Chapter 17 - Don't Make Me Order You

"It's easy and quite acceptable to feel betrayed at this stage," Tim Killaney said with a reassuring smile.

Violet tilted her head.

"I'm sorry… what?"

Tim had veered into the unknown, having just asked Violet how she was feeling while she fixed a salad for her and Mandi's dinner. Did he know about the situation with Sherlock and Irene Adler? Had the paparazzi been snooping at Baker Street or Jermyn Street? The bloody valet!

Tim exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing as he did so.

"I'm just saying some… some actors can look back at their success and see it as a series of great opportunities… the right place at the right time… you know that… and meeting the right people. Networking."

Violet furrowed her brow, her skin prickling. What did this have to do with anything?

"What are you saying?" she asked. She stopped what she was doing, a single leaf of cos lettuce clutched in her hand.

"I'm saying that… that meeting Jim Moriarty may not be the worst thing that's ever happened to you or your career."

Violet gaped at her co-star from across the kitchen counter, her mind buzzing.

Timothy continued. "Jim may… may have helped with my career, too."

Her heart jolted. Searching Tim's eyes for evidence he was telling the truth, a fierce heat spread across her cheeks.

"Jim is threatening you, too?" she asked.

Tim blinked, recoiling a little.

"No… I mean…"

All the fear, the doubt, the betrayal she'd felt while on the flight from the east coast of Australia to London slowly spread throughout her body, pouring in like quick-dry cement.

"You think," Violet said carefully, her veins hardening, "that having Jim Moriarty controlling my every move isn't the worst thing that could've happened to me?"

"It's not like that. Violet… come on."

He attempted to placate her with open hands and a half smile. Violet found no comfort in either his words or manner. She straightened up.

"What's he threatening you with?" she asked.

"What's he…?" Tim tried to shrug. "Why would you…? Nothing, of course."

Violet flicked the lettuce into the glass bowl and placed both hands on the counter.

"He's got something on you or is threatening someone you care about. Which is it?"

"It's…" Tim began, but paused to reconsider. He folded his arms across his chest. She'd never seen Killaney so unsure of himself before. It was an odd sight. "My… my… well, one of my relatives attempted to cover up something they'd done when they were younger."

"So, you're… protecting them? By being one of Jim's playthings? Because that's what we are, aren't we?"

"Look, it's really not so—"

At that moment, Mandi entered the apartment.

"Low-fat, Italian," she said, holding up a bottle of salad dressing as she crossed the room. "That okay? It's got some sugar, but…"

"It's fine, Mandi," Violet swiftly replied.

"Are you staying for dinner, Tim?" Mandi asked sweetly.

"No… I… er…"

"I'll walk you out," Violet said, rounding the counter.

As she and Tim walked towards the front door, Mandi remarked, "You've hardly done anything about dinner. One lettuce leaf?"

Once they'd exited into the passageway, Violet asked in a low voice, "Did he send you?"

Tim hesitated, then nodded.

"He was concerned you took off back to London because you were upset with him," he replied. "He just wanted me to check that you were okay. Let you know you had a confidant."

"A… confidant?" Violet repeated through gritted teeth. The gall of the man! Now he was planting concerned friends in her life.

"Because we're both in the same situation," Tim went on. "It's really not that ba—"

"This isn't…" Violet choked. "The man's a criminal! He has people killed!"

Confusion flitted across Tim's face, before he quickly masked it.

"He's never… No… he's just a savvy businessman."

Violet's face felt hot and her insides convulsed. Was Timothy quite ignorant of everything Jim Moriarty was capable of?

"Fine," she said, schooling her features into a neutral expression. Just who was the better actor here? "Tell him I'm fine. Everything's just as he wanted it to be. I'll see you on set tomorrow."

