Ch. 20

Sherlock did indeed get Norah a cab, waving a quick goodbye as he watched her climb in and ride away. He went back up to his flat and stared at his wall some more, when she called him.

"Hel-,"

"I should not have gone home," she said, cutting him off. Hearing her terrified tone, Sherlock went into adrenaline mode, snatched his coat, and ran back down the stairs. "You need to see this," she added.

"I'm already on my way," he said, flagging down a cab and jumping in. "Are you safe?" he muttered Norah's address to the driver.

"Well, no…just come take a look."

"Stay on the phone with me until I get there." He drummed his fingers impatiently on the door handle of the taxi.

"I have to call Scotland Yard," she said. Sherlock furrowed his brow. Was there a body in her flat or something?

"No need, I'll text Griffin Lestrade. Stay on the line." He lowered the phone from his ear briefly to shoot a text. "Still there?"

"Yeah, I've gone outside."

"What's happening?" He hated being kept in the dark.

"…I think Moriarty has been in my flat."

Sherlock was sure he felt his heart stop for a moment.

"Stay exactly where you are, I'm almost there."

Sherlock thrust some bills at the cabbie and bolted out of the car, his coat flying behind him as he ran up the stairs. Norah was sitting on the ground outside of her door, phone still to her ear. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost. "Are you alright?" He said, panting.

"I'm fine. My cabinets, not so much."

"Well I…wait, what?"

The sound of sirens drew nearer.

"Just come look." Norah grabbed his hand and led him through the door.

A ghastly sight awaited the two of them. A red gooey substance was smeared in a thick layer across Norah's white cabinets, spelling out:

YOU THINK YOU ARE SAFE. YOU ARE NOT.

…

"It's definitely blood," Anderson said, rubbing some of the red goo between his fingers and sniffing it.

"Okay, even I could have figured that out." Greg Lestrade said, rolling his eyes and walking past him.

"Ah, Griffin."

"It's Greg! You know what, never mind. I give up Sherlock."

"Inspector Lestrade, this is my…" Sherlock gestured to Norah, who awaited his next words.

He cleared his throat. "…This is Eleanor Sinclair."

"Just Norah. Very nice to meet you." She shook his hand. Greg raised an eyebrow and looked between the two of them.

"…Uh-huh. Any ideas Sherlock?"

"I can tell you who did it. Sort of."

"Who?"

"The person that goes by the name Jim Moriarty."

Greg heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples. "I swear if I ever meet this guy, I'm going to take pleasure in punching that stupid smirk off of his face. He's giving me a lot of grief lately."

"Yeah I know the feeling," Norah remarked.

"Right. Sorry. Bridge. Forgot that was you."

"SO the question is," Anderson said, suddenly joining the conversation. "Who's blood is it?"

"I have a theory but I hope I'm wrong," Sherlock said.

Anderson got a good look at Norah for the first time, did a double take, and fixed his hair. "Hi there." He grinned a big toothy grin at her.

"…Hello." She said, smiling back. Sherlock rolled his eyes, inferring the disgusting thoughts going through his mind.

"I'd shake your hand, but…well…" He held up his bloody gloves to her.

"Anderson?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Your zipper is down."

Anderson looked down, but could not do much about his pants since his hands were bloodied. Turning red, he walked away to dispose of his gloves. Norah stifled a laugh.

"Call John and check that they're okay," Norah instructed, once she regained her composure.

Right. John and Mary. Sherlock whipped out his mobile and dialed John.

"Hello?"

"Is everything alright?"

"…Yeah, Mary and I are fine why do you ask?"

"Just checking."

"Wait, what's happened?"

"Norah's flat's been vandalized by Moriarty. No bloody cabinets at your place then?"

"No, oh my God is she alright?"

"She's fine. Say hello to Mary for me."

"Will do. Thanks for…you know…checking."

"Of course." He hung up and put his phone back. "Pack your things Norah, you'll stay with me."

"I will?" Norah asked.

"She will?" Anderson asked.