I dropped the petri dish I'd been holding the moment I saw that face on the telly. That mischievous face smiling and a voice asking over and over again, "Did you miss me?" made every single cell of my body jump up with fright. My breath was uneven as I tried to make sense of this. How was he alive?! How could he be back?! He had shot himself and died on the roof I was standing under more than two years ago. Sherlock had seen it before his own eyes, pushing him to jump off the roof to protect his friends.
Sherlock didn't die, of course. It was all a magic trick. A magic trick I helped out in. Could it be possible that Moriarty had done exactly the same thing? And, more importantly, had he actually outwitted Sherlock?
After the initial shock had passed, I kneeled down and picked up what I could of the pieces of the dish. Jim was back. No one was safe.
"So, did you?" A voice coming from behind asked. I knew that voice. I hadn't heard it in probably four years. Even more. But I still remembered. The owner of that voice had taken me out to dinner. He had read my blog. He worked as an IT guy in this very hospital and invited me to lunch every day. He'd listened to my problems, and then I found out his interest wasn't more than lies.
Jim Moriarty.
I stood up with my back towards him and did not answer. I was shaking inside, but tried to keep composure and seem braver than I felt.
"Oh, come on, Molly. You did miss me. I bet your friend, Sherlock, missed me terribly, too." I did not respond and refused to turn around and face him, so I just stood there, listening. "No one to puzzle him, challenge him."
I could hear his footsteps. He was getting closer to me and a chill covered my body, from head to toe. I could feel his proximity. He giggled and said as if he just heard a really good joke, "Molly Hooper. The girl that counted. I must say, I'm impressed with the way Sherlock buries his feelings. I never thought he cared about you at all." He laughed and said in a singy-songy voice "My mistake."
I'm guessing he turned around because his footsteps were going the other way, and his voice did not seem as close. I finally gathered enough courage to face him and turned. There he was, a few feet away in his perfectly ironed suit and his hands behind his back, smiling at me. "What do you want?" My voice sounded cracked and weak. I didn't mean for that to happen, but it did. So much for my courage.
"What do I want?" He said holding his laughter. "I want to play, Molly, with every single piece I've got. And this time, no mistakes." He smiled at me and then burst out laughing. "And by mistakes, I mean you. You were the big mistake in this whole thing. The variable I just did not see. Let the games begin!" He did a reverence and left.
Trying to catch my breath, I reached for my left pocket on my lab coat. I took my cellphone out and dialed Sherlock's number. It rang three times and then he answered sounding annoyed, "Not now, Molly, I'm kind of busy."
"He was here." I muttered.
I could hear his respiration for a few seconds and then he hanged up.
