Sherlock couldn't even think about gaining sleep that night. It wasn't down to the fact that the young blonde was tossing and turning as she had her body nestled against him, in fact, he barely even noticed her doing that. What got to him was why she had been shot at. Did whoever do it want Sherlock instead? Or was it truly Moriarty? Back again and after revenge...but Sherlock didn't think Moriarty would return that soon. He was a patient man and Sherlock knew that. Revenge was a dish best served cold.
"Sherlock." He heard Scarlett suddenly whisper, snapping him out of the daze he had currently been in. He looked down onto her but saw that her eyes were still shut and she was gently murmuring something else. He felt her arms move around his body, pulling herself closer to him and he once again allowed himself to turn stiff, before moving his arm to go around her waist, the other resting on her lap as he yawned. Finally, Sherlock felt his lids drop and he wondered if it would be best to let sleep overtake him.
...
"Are you three still asleep?" a shrill voice came and Sherlock was the first one to open his eyes, peering over at the old woman who had begun to open the curtains to her own flat.
"Clearly we were Mrs Hudson," Sherlock replied. "But obviously not now considering you just woke us up."
"Well it is ten in the morning Sherlock," Mrs Hudson replied and she saw John begin to yawn loudly and then he sat up from the mattress, looking around the room and rubbing his eyes, noticing the sight of Sherlock and Scarlett and he grinned slightly, causing Sherlock to glare at him;
"Shut up," he warned him and John chuckled.
"So what do you think last night was about Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked, beginning to potter around in her flat whilst Sherlock allowed his hand to gently grab Scarlett's arm, squeezing it and trying to wake her up.
"No idea Mrs Hudson," Sherlock lied to the elder woman.
"Well whatever it was," she warned him, "you're paying for the repairs." And she then walked back off into the kitchen as Sherlock rolled his eyes at the woman's back and then went back to his waking up of Scarlett.
"Scarlett," he tried not to get impatient with the girl as she shifted around on his lap again. "Scarlett...you need to wake up..."
"Hmm?" she muttered, her eyes still closed but Sherlock could tell she was awake as she allowed her head to rest onto his chest and John chuckled, resulting in Sherlock outstretching his leg and managing to kick the man gently as he sat on the mattress.
"Ow," John complained.
"Serves you right," Sherlock replied.
"What time is it?" Scarlett yawned loudly and Sherlock checked his watch which was at the end of his arm;
"Ten past ten," he informed her and she opened her eyes, sitting up and sliding herself from Sherlock who couldn't help but feel a little relieved as he could now feel the blood circulating in his legs. She removed his jacket from her shoulders and handed it back to him, he took it and placed it onto his own body before standing up and beginning to pace up and down Mrs Hudson's living room.
"Now," Sherlock began. "The question is Scarlett," he looked at the girl, "did you notice anything about the car last night? Did you see anything whatsoever?"
"Me?" Scarlett squeaked. "I don't know...Mrs Hudson and I were just watching the TV...then there was this loud bang I think...the next thing I know is that after looking out the window there is a car driving past and then we're being shot at."
"What did the car look like?" he asked her.
"It was blacked out...it was black and big...I don't know Sherlock. I was more disturbed at the fact there was the end of a gun sticking out of the window," she replied and Sherlock sighed. No point in asking her if she knew the registration plate by the sounds of it.
"Clearly there isn't much to go on then," Sherlock simply shrugged and John stood up, stretching as he did so.
"What? What do you mean there isn't much to go on?" John asked. "We always have something to go on."
"Not now John," he snapped. "What am I supposed to do? The car has clearly vanished and we have no idea who it could have been."
"Yes we do," John said and Sherlock simply shook his head.
"He can't be back this quick...he said he would wait...and it hasn't even been a month. Moriarty wouldn't rush a job which he wants to be done properly; it isn't in his nature one little bit."
"But it is something which he would have done," Scarlett piped up, curling into a ball on Mrs Hudson's sofa, running a hand through her blonde hair.
"But it is too soon," Sherlock exclaimed, jumping up and down once and then running his hands through his black curly hair and shaking his head;
"We don't know who they were trying to shoot at...they could have been after me...probably not John...he wouldn't say boo to a goose," Sherlock mused. "How many people have I annoyed recently who would want me dead, apart from Moriarty that is?"
"I don't know," Scarlett grumbled. "You seem to annoy many people."
"It is hardly intentional," Sherlock replied back to her. "Although I fail to care if I do so...but...there is no one. The last few cases we've had I've managed to solve so it is none of them..."
"So it is Moriarty," Scarlett confirmed and Sherlock sat down onto the sofa, the other end of her and buried his head into his hands.
"We can't jump to conclusions," Sherlock replied. "We just can't."
...
"Why the hell are you phoning me?" Scarlett hissed as she stood in her living room. Sherlock and John had to go out for the case and so Sherlock had refused to let Scarlett leave 221 Baker Street. Currently, she was waiting on some men to come and fit new windows into the flat whilst she swept up all the broken glass shards and other things which had been destroyed.
"We need to talk," his gruff voice said from the other end of the phone. "I heard about what happened at your apartment last night...it's been all over the news."
"What?" Scarlett gasped and he chuckled.
"Well it isn't an everyday occurrence," he told her. "I need to talk to you Scarlett."
"I'm not really in the mood James," Scarlett said curtly. "And after what happened...I'm not entirely sure that's for the best."
"Look," he said, "I'm sorry for making a move...I didn't realise you had a boyfriend and you never mentioned him."
"Me and Sherlock..." Scarlett replied. "It's complicated."
"I can tell," he replied. "He did manage to give me a good black eye."
