Chapter 1: A Night Out

"Sherlock are you out of your damn mind?" I demanded as I stormed after him up the street, hurrying to keep up with his brisk pace.

"Depends on your definition of insanity, I suppose," he replied. "What've I done now?"

"You can't just call into my work and tell them I'm not coming in today!" He smiled slightly.

"Ah, yes," he remembered. "That. Good thing I caught up to you, wouldn't you say?" I scowled at him and resisted the urge to punch him.

"You could have at least come up with a good excuse!" I complained as we neared our flat. He paused and looked at me curiously.

"I thought I did."

"Telling them I'm being held at gun point isn't a good excuse!" I snarled. We started walking again.

"If you're going to lie then just tell them I caught the flu or something! They're either going to freak out or fire me!" We reached 221B Baker Street and headed upstairs to our flat.

"It happens often enough," Sherlock pointed out. "I thought I ought to get a jump on things."
"Sherlock!" I shouted as we walked into the living room.

"What's he done now?" John asked tiredly from his chair across from Sherlock's green leather chair.

"I only called her off work," Sherlock replied.

"By telling them I had a gun pointed at my head!" I was really having a hard time not punching him. John sighed and gave Sherlock a disapproving look.

"Sherlock," he scolded. "We've talked about this." Sherlock frowned and looked between the two of us.

"You two," he said pointing at each of us. "Are boring."

"Now, now," a pleasant voice chided as an older woman came up the stairs. "What's all the fuss about?"

"Mrs. Hudson, would it be all right if I punched Sherlock?" I requested. Our landlady blinked in surprise.

"Of course not," she answered. "That's never going to solve anything." I sighed heavily and flopped down on the sofa.

"Do we even have anything going on today?" I asked John. He shook his head and I shot Sherlock a nasty look.

"Everyone needs a holiday," he quipped. I opened my mouth to shout at him when the doorbell rang.

"Bet that's a case now," Sherlock pointed out.

"Bet it isn't," I muttered. The door opened and we could hear the sounds of footsteps approaching the flat's open door.

"Good morning Mrs. Hudson," a man's voice greeted her and a moment later a man about seven years older than Sherlock walked into the living room.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said in an annoyed tone. Sherlock's older brother ignored his younger brother's tone and dropped a file on the coffee table between John and Sherlock's chairs.

"It would seem Moriarty has returned," he said. Sherlock dove for the file and snatched it before John or I could move.

"Told you it was a case!" he crowed triumphantly. "I knew it! This is excellent!"

"What is?" I questioned cocking an eyebrow at him. "The psycho's back. That's excellent, how, exactly?"

"Gives me something to do!" Sherlock pointed out. "He'll have something horrid planned, I'm sure. I haven't had a big case in ages."

"Sherlock, he kills people," John replied. Sherlock blinked.

"Yes, well, that's awful and all that." He waved dismissively. John and I rolled our eyes at each other. Moriarty had been on trial for breaking into the security system at Pentonville prison, the Bank of England, and the Tower of London, and breaking into the case holding the Crown Jewels. He had been found Not Guilty. If Sherlock knew how he'd done it he wasn't saying. Moriarty had come to the flat and told Sherlock he had something special planned but no one knew what that meant.

"Well look it over," Mycroft instructed. "Let me know when you've found something. Hopefully he'll hold off doing anything for some time."

"Doubtful," Sherlock mused as he read through the file. Mycroft nodded to us and left. Sherlock was engrossed in the file and hardly paid any attention to me or John after that.

As the evening neared I went up to the room I shared with John to get ready for an evening out. John currently had a girlfriend and he spent most of his time at her place so I was free to use his room until they broke up, although I hoped they didn't because Mary was a lovely person. We shared his closet but I had my own dresser. When he didn't have a girlfriend I slept downstairs in Mrs. Hudson's spare room or upstairs on the sofa, as was usually the case. There was actually another flat in the building but it was in the basement and seemed too damp for me to want to live in. Luckily, Mrs. Hudson didn't mind me staying in her flat when I wasn't staying with John and Sherlock.

"Well, I'm off," I said as I came down to the living room.

"Going out?" John questioned. I nodded and flashed my mobile at him showing off a dating app I had installed.

