Sherlock - Short Story

Sweet Dreams

“Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn’t go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
Saying, ‘Don’t be afraid’”
-Blue Öyster Cult

I carefully watch Moriarty’s every move as he walks over and sits down in the chair that used to be Sherlock’s. I then mimic his movements and sit in the armchair directly opposite, the chair that used to be John’s. He smirks at me, obviously seeing through the façade I was trying so desperately to put up. “Well,” he says with that smooth tone of his. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you miss me?”

I open my mouth, about to reply with a sarcastic comment, but I hold my tongue. Instead I pause, pretending the question requires some real thinking. I give him a brittle smile, “Not in the slightest.”

He chuckles at my answer, but abruptly stops, the fake smile being replaced with a dark look, “Wrong answer.” He stands up from the chair and heads to the door, opening it. “You have to come with me now,” he says, gesturing for me to go through the door.

I raise my eyebrows and scoff, “Oh? What makes you think that I would ever go with the world’s most dangerous psychopath?”

He fakes an incredulous look, “Who said you had a choice?”

Suddenly I feel a presence behind me, and I’m locked in a choke hold. I try everything I can think of to get out of my holders grasp; stomping on his foot with my stiletto heel, elbowing him in the ribs, but nothing works. Then I feel a pinch in the side of my neck, and my vision turns blurry. “Wh–what did you…,” my voice slurs. My holder lets go of me and I stumble to the ground, landing on my knees.

“Sweet dreams, dear Eleanor.”

And that’s the last thing I hear before everything fades to black.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Splash!

I gasp, awakened by the ice–cold water drenching my body. I blink a few times, trying to clear the fogginess from my vision. Forgetting what had happened, I take a look at my surroundings. The place was dark, with one single bulb hanging from a ceiling chain.  The floor was made of concrete, and I could hear the sound of water dripping not too far away.

I then try to move from my current position, only to be held back by an unknown force. I glance down for any indication of what it might be, finding myself chain–cuffed to a metal chair. I struggle for a few minutes, but it’s no use.

That’s when I hear the click–clack of polished shoes across the cold floor, and I remember.

“Moriarty…,” I growl quietly.

Said man steps into the light upon hearing his name, faking a look of surprise, “Oh! You remember. Very good.”

I glare at him, “Why am I here, for what purpose?”