Chapter 15: Moriarty, the idol.

"Alice laughed. 'There's no use trying,' she said: 'one can't believe impossible things.'"

-Lewis Carroll, Through The Looking Glass.

John stood and stared at the girl on his couch. Her hair was long and honey-blonde, her lashes brushing her cheeks as she lay there with her eyes closed. Her arm was out to one side, the IV tube emerging from beneath the tape and spiraling up to a morphine drip. John would have to start weaning her off as soon as possible, to avoid dependence. Normally, he wouldn't have used morphine on a child this young, but materials were materials, and he had saved her life either way.

It was funny, how little time it took for your life to change like this. Yesterday, he'd been looking forwards to a night out with Sebastian, going home, sleeping, and going to work the next day. Instead, he had spent the night saving lives and sleeping in Moriarty's center of crime. Then he'd used the day to train a motely crew of spies and snipers to take care of patients, then spent the evening out with their boss, and now this.

There was a cardboard box beside the bed, which John had already gone through. Three dresses, one set of PJs, one pair of jeans, one pair of black trousers, two T-shirts and a long-sleeved black top. Two picture books, one iPhone(locked), two pairs of shoes, a notebook half-filled with the crayon scribbles of a young child, and two energy bars. Some things were old, some new, most of them slightly worn, but all useful in the life of a child spy.

Sometimes John felt like he'd fallen into some sort of novel, where everything had a purpose and a plot. He wondered where his happy ending was, and what everyone's role was. It wasn't like Moriarty fit the fairy-tale princess bill, and villains rarely had a happy ending. John smiled briefly at the irony. Usually, the heroes survived and the villains threw themselves from tall buildings. Life was so backwards.

He sighed, then turned to go to bed. The girl wouldn't wake until morning, the morphine dosage would ensure that. He had the next two days off, apparently. That gave him time to talk to her, let her know the situation, learn a little more about how 'M' treated his Misfits, and maybe talk her into a better solution. She could go to Child Protection Services, if her home life was really that bad. Anything but being dependent on Moriarty. What a horrible fate for a child.

John climbed under the sheets, and closed his eyes. The too-strange events of the last few days flickered through his mind, and he fell asleep. When he woke, he couldn't remember what he had dreamed of, but he knew it wasn't his usual nightmare.

Oooo000oooO

John was reading a book while he waited. He'd lowered the morphine dosage enough that Sammy should be waking up any minute now. It was half-past two the next day, and he had turned it down around an hour ago. Hopefully she wouldn't move around too much when she woke. Her abdomen had been cauterized, but her leg was done with stitches, which could very well come undone, demanding more morphine so that he could stitch her back up.

He realized that he'd been staring at the same sentence for seven minutes, and set the book aside with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. He wasn't getting enough sleep, not to be dealing with all of this. Of course it had felt nice, being in the front lines again, saving lives, digging out bullets and hearing them clatter against the metal tray. But this was no soldier, hardened against the world and trained for war. This was a little girl, innocent and unprepared.

And that was when she sat bolt upright, eyes scanning the room. They flickered towards him, scanning him from head to toe, and then around the room, focusing on the door. Then she started screaming. John leapt across the room and put a hand over her mouth, cutting her off. Crap, the neighbors were probably going to ask questions about that. But right now he was trying to evade the little girl's flying feet, which were targeting the main centers for pain and debilitation with terrifying accuracy.

"Sammy!" John shouted. "The sun is green! Or blue, or purple, or something weird like that!" The girl immediately stopped fighting him, going limp against the couch, but her eyes were still wide and frightened. Thank goodness he'd been able to remember the code Moriarty had given him… or sort of. Cautiously, John took away his hand. "You're safe, it's okay. I'm a friend."

"You work for M?" the girl whispered, and after a moment's hesitation, John nodded. "I'm safe," she said, a small smiling crossing her face. Then she winced. "I hurt."

"I know. You were sort of shot." Shit, John didn't know how to deal with kids, not really. "I'm a doctor, so M told me to take care of you while you heal. He didn't really give me much choice about it, either." Sammy must have heard the resentment.

