I slept in snatches, startling awake at least four times, before I gave up on sleeping here altogether. Everything about the place felt wrong. It was too luxurious, too clean, too
Nice.
It unnerved me, the way that Moriarty was behaving. He had been nice to me before, but that was Jim. Sweet, caring, funny, gay Jim from IT. The same Jim that had left flowers on my desk and brought me coffee when I was alone in the lab. The same Jim that had paid for dinner and actually given me his coat when I shivered on the walk home. The same Jim who has kissed me, my mouth, my cheeks, my eyelids, my throat. Sweet, caring Jim from IT that had shared a bed with me and made me pancakes in the morning.
But Jim didn t even exist now. The cute, romantic side of Moriarty, if it had ever been more than an act, was gone forever. When I had looked into Jim s eyes, I had seen happiness and a genuine want to make me smile. But since I have been in this strange, terrifying place, I have looked into Moriarty s eyes and seen nothing but rage and intelligence and contempt for the world.
And yet Moriarty was being nice. Not nice in the way that Jim had, coming to see me when I was sick, taking Toby to the vet for me when I got stuck at work. Moriarty had bandaged my leg and given me a ridiculously plush suite to live in, but the gestures were cold and detached. I wondered why he would be this attentive to me when I was of no use to him.
My stomach growled loudly, but I had no way of getting food. Moriarty had said that food would be brought up to me, but so far none had come, and the rumbling in my stomach told me I needed to eat soon. I got up from the sofa I had slept on, leaving the blankets and pillow where they were so that Moriarty would see I had no intention of sleeping in the bed he provided. I moved quietly out of the bedroom and into the living room, roaming over the bookshelves, spying titles I recognised amongst the hundreds of well-kept books. I picked out War Horse, my favourite Morpurgo book and headed to the sofa in the centre of the room, but dropped the book in surprise when I found that I was not alone in the room.
Moriarty looked up at me from where he lay flat on the sofa, a mix of irritation and disappointment in his eyes. He pulled himself into a comfortable sitting position, draping his arms over the back of the sofa and staring at me as I gathered up the book and stood, unsure of what to do next. He cleared his throat to get my attention before he spoke in a teasing voice that scared the crap out of me.
Was the bed not good enough for you? He asked me, and I bit my lip. He stood and moved so the toes of his polished shoes were barely two inches from my own bare feet, and I felt his breath brush my cheek as I turned my face away from him and took a step back.
Was it too much? The bed? He asked in a playfully frightening voice, stepping closer to me again. I shrugged, and he grasped my chin, turning my head slowly to look at him.
Why didn t you want to sleep in that big pretty bed, Molly? He breathed, and my own breath shuddered in my chest as I gave an involuntary shudder.
I-I I couldn t sleep there. Too cold. I muttered a lame excuse, and he let go of my chin. He chuckled, and I followed him with my eyes as he strode back over to the sofa and lay back down, his head on a large cushion. He chuckled again.
Well, that s okay then. He said, and my eyebrows rose in confusion when he grinned at me.
It won t be so cold at night, Molly Dear. You ll be sharing that bed. He said calmly, as if I had simply forgotten that I wouldn t be sleeping alone, instead of having just discovered the unnerving news.
Uh, may I ask exactly who I will be sharing with? I muttered, trying to keep my nerve. Moriarty looked incredulously at me, as though he thought I was being particularly dim today.
Me. It s my bed, Molly, this is my apartment. He said, pointing out what was clearly obvious to him. I gasped and shook my head disbelievingly, and he was in front of me in a flash, with a tight grip on my wrist. He tugged me to him, so that my face was just inches from his.
Molly, Molly, come on now. I promise not to hurt you as long as you do what I ask. I m asking you to sleep in the bed I provided for you, that s all. He murmured, the tone if his voice a little hurt, as though I had insulted him by dismissing the idea so quickly. I decided to try to tackle the situation rationally. Who knew what he would do if I pissed him off? I met his steady gaze with an equally level stare, and spoke quietly but without my voice shaking and giving away my fear.
Sleeping. That s all? I asked carefully, and Moriarty let go of my wrist. He nodded. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly while Moriarty watched me.
Fine, I ll share your bed. Just as long as sleeping is the only thing that happens while I m in it. I said in a clear voice that sounded stronger than I felt. Moriarty nodded his approval, looking visibly relieved at my agreeing with his request. He whipped out his phone and fired off a text. I moved to the other end of the sofa, as far from him as I could get, and began to read the book I still clutched in one hand, and Moriarty settled himself back down on the sofa, closing his eyes in thought rather than sleep.
A few minutes passed like this, a heavy silence settling into the room that suited me just fine. Then a timid knock sounded at the door and Moriarty glanced over at me expectantly. I quickly put down my book and shuffled to the door, opening it and looking out. A silver food trolley rolled past me and stopped by the coffee table, and a young boy of around thirteen unloaded two plates and several dishes and platters of food onto the knee-high table. Moriarty sat up and helped himself to the various serving dishes, spooning food onto his plate, and then picked up a knife and fork and began to eat, paying no attention to the boy as he scurried away with the trolley.
I closed the door behind him and turned to face Moriarty, who was slowly eating the roast dinner we had been delivered. He swallowed his mouthful and wiped his mouth.
Would you join me, Molly? He asked politely. Thankful for his change in behaviour, I accepted the offer, taking the second plate and putting a slice of roast beef and a few vegetables on it, then sitting down on the floor next to the table, minding my still bandaged and hurting leg, and beginning to eat.
We ate in silence, and when we had finished the boy returned and took away the plates and dishes. I stared after him as he scuttled away with the trolley. Moriarty put his feet up on the table and leaned back into the sofa cushions. I had sat with my legs curled underneath me when I ate, and now when I tried to stand, my injured ankle flared up in pain and I hissed through my teeth. Moriarty lifted his head to stare at me.
Why do you do that? He asked me. I hobbled, wincing, over to drop down on the sofa a few feet away from him, stretching out my leg on the sofa so that my foot was less than half a foot from where he sat. I gritted my teeth against the flashes of pain as I moved it, and looked at Moriarty.
Do what? I asked, testing my ankle and wincing as it blazed when I tried to move.
That. You re wincing and biting your lip. Why? He demanded. I didn t want to admit the weakness of being in pain, so I shrugged. That wasn t a good enough answer for him, and he looked enquiringly at the foot so close to him on the cushions, then back to my face.
Does it hurt? he asked, and I gave a small nod. He furrowed his eyebrows uneasily. I shuffled backwards on my hands, moving my foot away from him. He seemed lost in thought, and I didn t fancy continuing our odd conversation, so I took a deep breath and got up, hobbling back into the bedroom to grab a towel from one of the wardrobe shelves before stepping quietly into the en suite and running myself a hot bath.