Chapter 11
Each day passes by slowly, Jim's absence very pronounced, like a celebrity who's been mobbed. I miss him. I think of him every single day. I need him here with me. I want him beside me. It's like trying to fill a deep hole with sand. It takes time to heal. Every morning I'd wake up hoping he's cooking me breakfast, or sitting on the couch in his shirt and boxers. I want him here with me. I miss him as if it's the last thing I'd do. Even Sherlock's death doesn't affect me much.
Every day I sat on my bed, listening to music. I'd stare into space. After a week of being alone in my room, I decided to get up. That's what Jim would've wanted me to anyway. Sherrinford was nowhere to be seen, so I padded barefoot around the house, before deciding to explore.
I went out of the house. I never truly explored the outside world, as I was busy with the Great Game. It turns out, Jim kept quite a garden outside. Flowers blooming everywhere, shady trees and a myriad of colours. Red roses, orange tulips, purple, pink, white everywhere. The roses reminded me of something Jim said to me once. He said I was like a rose. Beautiful, yet deadly. I laughed it off, I'm not deadly. No, he said. You're deadly to my heart. You're the poison and the cure. Of course, I didn't understand him. I thought it was flattery speaking.
I walked towards the back of the house. There was a swimming pool, and Sherrinford was swimming. I guess that's what he does, now that Jim is...gone. Sherrinford's grown a lot these days. He's got more muscles now. I guess that's why he's so strong. He caught sight of me standing by the pool.
"Look who decided to get out of her room." He smirked.
I rolled my eyes. "I was mourning for my dead boyfriend, Sherrinford." I sighed. How did I become so...dead? It's like I'm unable to be myself because a part of me is missing. And so blunt. And so...not me.
"God, Sherry, you're awful." Sherrinford said as he swam towards me. He lifted himself up, water streaming down like rivulets. It's one of these moments where I realize that both Sherrinford and Sherlock have a similarity, which is they are both quite handsome in their own way. Now, now, I'm not going for incest here, I'm voicing out my opinion.
He toweled himself off and then sat down on one of the beach chairs, beckoning me to join him. I sat down next to him. "I get that you've lost the love of your life. Trust me, it happened to me. I was mourning, like you, and one day, I decided to get up and do something. She would've wanted me to get my arse up." He smiled a little. "What I'm saying is, life is generally pretty damn amazing if you let it be."
I smiled. Sherrinford is such a motivational guy. He should be a motivational speaker one day. "Thanks Sherrinford." I said quietly. He wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in a hug. That's the difference between Sherrinford and my other brothers. I thought. Sherlock and Mycroft are so devoid of feelings and affection, while Sherrinford is showing genuine emotions, like a human being. I laid my head against his shoulder.
We stayed like that for a while, communicating without actually speaking. And yet we understood each other perfectly. And I knew, I'll always find a brother in Sherlock, but I'll see the best friend in Sherrinford.
I made my way to the gym, two days after finally going out of my room. I decided to exercise, not because I'm obese or anything, but because I want to learn. I want to be better. And Jim had me make a promise, and I don't wish to break it.
Sherrinford was already waiting for me. He leaned against a treadmill. "Remind me why I agreed to be your personal trainer." Sherrinford said.
"Because you have nothing to do." I answered. He smiled.
"And I want to see your arse kicked." He replied, humour dancing on his lips.
"Oh shut up!" I said, smacking his arm.
"Get on the treadmill." He said.
"Fine." I huffed and went on the treadmill. As I ran, I thought about Jim. Without realizing, I was practically racing on the treadmill, running faster and faster. I thought about dancing with Jim in the rain. Cuddling with him. The sensation of his lips on mine. I thought about the way we stared right at each other and understood everything perfectly. How he looks at me, his deep chocolate brown eyes staring right at me. How he's slightly taller than me. The way my hand fits perfectly in his. I need him.
Two years later...
I nailed a punch to his gut as he tried to tackle me down to the ground. He writhed in pain, and I used it to my advantage as I kicked him in the crotch, making him groan even more. He managed to flip me to the hard ground. I flailed about and hit him in the head with my boot. Then he went still. "That's the last of them." I said to myself. I began to explore the abandoned warehouse.
I felt as if someone was behind me. I looked over my shoulder. No one. I got out of the warehouse. A sleek black car was waiting for me. I was puzzled. No one actually would know I'm here, maybe Sherrinford, but he's busy with that so-called 'Mrs Moriarty Murderer', which is preposterous. I can't believe the others have taken to calling me Mrs Moriarty. And then I remembered that I would've been married to him, had I said yes the first time.
I got in the car. A woman was sitting next to me, busy on her phone. "Who are you?" I asked.
"Oh, I've been sent here to take you in." She said, eyes still glued to the screen of her phone.
"Take me in?" Police?
"Oh, you know, the government was interested in you." The government? Surely not!
A few minutes later, we arrived at yet another abandoned warehouse. What is it with today and warehouses? I sighed and got out of the car. The woman told me to just walk. I did. I found something that would've been the lobby, the main entrance. I looked around. No one here. Is that mysterious woman going to kill me?