#

Violet smoothed the moisturiser across her cheeks and brow bone. The studio makeup artist had advised her that this would save ten minutes in the chair if she'd already applied the cream and let it soak in before undergoing the full treatment. As it was, Violet was required in the hair and makeup trailer at 5am. Anything that gave her a few extra minutes sleep was great advice.

Mandi dashed past. Violet couldn't believe that Mandi Doniellson, the former party girl of Manchester, was now an early riser.

"Right," her P.A. said. "I've got your phone… water… almonds… oh, and—"

"May I have my phone, please?" Violet asked, holding out her hand.

She needed one final check that Sherlock hadn't tried to contact her. Knots formed in her stomach whenever she thought of what happened in London. Of course she trusted him, the stupid man. But he hadn't been there for her when she was counting on him the most.

The flight back to Australia had been torturously slow. Violet had forced herself to abstain from alcohol. Sleep came in fits and starts. She couldn't distract herself in the usual manner with in-flight entertainment. Books were out, ever since her beloved Canning Town had become tainted with Jim Moriarty's touch. Movies and TV shows, ditto. Sherlock was a reminder that this world existed: the real world as Jim had informed her. She could only make it through the next few days if she believed her fairy tale world was the real one, and that meant putting the man she loved out of her mind for the next few days.

Violet glanced at the phone screen. Two emails from Polly, one from Bre and—

"I'll get to those emails in the car," Mandi said, gesturing to the phone. "But you shouldn't get distracted by them. Focus, remember!"

At least Mandi had one thing right.

"I just have to check something in a minute," Violet replied, pocketing her phone. One final connection to Sherlock, like a drug addict who needed one last fix before detox. "My hair," she added distractedly, marching back towards her bedroom.

"It'll dry in the car," Mandi grumbled behind her.

Violet stopped in the middle of her room and closed her eyes with a deep sigh. She just needed to reset, avoid the panic that could rise inside her and cripple her. Forget all this. Pretend it never happened. Jim Moriarty. Sherlock and Irene Adler. And now Timothy Killaney. Just focus on getting to the end of filming.

She heard a faint knock on the apartment door.

Fuck me, transport's early, she thought, her eyes flicking accusingly to the digital clock on her bedside table. I had eleven minutes left to calm myself!

"Oh!" she heard Mandi exclaim. "What the fuck—?"

Curious as to Mandi's reaction upon opening the door, Violet left the bedroom.

Her heart stopped at the sight of the tall, slim man crossing the threshold with a determined stride. Her mind just couldn't compute. Mouth gaping, his name tumbled out.

"Sherlock."

His expression softened upon seeing Violet. She, in turn, stopped breathing as he approached.

"I didn't think we'd finished our conversation in London," he said in a low voice.

He moved as if to embrace her, but Violet stepped out of his reach, about-turned, and strode back into her bedroom.

"Transpo'll be here in five!" Mandi called, a mild panic in her tone. "And you've not eaten!"

Violet closed the door behind Sherlock after he'd entered the room.

"You can't be here," she said, attempting to quell the hysteria rising inside.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, his expression grim, his pallor grey, as if he, too, were under a lot of strain.

Either that, or because he'd just flown for the last twenty-something hours.

Violet scrambled for the appropriate words—ones that would mask the truth about Jim Moriarty and the hold he had on her career.

"I just want to know if we're okay," Sherlock said, filling the silence. His words took on a rough edge as if his emotions were also struggling to break free. There was quiet desperation in his eyes, an image that almost caused Violet's heart to escape confinement.

"What?"

Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket and produced a piece of paper that looked like it had been through the wringer. He handed it to Violet. A cool sweat broke out on her skin when she read the familiar words.

How Do I Know If I'm In a Toxic Relationship?

"What… how…?" She swallowed and began again. "I threw this away. How did you get it?"

"I found it amongst your things, inside a book on improvisation. It… it fell out when I was taking a box of your possessions back to your room." Sherlock cleared his throat. "I moved everything out when Ms Adler moved in upstairs."

