Fleeting Impressions | J.M.

6: kidnapped, again

With a heavy body and moping feet, I walk home.

I wasn't the same after James left and I think Emma could tell. I'm usually so good at faking normal. So good at hiding my emotions, but not this time.

She was excited to know what I thought of her new boyfriend, calling him a 'keeper' saying he was so 'funny' and 'hot' and 'cute' and 'oh that accent!!'.

It took all I had in my not to strangle the girl to death, but I figured that was just too overboard, even for me. Emma didn't deserve my anger anyway. So I just nodded along and agreed to whatever she said while also only half listening.

James on the other hand, did deserve my anger. He payed attention to me, he sent flowers to me, said I was his queen. Then he goes and flirts with one one person I might consider a friend. And then kissed her.

The lips that I watched form words with an Irish accent. The lips that parted  to lick his mint chocolate chip and the peach. The lips that curved up in a smirk whenever I did something to amuse him.

He used those lips. To kiss her.

But the thing that makes me most furious is that if effects me so. It shouldn't. I mean the man practically harassed me while I was in his car. He made me, a Holmes, feel fear.

His clues and attention and his deranged mind gave me pause in my boring life. And I clung too quick. The excitement woke my intelligence and peaked my interest. And I've let him slither in my consciousness. Set to rot me from the inside out.

It's already taken it's hold, in the form of jealousy no less. And I let him do this. I blindly followed my slaughterer right into his trap.

But now that I know, it will be easy to retrace my steps and find myself to safety once again. I can go back to boring Cordelia, masquerading as a regular human being. I can go back to being emotionless and forgetting all about sentiment and feelings.

All I have to do is forget about James.

Easy. 

•••

Nothing is ever as easy as you think it is.

Instead of enjoying a rare lovely day in Europe, I woke to a knock at my door and a gun trained at my waist. The man from the grocery store kept the pistol steady, the hard glint in his eyes promising that he knows how to use it. A familiar black car sat running behind him and the almost unnoticeable flick of his hand to tell me to get moving.

Being kidnapped is no fun, but it is interesting. Though, last time I did it with Sherlock as an experiment. This time, I knew it would lead me right into the trap of a certain Napoleon of Crime. And the thought left a terrible taste in my mouth.

But, I promised I would let him have no effect on me. I straightened my spine and wiped my face clean of any emotion. Getting ready for battle.

I was escorted to the car with the gun enthusiastically at my back, and he made sure I was in and seated before making his way back to the front.

The partition was already up, sealing us off once again to leave me absolutely alone with the psychopath next to me.

"Delia," his tone sent a shiver down my spine, but I never moved a muscle to give it away, never looked away from the black fabric in front of me. I wouldn't give him the time of day.

He signs, as if I was a child having a tantrum, "Delia, look at me baby."

I snap my head over at that, but keep that mask on, "don't call me that." My voice flat and monotone.

"Fine," I can beat the smirk, "Beretta, look at me baby."

And I freeze. All the times I figured he knew my name was a fake, I still hoped that he didn't know my true identity. Yet, obviously I can't hide from this man.

"I don't think Emma would like you saying that to me," I say instead.

He scooches closer, caging me into the door with his body. Right in my ear he whispers, "No one has got me hooked like you do. No one else will be my queen."

But I bat the words away with the blink of my expressionless eyes.

He holds onto me now, I would almost think he was desperate, but I can't expect anything with this man.

"She means nothing to me," he tries again.

"I only kissed her to make you jealous."

And

"Will you just look at me."

But I ignore them all. All the excuses and meaningless words. The way he played Emma, like putty in his hands made me sick to think that the same thing happened to me.

Obviously, this is still not the reaction he desired to get out of me, and I hope he feels regret with his actions. He sits back, out of my reach again.

"Darling, do you watch the news?" The question catches me off guard and I lift an eyebrow. He takes that as a cue to keep talking.

"You must have really been living under a rock all for the past almost two years. I mean really. I am the James Moriarty. and you didn't even pick up on that," he boasts, but I feel like he's holding back something. Something he wants to say but it might spoil his game.

"I have a business to run, people to kill, and things to steal," I pale. I figured he was a criminal, but murder? I shake my head in disbelief.

"But I always have time for another game. One with an opponent as pretty as you," his voice is deep now. Something I only experienced once with him. When he was almost ripping my hair out. "I have a gift for you. It's just a little something to realize where you will end up either way at the end of this little game of ours."

He hands me what appears to be a small cross, white in color and littered with diamonds. It fits nicely in my palm.

"Because I told you, she means nothing to me," the car stops at my house again and I'm dragged out with the infamous pistol and static man. James left in the car like royalty.

It's finally when I get inside do I realize the extent of what I am holding. Without the haze of James Moriarty that blocks any rational thought I almost drop the diamond piece in horror.

Once again, I underestimated the extent of the Napoleon of Crime when he said that he was a thief. Because what I am holding in my hands would take a true genius to get. You would have to have a powerful influence and a knack for danger. Probably a little stupidity.

I could be hanged for having this in my possession.

And I also underestimated the sincerity of James' words.

What I hold in my hand is the top of the staff of the Crown Jewels of England.

Message received; I'm his queen. Whether I want to be or not.