"Hello, sister mine." A voice said from behind me. I rolled my eyes.
"Mycroft." I said and turned to look at him. He was ever so composed, in an expensive suit (I felt a pang when I thought of Westwood). He was leaning against an umbrella. The British government. My brother.
"Aren't you pleased to see me?"
"No, I'm not." I said flatly.
"Hm." Mycroft was frowning.
"I see you've been happy. The last Holmes. Sherlock's dead. Sherrinford and I gone." I said. "And you've got cake." Mycroft was uncomfortable. He shifted uneasily. "Yummy cake. but you've been exercising. Trying so hard to be fit."
"Small talk and observations isn't the reason you're here."
"Of course it isn't." I acknowledged.
"I heard your boyfriend is dead." I narrowed my eyes at him.
"That can't be the only thing you've heard."
"You're also Mrs Moriarty."
"Not legally. But yes. I assume that's the reason you've had me come here?"
"You're not wrong." Mycroft assured me. "I need you to do me a favour."
I snorted. "Why would I help you?"
"Because you will."
"If you want an assassin, ask Mary Morstan."
"She's too invested with John Watson." I raised an eyebrow. Mary Morstan? John Watson? Hm. Recipe for disaster. Especially with John's rage. I can't imagine Mary's cover being blown and John's reaction to it. "Besides, I need you."
"Mycroft, I'm not going to do it."
I turned and walked two steps before Mycroft said,"Even if it's regarding dear Moriarty?" I stopped in my tracks.
"W-What do you mean?" I asked, not turning to look back at him.
"I see I finally caught you attention." I could tell he's smirking.
"Mycroft, I have no time for a game." I said, exasperated.
"We have found out that someone broke in the Lourve."
"Sightseeing probably."
"Someone had spray-painted a name on Diana of Versailles." Why would anyone want to ruin a perfect statue by spray painting? The Greek goddess Artemis, with her bow and arrow. "You are familiar with the marble statue?"
"Yeah." I nodded.
"It said 'Get Sherry'." My heart stopped. Well, not literally. This is Moriarty's MO. First it was 'Get Sherlock'. Now this? Maybe someone is trying to imitate him. Maybe it's one of the Mrs Moriarty Murderers. Maybe...maybe it is him. I turned to look at him.
"And what do you want me to do about it?" I tried to sound as non-chalant as I could. Inside, I'm a mess, my thoughts racing. Is he actually still alive? His body was never found. Or maybe someone is using the person I love most against me.
"You are to go to this abandoned warehouse-"
"Always an abandoned warehouse." I muttered.
"And the person will meet you there."
"Very James Bond, don't you think?" I mused.
"This is of high importance! The French have kept this a secret, and you will go to Paris tonight."
"And what if I don't?"
"You will be sent to jail for all the deaths of the innocent people killed for the past year." He countered.
"That's not- I didn't kill everyone."
"No, but you rule the London Underworld. You could be involved directly or indirectly. We wouldn't know, would we?"
"I see. No escape, huh?"
"Is that a yes?"
"Fine, Mycroft. But let me pack."
"Oh, the mysterious man had outfits for you, waiting in the hotel room." Sounds like Jim.
"So, I'm supposed to hop on a plane and just go?"
"Yes, you're leaving now in my private jet."
"What?" Someone had sneaked up on me and injected some liquids into my neck. Next thing I know, I'm slipping into darkness.
I woke up on a hotel bed. The room was a suite. The person paying for this is obviously rich. I looked at the clock on the wall. Eight. I guess I better go. But where to? Mycroft hadn't told me where the warehouse was located, and the bastard had me unconscious before I knew anything. One of the few reasons I hate Mycroft.
I found a box on the dressing table. It had no note. I opened it and saw the dress. A black Grecian one shoulder dress, with black velvet stiletto heels. Impeccable taste. Definitely Jim's kind of taste. I remember him saying that he'd be turned on by me in a black Grecian dress. Of course, it was a bit absurd to hear him say that, when I'm not even that beautiful.
I went down to the lobby after finishing my whole dressing up thing. I can't believe I dolled up just for some guy in an abandoned warehouse. He'd probably try to rape me. I wouldn't know, he shipped me off to Paris with no details of him whatsoever. "Mrs Moriarty?" I winced when I heared the receptionist say it.
"I suppose?"
"Your limousine is waiting right outside. Enjoy your night, Mrs Moriarty." The receptionist said with an Italian accent. She smiled at me, one of those big, fake receptionist smiles, when you're trying to be polite. I walked out and found the limo parked right outside. Yet another place that I have no idea where.
The warehouse was as abandoned as it could be. Smashed windows, door unhinged, dust and debris everywhere. Well, from the outside that is. Inside, is like the Buckingham Palace! Red carpeting, paintings hung on the walls. It doesn't look like an abandoned warehouse inside. Basically, it's like the TARDIS. I sat on the velvet couch, waiting for whoever it is to show up.
"I hope I wasn't flown here reluctantly to just sit here all night and wait for you." I called out to the empty warehouse.
Except it wasn't empty.
"No rush."