He'd spoken at an almost manic pace, but Violet was still reeling about the fact that he'd read the stupid thing.

"It's rubbish," she said, crumpling up the questionnaire. Tossing it to the corner of her room where the rubbish bin sat—and missing completely—she added, "And I didn't fill it in."

"I know," Sherlock replied. "It's Mandi's handwriting."

"That has nothing to do with this."

"Then why are you—"

"I can't have you here because I'm trying to… I have to work. And you being here reminds me of the shit that our life attracts. And I can't…" Violet's voice cracked when she saw a flicker of hurt in Sherlock's eyes. She paused to draw breath and reorient herself. "I can't concentrate," she finished, lifting a hand to knead her brow just as a soft but insistent knock resounded at the bedroom door.

"We have to go, Vi!" called Mandi.

"Just give me a minute," Violet responded.

"I want to be here for you," Sherlock added. Violet turned from him, dropping her head to her hand. "And I don't like this," he went on. "You can barely look at me, and she's out there, in your ear about everything, from transport to breakfast to her attitude towards me. And now she has a completed questionnaire as evidence of my toxicity."

Violet met Sherlock's gaze.

"Nothing she's ever said about you changes the way I feel about you. And the same applies to that… that fucking questionnaire."

"Then why can't I stay?"

Violet straightened up and faced Sherlock square on.

"Because you'll have nothing to do. Because the threat to me isn't here anymore. Because you'll go digging into lives of the production team, the hotel staff, the… the guy who delivers me a coffee each morning. Because you'll be worried when I don't return from set when we're struggling to make the day's shoot. Because I'll be worried you're bored and going out of your mind. Because you represent…" Everything that's being taken away from me. "… him." Jim Moriarty.

Sherlock blinked, and Violet waited, her insides rippling with guilt, for him to deduce her thoughts.

Instead, he stood taller and looked down at her.

"If you would just trust me to solve th—"

"No! It's not going to become one of your stupid cases!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he inhaled sharply, the gesture he usually made before delivering a brutal deduction. Instead, he appeared to reconsider, giving a barely imperceptible nod, before turning and swiftly exiting the room.

"Sherlock," Violet started, hot on his heels. "Tell me you're not going to do anything." Her insides were twisting and turning. "This isn't a case. Promise me."

Mandi looked on in startled bewilderment. Sherlock stood across the room from Violet, the pair of them metal poles, between which static electricity buzzed.

With apparent deadly calm, Sherlock replied, "This is one of my stupid cases. In fact, it's probably one of the most important cases of my life. If it's about you, then that makes it so."

"It's over!"

Sherlock began to approach her, folding his hands behind his back. Violet knew what that gesture meant and she drew in a steadying breath.

"You were upset before you even arrived in London. You were drinking on the flight."

Violet threw a quick glance in Mandi's direction. Her friend stood with wide eyes, watching Sherlock.

"This was more than just a message to me," Sherlock continued. "You didn't react in this way when you received the same from Jake."

"But that's because—" Violet began, then she stopped. She didn't want to mention the threat against Mandi's life in front of her best friend.

"You can barely make eye contact with me," Sherlock went on, "which means you're afraid I'll deduce what's really—"

"It's because of London," Violet interjected, attempting to steer the conversation away from Jim and his threats. "Every time I look at you, I see her." It wasn't an entirely untrue statement.

Sherlock's nostrils flared.

"I explained to you the circumstances under wh—"

"It makes no difference. I still see—"

"Then make an effort to compartmentalise," he replied with a touch of impatience. "Do you think I still don't see you and Spence in a passionate kiss, on stage—something I witnessed several times over the course of a week? And having your clothes torn off by that lecherous old man in Catherine Wilderness." Violet opened her mouth to correct him, when Sherlock swiftly added, "Hilderness," with great distaste. "And then I'm supposed to sit back and watch you simulate not one but three sex scenes with Mr Huggy, each one more explicit than the one before. Those stage directions are quite prescriptive. But yes, I can do that, because it's your work. It's what you do. So that…" Sherlock pointed to the wall, and Violet surmised he knew exactly in which direction London was located, "… that was my work. Pointing out someone else's folly is what I do."

