Four

A Nightmare Disguised Like A Daydream

Suddenly, everyone knew who Jim Moriarty was. His face was plastered on all the news channels and even the newspapers. My face was on there as much as his, but I tried to hide myself from the press as much as possible. Unfortunately, it was useless. News people were lined up down the block, awaiting me to step out of Baker Street and give myself away to the camera and spotlight.

If anything, Jim Moriarty and I were popular now, treated as if we were a celebrity couple. It was pretty odd to think how you could instantly have a famous "public relationship" with someone you've had one interesting conversation with, and that's it. In fact, James Moriarty had become the talk of nearly all gossiping women around town. It wasn't uncommon to overhear ladies drooling over his supposed "sexy, mysterious character." These sentiments toward him made me feel sick to my stomach, and while a majority of myself believed it was because Jim Moriarty was clearly the devil, a small part of me was jealous that he was gaining such earnest attention. Don't get me wrong, he clearly should not be regarded with such esteem from me, but for London's deadliest psychopath to take an interest in me, there's just something so exciting about it.

After a few weeks passed, the court date arrived and I was summoned to go in and tell the judge everything I knew about Jim Moriarty. On the inside, I was telling myself that I couldn't do it. I would never be able to stand against Moriarty. I was both terrified of his attraction toward me, yet so allured to it that I didn't want it to ever end. But on the outside, I knew I couldn't show it. I couldn't let Jim know how breakable I was. And I was still questioning his motives: getting to Sherlock or getting to me? Either way, if it was the former, regardless of my terror or temptation, I had to do what was best for my friends.

I was going to tell the judge how much of a criminal bastard he is and if I was right about him using me, Ji--I mean James Moriarty, wouldn't think any different of me. I spent pretty much most of the day until noon rummaging through my dresser and considering what to wear. I'd never been called to court before and I didn't know how formal to look, and while I didn't like it, part of me asked with every clothing item I brought out, whether James Moriarty would notice it.

I finally decided on a simple, white wrap blouse with a pair of formal, grey slacks and my favorite black Mary Jane flats. After brushing my hair into its natural curls and spritzing some rosy perfume, I decided to skip make up for the day. I walked over to my nightstand and pulled out the silver necklace that had been there since when it was first given to me. I opened the locket and was surprised to find the picture of the phone was gone, and had been replaced with a picture of me, me a few years ago, the day I had moved in to Baker Street. It showed the backside of me walking through the main door with my bright pink suitcase as Mrs. Hudson welcomed me through the door. Had he been watching me all this time? Not to mention, when did he replace this picture?

I was intrigued by all of this. With a sly smile, I picked up the necklace and draped it over my shoulders, clasping it in the back and letting the locket droop down over my chest. I had this desire to cause trouble and act out, possibly because of all the emotions consuming me. It felt dramatic to wear it while testifying against the man who gifted it to me, but some part of me wanted him to know I had discovered this picture. What better way than to show him in person? I walked down to Sherlock and John's flat since they were accompanying me for support and as witnesses. John greeted me with a mild smile and he looked incredibly formal.

He wore a black suit, brown dress shoes, and a black and blue striped tie which he couldn't help but straighten every five seconds. I smiled at him and fixed his tie for him, assuring him that it looked great. I was about to ask where Sherlock was when the man, himself, walked out of his room wearing a black suit like John, his curly locks as loose as usual.