"Just for drinks and a bite to eat." Sherlock looked up and blinked at me.

"What on Earth are you dressed like that for?" he asked. I looked down at my outfit. It wasn't too different from my usual attire. I was wearing a pair of black jeans and a dark purple top. It wasn't too skimpy so I didn't understand Sherlock's problem with it.

"You're wearing makeup," he clarified when I gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm going out for drinks," I repeated. "I'll be back later."

"Who with?" Sherlock demanded.

"A guy I met online," I answered.

"You're on a dating website?" he asked in disbelief. I felt a twinge of hurt at his tone. Like the idea of me dating was so farfetched.

"Why's that so ridiculous?" I snapped. "I can date people."

"You're really going to meet with someone you've never seen?" Sherlock pressed.

"We've sent each other photos," I told him. "I know what he looks like."

"Oh don't be so daft!" Sherlock snapped. "He could have chosen a photo of anybody! Since when do you date anyway? You're not exactly a social butterfly." That comment stung wore than his earlier tone.

"Well, I've got to try, haven't I?" I replied frostily. "How else am I ever going to meet—"

"The man of your dreams?" Sherlock cut in. I flushed and swallowed down an angry retort.

"Someone worth marrying," I bit out before turning to John. "Bye, John."

"Have fun," he said calmly but his eyes flicked between me and Sherlock and I could tell he was upset that Sherlock had been rude.

"See you later," Sherlock called as I opened the door. I slammed the door in response and stormed down the stairs.

The pub where I was meeting my date, Nick, was several streets away from Baker Street and since the weather was pretty pleasant I decided to walk there. I could take a cab home after if I needed to.

The pub was crowded and noisy and I cringed a little inside as I walked through the door. Sherlock had been right, as usual. I didn't like crowds and I was generally uncomfortable if I wasn't with people that I knew. But after all the things he had said I was determined to prove him wrong. I found an empty seat at the bar and texted Nick to let him know that I had arrived.

"You Rei?" the bartender asked. I looked up and nodded.

"Bloke phoned and said to tell you he'd be late," he informed me. "Asked me to get you a drink."

"Oh, okay," I replied. "Um—I'll have a vodka cranberry, please."

"Comin' right up." The bartender nodded and turned to get my drink. I wondered why Nick hadn't texted me to let me know he was running late but before I could text him to ask him what was keeping him my drink was placed in front of me. I smiled at the bartender and took a sip of the drink.

- - Nearly there. 10 minutes.

Nick's text message caused my mobile to beep as I was working on my second drink. It was now about half an hour past our original meet time but I was trying not to be too upset.

- - Okay I sent back.

The bartender set a third drink in front of me and I waved it away.

"I'm good," I assured him.

"'Ave one more, love," he insisted. "No harm in that." I shrugged, finished my current drink, and began drinking the next one. They weren't very large drinks so I was able to finish it quickly. Fifteen minutes later I was seriously pissed. Nick was way late and now I was going to have to go back home and Sherlock would know right off that he had been right. Damn it. I sighed angrily and stood up. My head spun and someone steadied me from behind.

"Sorry I'm late, love," a voice said quietly in my ear. I tensed. I knew that voice…didn't I?

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" the guy suggested steering me toward the entrance to the bar. He collected my coat and supported me as he half walked/half carried me outside. Everything felt so heavy and I was so tired. I couldn't understand what was wrong with me. Surely three drinks wouldn't have this effect on me? A car was waiting at the curb and in the reflection of the window I saw Nick's face. I gasped and stumbled away from him.

"Moriarty!" His name came out garbled but he smiled all the same.

"Get in the car, Reilen," he requested as he opened the door. It took me a minute to process what he had said. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and the feeling was only getting worse. A sickening realization hit me and I stumbled back another step.

"Did you—drug me?" I accused him. He took a step toward me.

"A little Rohypnol works wonders," he admitted. "Bit 'frat boy' but it served its purpose." I wanted to run back to Baker Street but my legs stopped working and my vision blurred. I sagged toward the sidewalk and Moriarty moved forward smoothly and caught me.

"Time to sleep now," he ordered. My eyes drifted closed as he loaded me into the back of the car.