"You're a piece of shite, actually," Mandi volunteered.

"Mandi," Violet responded, a note of warning in her tone. To Sherlock she said again, "I'm asking you not to do anything."

His eyes challenged hers when he asked, "May I stay?"

Violet debated for all of two seconds before she answered, "No."

There was a twitch in Sherlock's left cheek that Violet couldn't immediately decipher. Anger? Disappointment? Other than that, his expression remained impassive. In quick time, he turned and headed straight for the front door. The click of the latch as the door closed released Violet from the hold she had on her emotions, and her breath shuddered on the way out.

"Fucking hell," Mandi said. "Glad we've got that sorted. Can you chuck your next boyfriend over the phone? I couldn't stand more of that. Talk about awkward."

Mandi's words startled Violet into action. Wiping the beginnings of tears with the back of her hand, she said, "What? We haven't broken up."

"You're joking," Mandi said, retrieving her tote bag from the sofa. "That was a smashin' break up. I've never heard you stand up to him before. He couldn't even take it. What a fucking arsehole. Arrogant sod."

Violet's thoughts were in a whirl.

"No," she countered. "I wasn't breaking up with him."

Panic rose in her chest and she quickly made for the door. Is that what Sherlock thought, too?

"Stay here, Mandi," she called back.

"You what?"

Violet broke into a light jog along the carpeted hallway. She heard the soft ding of the lift in the alcove to the left.

"Sherlock!" she called, puffing lightly.

She veered sharply around the corner and almost collided with him as he turned from the opening doors.

Violet flung her arms around his neck and held fast, desperation bubbling up inside her. Sherlock slid his arms around her waist, bending his head and touching his cheek to hers.

"It's okay," he soothed, holding her fast as she trembled against him. Fat tears flowed down her cheeks, which she did nothing to staunch.

She felt the tension leave her in waves as Sherlock tightened his embrace.

Dear God, he felt so good.

Violet pulled away and said through misty eyes, "I… didn't… break up with you."

"I know," he replied, his brow furrowed. "We don't always see eye to eye, but that's no reason to—"

"But this is more important than anything else. People I care about are in danger."

"Yes, I know, but—"

The second lift dinged, signalling the arrival of other people to the floor. Sherlock quickly took Violet by the hand.

"This way," he bid her, directing them both to a door off to the side of the lifts before the lift doors opened.

Before she fully registered where they were, Sherlock had pulled her through the door, then cradled his hands to her face, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. The door slammed shut, its echo reverberating off the walls. With her eyes firmly shut, and automatic lights clicking on overhead, she assumed they were in a stairwell.

His mouth warm and firm on hers, Violet clutched at Sherlock's lapels. His kiss was patient but a familiar yearning still rose up inside her. She applied pressure, deepening their kiss, while sliding her hands to his neck until they threaded through his curls. Her heart continued to thump steadily as their tongues entwined, until Sherlock gently pulled away. He caressed her cheek with his thumb.

"I love you," he said, his eyes glistening. "And I won't do anything to hurt or upset you. I stormed out because my ego is a bit bruised."

Violet's breath caught and she inhaled again to steady herself.

"I didn't want you to go without knowing I still love you," she replied. "And I want to sort this out, I really do, but not here, not now. When I get back. I promise."

The beginnings of a smile tugged at his mouth, sending another ripple through Violet.

"Are you sure I can't stay?" he asked.

"It's tempting, but no," she replied regretfully.

Violet's phone buzzed with an all-too-familiar tune.

"It's Mandi," she said, sighing. Sherlock released his hold on her, giving Violet room to reach for her phone.

"Where the fuck are ya?" Mandi asked. "Did you go downstairs already?"

