Chapter 4

We got to work. Planning, calling, threatening, killing, thinking, not necessarily in that order. We planned out every single detail to perfection. Carl Powers. The pink lady. The bombs. The pool. Irene

Adler. Breaking into three of the most secured buildings in London. The Fall of The Consulting Detective. All perfected. All thought out. Every detail carefully explained. Except one very important detail.

"Hey, Jim." I greeted him, sitting on the couch with a white shirt and boxers, surfing through channels.

"I need to look classy. I need to have power. I need something that shows that I am better than him." Jim said, not looking at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I need a bold, classy look. I don't want to look like an ordinary person." He dragged out the word ordinary.

"A suit and tie, then?"

"Yes! But which? Thousands of looks, and yet..."

"So you wanna go shopping?" I grinned.

"You seem to be the right girl for the job." Jim answered. I took that as a yes.

"Oh, you have no idea."

A car was waiting for us. A sleek, black limousine. The windows were tinted. I guess it helps you to not get caught. I still can't wrap my head around how he's so rich. Perks of being a consulting criminal I suppose. The car ride was awkward. He would play with his phone, and I would look outside. The wet drops of rainwater splashed against the window. Pat-pat-pat. Constant beating, like a drum. I was so lost in the sound that I didn't hear Jim ask me a question.

"Sorry, what?" I turned to look at him.

"I asked you what good shops sell the best suits." Jim repeated, annoyed. "You people are so ordinary." He muttered.

"You say ordinary like its a bad thing." I retorted. He smiled.

"Isn't it?"

"Look, Moriarty." I called him by his last name. His expression changed. He knew I was pissed. "You may think that you're oh-so-extraordinary with your so called intellect, but guess what? You're just like me. A little child, lost in the world. So if you think that I'm going to sit around, following your orders because you're better than me, save it." I growled.

"No." He said quietly. I blinked, taken aback. "You're wrong. You, are just like me." He emphasised on the words you and me. "You are on the side of the devil, and the devil is me." He snarled. Frankly, I was a little frightened of this maniacal side of Jim Moriarty. His eyes were chocolate brown, but now it's black, black as the night.

"I may be on the side of the devil, but don't think for a second, that I am one." I retorted.

"Oh hoho!" His laugh sending chills down my spine. "You trusted me. You were the one who agreed to be my partner in crime. I don't forget things like that very easily." I felt a little weird, having a fight in the car.

"Because that was the only option for me to not get killed." I hissed. "All I wanted, was a good life, me and my music. But you HAD to kidnap me! You had to torture me! I value my life, and I would do anything, anything, to live a little longer, knowing what I did was right."

He was silent. "And if I told you, that you could walk out that door, and go home. Would you do it?" He asked me. What an odd question.

"What's the catch?" I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. Was he really offering?

"Oh, you know me too well." He smirked. "You will go home to a very dead, Holmes family." Of course.

"And then what? Frame it on me? Yeah, I'm a little smarter than that." I rolled my eyes at him. He continued to smirk. How could he do that? How could he manage not to snap my neck in a matter of seconds?

"Oh don't worry, I give you more credit than that." I looked at the door. If I did it, I would end up a little scratched, maybe bruised, but I'll be fine...

I wrenched the door open. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. I tumbled out of the moving car. Jim managed to grab ahold of my arm but that was no use. I rolled and got up in a landing stance. The car had stopped. I didn't have any bruises or cuts. Jim and the driver got out. They both had guns with them. I gulped. This is harder than I thought. I knew the driver's aim wouldn't be that good, but I can never be too sure. And Jim's aim is very, very accurate. I've seen him shoot a bullet into a man's head without a single glance. I calculated my moves. To my right, is the road. Too dangerous. And to my left is a farm. To be accurate, a corn field. The length could be around 20 metres. I took my chance and with a burst of speed, I launched myself and ran straight into the corn field.

I heard gunshots. Bullets whizzing past me, one narrowly missing my ear. C'mon! I so wished I went on more jogs than I went to the bakery. One last gunshot. Bang. I felt it. The bullet, lodging itself into my forearm. I cried out in pain as I tripped over something and fell ungraciously to the ground. To add more injury, I landed right on my forearm which had been shot.

Black spots danced as I squinted, trying to make my vision clear. But the last thing I saw was Jim Moriarty hovering over me, shaking his head and muttering something about ordinary.

I woke up feeling a little woozy. My forearm was throbbing, so I decided to lie back down and go back to blissful sleep. But of course, Jim Moriarty wouldn't have that. He barged into the room, wearing a new suit, suspiciously Westwood. His expression was angry. I knew he would flip some tables if I insulted him. But to my surprise, he sat down on the chair next to the bed. "New suit." I nodded at him.

"Yes, Westwood. Bastian is better at shopping. At least he doesn't jump out of a car moving 70 miles per hour." He smirked. Who's Bastian? Oh, Sebastian Moran. I rolled my eyes.

"Feeling better?" He asked, his voice sounded odd. As if he was about to kill me, but he wanted to play around.

"Good question. Bit sinister. How do I answer that without getting killed?" I asked.

He shoved me against the bedpost, his arm restraining my neck. My head banged against the bedpost. It hurt, but not much. Moriarty's face was barely an inch away from my face. "Pull something like that and I will burn you and make you into shoes." He hissed. I was scared. I admit. I am scared for my life. He's so changeable. He could kill me without a second thought. And yet this made me feel somehow...attracted. "And I will make sure you feel the pain." He said, pressing gently at my wound.

I winced in pain. I suppose he wasn't satisfied with my reaction. He pressed harder, and harder. I gasped in pain. They say you only know true pain when you experience it. Well here it is. I was worried. With his thumb and forefinger, he could make me squirm like a dying worm. He was hurting my wound, but still. Oh, great. The wound reopened and blood was oozing out. What have I gotten myself into?

He leaned in closer, his mouth brushing against my ear. "I don't want to hurt you." He said. He kissed my cheek and swiftly left the room. Moments later, David rushed in, carrying a first aid kit.

"He said it reopened! Oh, this is bad. It might hurt, but just stay still, okay?" David sat next to me, his face worried.

I woke up to see Sebastian Moran move away from the window. It was probably mid-morning, but you can never tell in London's bad weather. He was wearing a leather jacket, one hand tucked into his jeans pocket. "Did I wake you?" He asked, his voice strangely sexy. No, Sherrelyn, he's gay. Besides, he's Jim's.

"Um, kinda?" I said, still groggy from sleep. And since when is he ever nice to me?

"I..uh I need some help." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't believe I'm asking you for help." I rolled my eyes.

"Sure, what do you need?"

"You see, I'm gay." He said it slowly, testing the word on his tongue.

"I know."

"You do?" He was surprised.

"I'm a Holmes girl." I shrugged it off.

"Holmes? As in, Mycroft Holmes?" I nodded. I thought Moriarty would've told him. "Oh." was all he could say. "Sorry. Anyway, I'm in love with Jim."

"Yeah, I had that figured too."

"Is there anything a Holmes kid can't do?" He joked. We both laughed awkwardly. "I'm not sure id he...you know, is having any...feelings for me. God, I can't believe I said that. I feel like a high-school girl!"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "No offence taken." I huffed.

"You're -were- in high school?" His surprise is so amusing.

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

"What are you? 17?"

"15." I corrected him. "Going on 16 in two months."

"Wow." Then we discussed the whole Moran-Moriarty relationship. To be honest, they were quite a pair. Moran's bad boy looks, Moriarty's innocent but deadly personality... Whoever crossed one of them had the other to deal with. And it wouldn't be a pretty sight.