"M tells all of us what to do," the girl said, a hint of reproach in her voice. "He's smarter than us, so we have to listen to him. If he trusts you, you must be good." John could find no response to this, so they sat in silence for a few seconds. "My leg really hurts," Sammy said, eyes filling with tears as she spoke.

"I'll check it out," John said. "That's why you don't move when you're hurt, okay?" With professional detachment, he pushed her skirt up. The wound was bleeding a little bit, but the stitches were fine. "You're alright. It's set your healing back a couple days, but you're alright." Sammy calmed down a little bit, and then her eyes widened again.

"Where's Maurice?"

"Who?" John asked, bewildered.

"My phone, Maurice!" She sounded incredibly impatient.

"Oh! Your phone! I've got it, hang on." John pulled over the box, took out the phone, and passed it over. The little girl held it close to herself as though it were a favorite toy, smiling fully for the first time. Then she held it away from herself, keyed in a long password, and then flicked around the screen for a short time. John sat by her side, feeling awkward. Eventually, Sammy put down the phone, big eyes meeting John's.

"So have you met him, then?" she asked, confusing him.

"Sorry, who?"

"M," Sammy said impatiently. John hesitated. Should he tell her? Had most people met M? Would she trust him more if he said yes? He figured that if he wanted to tell her the truth about Moriarty later on, it would be best to be honest from the start, so that she would know he wasn't lying. He nodded, and the little girl's mouth dropped open. "You have? Really? What's he like?" John paused again, trying to decide what to tell her. He'd love to inform her of the reality of the situation, pull her away from Moriarty right away. But on the other hand, she might not believe him. She'd corrected him sharply enough when he'd hinted at a complaint about him.

"Well…" John decided to give as neutral a description as he could. "He's not very tall, but he's got a presence that fills the room. His eyes are so dark that they look black, and he can see everything about you, when he looks at you, in your clothing, and the dirt on your fingers. He's very… changeable. One second he'll be yelling at you, and the next he'll be grinning and telling you that you did very well. He's got a smile that makes you feel uncomfortable, it's just too… wide. It's hard to look at." Sammy was watching him with saucer-like eyes, drinking in his every word. "When he focuses on you, it feels like you're being drawn into a black hole, that's how powerful his eyes are. And his laugh is never the same from day to day, it changes every time. He's like no one you'll ever meet."

There. It was a thin line, to suggest danger, yet not distrust or fear or resentment. John felt that he had done pretty well.

"Wow," Sammy said faintly. "I've never met anyone who's actually met him. Well, I talked to Mr. Moran once, but he wouldn't talk about M if you asked."

"What have you heard about him?" John asked, wanting to keep her attention off her leg. Standard procedure with children, distract them for as long as possible.

"Well, he runs things all over the world. Mr. Moran is the closest you can get to him, but no one really knows how many people are between him and M. I already knew about the black eyes. He's really, really, really smart. He can keep all these things in his head at once." Her voice was completely reverent. "He tricks the police all the time, and sometimes he even kills them! Once he got Amanda out of jail, just with four emails. Umm… A lot of the time he's not really there, but he's still there, like a movie director. They're not in the movie, but they get the biggest credit, even if people don't remember it. Most of the people that work for him are really nice. They give us food and hug us. But they can't come along on our missions, 'cause they're Bigs."

She sounded absolutely enamored of the mysterious M, even when she talked about him killing police. Then again, street children often got on by stealing, so John could understand an aversion to the law. All the same, it was incredibly disturbing. Moriarty had spoken about their unwavering loyalty, and John had somehow doubted him. Well, here was proof. No matter what John said, he wasn't going to be able to convince the girl, not without taking away her idol. What a strange idea, Moriarty the idol. It was almost impossible to believe, impossible until a little 7 year old was sitting in front of him, talking about Moriarty with adoration in her eyes.

"How did you meet M?" she asked.

"That's a story for another day," John said, and Sammy yawned. "Are you tired?"

"My head isn't, but my eyelids are. How long have I been sleeping before?"

"Maybe a day and a half? That doesn't matter, your body needs time to heal, and it wants you asleep while you do that. You'll probably be sleeping around 14 hours a day. But here, before you fall asleep, eat this. You need it." It was only a piece of bread with butter, but she needed something in her stomach, and he also got two glasses of water into her, before she laid down and closed her eyes.