"No, we're… I'm just coming."

Violet reached for the door handle just as Sherlock remarked, "I think it's…"

The handle didn't turn.

"It's a security thing," he continued. "Sorry. Only the ground floor door opens from the inside."

"What?" Violet said, jiggling the lever ineffectually. "Mandi. You're going to have let us out of the stairwell."

"Once you're in the stairwell, you can only exit at ground level," Sherlock repeated.

Violet ended the call just as she heard Mandi swear.

"I… probably should've mentioned that earlier," Sherlock added with a sheepish smile.

The door suddenly swung inwards, forcing Violet out of the way.

"You're fucking kidding me," Mandi said, glaring past Violet towards Sherlock.

"It was an accident," Violet said. "We just wanted—"

"You locked her in the stairwell?" Mandi said to Sherlock. "You know, mate, you're a first class cunt!"

"Mandi!"

"And you're a first cl—"

"Sherlock!"

She warned her boyfriend against delivering his next deduction with a hand against his chest.

Turning to Mandi, Violet added, "We came in here to have a private conversation."

Mandi, Violet noticed, held her tote bag, plus Violet's handbag. She'd obviously called Violet from the lift area.

"I'll take the stairs," Sherlock said, his eyes darting meaningfully towards Violet's P.A.

Violet farewelled him with a kiss and whispered that she'd see him in a few days.

As they entered the lift, Mandi remarked, "Thought you'd chucked him. Had me hopes up for a minute."

"As my personal assistant, you're not allowed to have an opinion on my relationships."

"Well, as your best friend—"

"You're not my best friend again until a fire you," Violet retorted as the lift doors drew to a close. "So don't say anything to make me fire you."

Mandi handed Violet a pair of sunglasses, which Violet dutifully donned.

"Now about this best friend," Violet began. "There's a certain questionnaire that keeps appearing…"

#

Violet gulped down her water, thankful for the relief the marquee brought from the blazing sun. She pulled at the neckline of her Spandex costume once more. She couldn't do it. Didn't think she had another one in her. Heidi would have to fill in for her. Now where's that damn spritz bottle?

"Can you take this?" Mandi asked, appearing in front of Violet and waving her phone around.

"Makeup has a fan," Violet said, reaching for the phone. "One of those pedestal things. Can you see if I can get one?" Fuck's sake, Violet thought. Why is it so fucking hot? The water truck was drenching the street again and Violet idly wondered if she could stand under it.

"Hello?" she said into the phone. Would Sherlock even be back in London yet?

"All right, Vi?" spoke a male voice.

"Danny!"

"You working?"

"Yes, it's just so stinking hot. I'm supposed to be running and fighting with weapons, but we're waiting for the temperature to drop. How are you?"

There was a pause, which Violet attributed to international roaming, or whatever it was. But Danny's voice was considerably lower when he spoke again.

"'fraid I've got some bad news," he said.

Violet stopped tugging her neckline. Her mouth ran dry. Water. She needed a fucking drink of water. Where had Mandi got to?

"It's Em. I'm sorry."

Emily?

"What?" she asked.

"Yeah, me mate Niall went round to check and he spoke to Riley."

"What happened?"

"They think she were speedballing."

"What - happened? When was this?"

The air around Violet grew still, pressing in on her.

"Yeah, sorry, Vi. She had a cardiac arrest in the ambulance on the way to the hospital just last night. I'm sorry. She's…"

Everything went black on the edges. Violet could see the ground rushing to meet her. There were muffled exclamations all around her, but all she could think was how cool the ground felt, how relieved she was to be lying down… and Emily… she's dead, Vi. I'm sorry.

…your friend Emily here will die from a heroin overdose…

Jim?

…if I even hear a whisper that I'm being investigated, then you may as well plunge in the knife yourself… or the syringe…

Investigated?

Sherlock.

Sherlock!

What the fuck have you done?

#