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I watched him walk away and closed up the remaining food. Had this been a date? I pondered the possibilities as I stuffed the leftovers into crevices in the fridge behind a bowl containing a human ear. What did he mean by waiting so long? I was beyond confused and stressed. I felt like I needed to be locked up in a mental institution.

Padded walls, barred windows, no visitors…

It sounded strangely serene.

What was serenity? I thought I used to know, but no it seemed like there was constant noise. Even now, isolated in my darkened room I could hear everything.

The ice maker in the fridge, the sound of my cat snoring, Sherlock's erotic text alert noise, and the thrumming of a violin being picked at were just a few of the noises that were pushing me to the brink. I don't know why they made me upset, but I accredited it to my anger at Sherlock for being so…Sherlock, and the fact that Moriarty was alive? No, I signed his death certificate, I autopsied his body—he was as dead as dead could be. Except that he wasn't. I suddenly felt my heartbeat in my head. This was too much. I closed my eyes and laid my head back on my pillow. I concentrated on things that made me happy. My cat, coffee, hugs, smiling, showers…the list ended; I couldn't think of anything else. This infuriated me even more. When my phone rang, I cried out a little bit, half from being frightened, half from stress.

It was a text from Mary.

Would you like to grab some coffee with me? I'm at the café by the flat.

-MarMor

Before I responded I was off the bed, turning the lights on, and searching for clothes. I paused in my search to let her know I was coming. Getting out of the flat would work wonders on my mental state.

Yeah, I'll be there in about ten minutes.

-MH

I threw off my gown and slipped on a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting cardigan. I brushed my hair out, not willing to do anything more with it, and slipped my shoes on. I looked myself over in the mirror, and before I left doused myself in perfume.

I set the bottle down and began to leave, but as I began to take a step I couldn't feel my legs. My head became foggy, like I'd stood up too fast, and the last thing I remember was lying on the floor, trying to call out, but not being able to form the words. Everything went black.

I shivered. It was freezing. I tried to open my eyes, but it didn't work. I tried a second time. I felt my eyes opening, but yet all I saw was black. I panicked. I was blind—I was bloody blind. I blinked a few more times, and as I became more coherent I felt the fabric brush against my lashes.

My heart picked up speed. This couldn't be happening again. No, please god, no. I felt myself getting sick from the thought that I was in danger again.

I tested movement in my hands. I couldn't pull them apart; they were bound behind my back. Hopefully the scar tissue from before would make it harder for the skin to become raw, because I was going to try and maneuver my way out.

I felt cool hands from behind me, placed on either side of my neck. I froze.

'Molly, you know what happened last time. I wouldn't try that if I were you.' I shivered. It was the voice from beyond the grave. There was no doubt of who it was. It was Jim. I said and did nothing, and he dug his nails into the skin around my throat. I didn't move or make a sound. Where were the fight and the fierceness I'd had last time? That's right. I'd had hope of being rescued last time. Maybe Mary would notice when I didn't show up.

'What do you want from me?' I whispered, not realizing before then that it wouldn't matter if I wanted to yell—my throat was so dry, my voice so hoarse, that it wouldn't have become any louder.

'I want nothing from you, Molly. Sherlock and I need to finish the game.' He grabbed ahold of my hair and yanked backwards, whispering in my ear as I yelped. 'You're just a pawn to get to where I need to be.'

'Why would Sherlock come after me?'

'Since you're most likely going to die anyways, I may as well let you in on the fun.' I heard him laugh and heard the clicking of his shoes as he walked around. 'Sherlock has a certain weak spot for you. Call it what you may, in the end it's all a weakness.' He hissed out the last two words dramatically.

'You've got it wrong!' I croaked, crying out. Tears ran down my face. I didn't want to die. I could feel the fear and impending doom well up inside of my chest.

'This should be interesting.' He said sarcastically. 'Please, tell me what I have wrong.' He mocked, saying the word wrong in an almost ape-like voice.

'We're nothing. I swear to you that we're nothing.'

'Nothing? Nothing!' He threw something that shattered, and made an almost deafening noise. The next time he began speaking he was in my face. 'You don't get to see what I see every night.' He laughed. 'The poor boy is half in love with you! Whatever love is to him.' I heard him click away again.

'He won't come near me—'

'It's a game.' He sang. 'He knows I've been watching you. Yes, I have bugs planted all over that pretty little flat of yours. Interesting life you lead…Anyways, as I was saying. He knew my plan from the beginning. He was trying to throw me off of your scent and onto the scent of Miss Adler. It clearly didn't work though. And now, here we are just you and I waiting for Prince Charming.'

He knew the whole time? He knew the whole time and didn't warn me? The tears ran freely now. I didn't care that I probably looked pitiful, I didn't care. He knew.

I felt betrayed and hurt.

'Stop crying, Molly. It's very unattractive. Not to mention, it won't stop me from killing you, or Sherlock from getting here any quicker. Hell, the two weeks is almost up and he still has come.' I heard a beeping, which I assumed to be his phone, and heard him clicking away a response.

'It's not been two weeks.' I stated, unable to believe that I had lost consciousness for that long. It felt like a day…I felt a pulling at the back of my head and suddenly I could see. The first thing my eyes encountered was a phone with a calendar that read two weeks past the day I blacked out. 'Wh-why isn't he here yet?' I whispered to myself.

I choked back a sob.

How could I have trusted him?

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