"What's your name?" she asked without opening them.

"John Watson," he answered.

"Goodnight, John, I love you," she smiled, and then was quiet.

John stared at her for a long moment. Wasn't that sort of quick? As in, ridiculously quick? Then he thought back to his teen years, when he'd made four dollars an hour babysitting the neighbors' kids. They had done the same thing, he remembered. He's always been surprised, but that was just what children did. You played with them for five minutes, and they wanted you to stay forever, without even knowing your name. It was one of the reasons people loved kids so much. Once they trusted you, they didn't stop, and if they liked you, they loved you, and that was that.

John sat in his chair and thought about what he had heard. Then he pulled out a phone and sent a text to the number Moriarty had programmed into his phone last night.

Sammy woke up. Asleep now, but she was very lucid. You've really got the kids brainwashed.-John

I hope you didn't tell her any horror stories about me.-JM

She wouldn't listen if I did.-John

How do you feel about a few of her friends coming over tonight?-JM

How many people? I'll order pizza. -John

Let's say six. They'll be there at 6pm. -JM

Six at six. Want to add another six there?-John

You already did in your message. Saved me the trouble.-JM

So I did. Nevermind, then.-John

He smiled and leaned back, dropping his phone onto the table. The devil's number, how ironic. He had, of course, been insinuating that Jim should finish his number, but John had accidentally done it for him. He was too busy to think about the possible symbolism in that. In the meantime, he set about cleaning his apartment, to accommodate six light-fingered children combined with pizza.

He made sure that there was space around Sammy for them to sit, that the IV drip was out of the way so that it wasn't knocked over, that all his valuables were locked in the bedroom, that Sammy was covered by a blanket and comfortable, and that he had enough worthless plates to give out. Then he called for pizza, getting a variety of toppings.

Finally, he relaxed into his chair and resumed reading his book, doing his best to focus on the page. But as the hands of the clock inched closer to six, he started feeling nervous. What had he agreed to? Six children off the streets, in his apartment? Would he just stay out of the way and let them talk? Would he be expected to interact? Should he put on the telly and let them watch? Or get out a game? But Sammy couldn't play! Was he supposed to have dolls or something? This wasn't a daycare!

There was a knock on the door, and John got up to answer it. It was the pizza man, carrying the two large pizzas that John had ordered. He paid and carried them into the dining room, reorganizing the space so that the kids could serve themselves and then head out the other doorway into the living room.

He went into the living room and put a hand on Sammy's shoulder, leading her out of sleep gently. She blinked up at him, then rubbed her eyes and made as if to sit up. She winced, and John put a hand in the middle of her chest, keeping her down.

"You were shot in the lower stomach, I'd recommend no sit-ups. I'll help." He made a wall of cushions, then lifted her and leaned her against them. "There are a few of the Misfits coming for supper, is that okay? I thought you'd prefer some familiar faces."

"Yeah!" Sammy said, clapping her hands together. "When are they gonna be here?" John looked over at the clock on the wall.

"Around five minutes," he said. "We're having pizza."

"Did you get plain cheese?" Sammy asked. John nodded, and she grinned. "That's my favorite."

"That's M's favorite as well," John commented without thinking. "But he gets other toppings because he feels like he has to. Then he picks them off and eats it like plain cheese pizza." This was something he had learned during their latest outing.

"Wow!" Sammy exclaimed. "I'm like M!" John tried for a smile, but was certain it fell flat. Then there was a knock on the door. The meeting had begun.

A/N: Hello, again. Well, this author's note is actually really IMPORTANT, so listen up. I've gotten several conflicting reviews asking for Johniarty, for no Johniarty, so I'm going to set it all straight in the next chapter, but I want you guys, my readers, to have the choice. If most people want Johniarty, I can certainly do that. If most people don't want it, then I'm happy to leave it out. And if it's a tie, like it is right now, then I'll let the story decide for itself.

So please leave a review, and tell me whether this story should have a twisted romance at the center of it. If you've already expressed your opinion, please don't repeat, it'll screw up my counting. Alright! Thanks. Tazia out.