"Well I think you did enough damage to him also," Scarlett replied, bending down onto her knees and sweeping up more shards, looking around and realising there was a hell of a lot to sweep up.
"And I'm sorry," James apologised. "I was drunk and irresponsible. I picked up on the wrong signs and I am sorry Scarlett...I don't want us to be like this."
"James," Scarlett complained. "I...I don't know what to say...I hate fighting with anyone..."
"Then just come down here and talk to me," he pleaded with her and Scarlett raised a brow;
"Come down here?" she wondered.
"I'm outside your flat," he told her and she walked over to where the thin sheet was covering the open space and she looked onto the street, and, sure enough, there was James, stood with his mobile to his ear.
"Please Scarlett," he said and the young woman sighed, running a hand over her cheek and nodding;
"I'll be there in a moment," she promised. Quickly, she placed her flat shoes on and grabbed onto her cardigan which was on the sofa before she moved down the steps and out of 221B Baker Street.
"Hey," James said and Scarlett folded her arms across her body, keeping herself warm as she looked at James who handed her a hot chocolate in a polystyrene cup. She took it and raised a brow;
"I have these inside," she told him and he shrugged;
"I thought it might be a peace offering," he managed to grin at her and watched intently as she sipped on the brown liquid. As soon as she took a sip she felt her body change. Suddenly, she felt her limbs automatically become heavy and she began drooping on the quiet pathway as she noted a car pull up on the side of the pavement.
"James," she whispered. "What's going on? I don't feel..."
"I told you that you wanted me Scarlett," he said, catching her under her arms as she fell, dropping the hot chocolate onto the pavement, the liquid spilling everywhere. "And he does pay well...and I don't like rejection"
"James," she whispered. "No...please..." she begged as she felt herself fall into unconsciousness and he bundled her into the cab.
"Moriarty will be pleased," he simply murmured into her ear before she truly did fall asleep.
...
"He's trying to distract us John," Sherlock said as they walked back to Baker Street in the evening. "Like last time when he was after something."
"So what do you think he is after?" John wondered and Sherlock pursed his lips;
"I don't want to think," he said, but he had an idea. Bounding into 221B, Sherlock ran into the living room and looked around. It was still a tip and the windows were still broken and covered with thin cloth.
"Scarlett?" Sherlock yelled into the flat, walking through the rooms, slamming doors open as he went.
"John! Go down and ask Mrs Hudson if she has seen Scarlett!" he ordered his friend as he ran through the flat, his breathing becoming rapid as he simply began to shake slightly.
"Mrs Hudson said she came back to the apartment earlier but she hasn't seen her all day...she's been out too," John said. "What's going on?"
"She's gone," Sherlock said and John's eyes popped open wide, his mouth falling slightly.
"Maybe she went out?" John asked and Sherlock shook his head.
"No," he said. "I told her not to and she would have finished cleaning if she knew she was going to go out. She hasn't got her BlackBerry or her bag or her keys so she hasn't gone out...he's got her."
Suddenly, Sherlock felt his phone begin to ring, checking the ID he wasted no time in answering it as the caller's name was blocked.
"Hello," Sherlock remained calm for a moment.
"Sherlock," he heard a soft whisper. "Sherlock."
"Scarlett?" he asked her. "Is that you?"
"I'm so sorry," he heard her sob lightly. "I didn't..."
"What is it? Where are you?" Sherlock asked her quickly. "Come on Scarlett...talk to me..."
"James was in on it Sherlock," Scarlett said quickly before she felt her hair being pulled back and the phone being snatched from her hand. "He knows him Sherlock...ow!" she managed to yell, her voice going high pitched as James yanked her head back, her hair feeling like it may come from her head.
"Scarlett!" Sherlock yelled down the phone. "Talk to me!"
"Oh she would Sherlock," new voice came onto the phone, his voice instantly recognisable. "But she's ah...well...a little tied up at the moment. Quite literally too."
"Where is she?" Sherlock asked. "What have you done to her?"
"Oh I've done nothing to her Sherlock," Moriarty simply said, allowing James to gag her as she remained tied to the chair, protesting profusely as Moriarty bent down behind the chair, his face close to her cheek as his finger wiped away a tear which had fallen down her cheek. "Of course, I do plan to hurt her."
"And James?" Sherlock asked. "What's he in this?"
"Oh you know me Sherlock," Moriarty chuckled, looking at the young solicitor. "Make false promises and manage to get myself a puppet in the process."
"Why now?" Sherlock asked. "You said you'd wait."
"I did, didn't I?" his voice went high pitched as he saw Scarlett tremble. "Well...I prefer to use the element of surprise...and I did give you a warning last night Sherlock...was the shooting not enough?"
"So it was you?" Sherlock checked.
"Who else?" he smiled.
"Where is she Moriarty?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty took out his gun, stroking it lightly and dangling it in front of Scarlett as she began to breathe deeply and cry even harder, screaming through her gag.
"What are you doing to her?" Sherlock yelled.
"Oh just playing Sherlock," Moriarty drawled. "Don't worry though...the game will soon end...and I'll be the winner and you nothing more than a loser."
"I swear to God," Sherlock said. "Tell me where she is and I may consider making your death quick and less painful than my original intention."
"Empty threats," Moriarty tutted. "So you have fallen for her then Sherlock?" Moriarty stood in front of her, bending down, resting his hands onto her knees as he moved a strand of blonde hair from her face.
"Leave her alone," Sherlock drawled and Jim laughed slightly into the phone;
"I'll talk to you later Sherlock," Moriarty said. "I have a new pet to play with."
...
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