Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 35- Internal Conflict

Millie's POV

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It's been a week.

A week since our 'ordeal'.

We're all still showing signs of the aftershock: John flinches every time his back touches another surface- even though the wounds themselves have cleared up very well. I find touching water difficult; showering is a challenge, and bathing is out of the question- even walking in the rain makes me tense. Sherlock still can't clear his head of the high-pitch whine, even though he's removed the radio- the noise has embedded itself if his brain, and it makes thinking difficult. Emily is plagued by nightmares, every night: the remnants of the hallucinations taking much longer to fade than the pinpricks on her arm.

And then there's Moriarty.

We left him in China. 

Bringing him back with us wasn't an option. I don't think he'd have actually joined us if the offer was there- he wouldn't risk imprisonment. I don't know if he's made his way back to England. I hope he hasn't; I feel much more comfortable with the knowledge that he's in another country, away from us. 

I've also been trying hard to fathom Emily's expression, as she hesitated at the helicopter doors. Regret? Pain? Guilt? None of the examples seem to apply. It's an emotion I do not recognise, and that's what is bothering me. I don't like not knowing. It was only a fleeting expression. As soon as she stepped into the aircraft her face smoothed out immediately.

There are a lot of unanswered questions- like why Moriarty intercepted Sherlock's interview, or why he prevented Emily's long term imprisonment. I'd like to say that he was finally experiencing some form of empathy, some form of sentiment, but, realistically, he probably wanted her back on the streets so he could continue playing with her mind, and consequently ours.

"Oh my god-"

John's exclamation startles me out of my thought process.

 I walk into the living room, to observe John staring at the television screen, the spoon of cereal half way to his mouth. Sherlock turns round from his desk, and I watch his eyes widen then narrow in disbelief. Emily's in the kitchen, and so she reaches the television before I do. Her face does not register shock; it is unreadable. Curious, I join John on the sofa, and scan the screen- I inhale sharply:

It's the building.

Well, what's left of the building. Our prison. Now just smoking remains and jagged heaps of half shattered concrete and rubble. The reporter flicks into view:

"This is the remains of the one of China's military bases. At 9:00 AM this morning, what can only be described as a terrorist bomb destroyed what was considered to be one of the most secure and secret locations in this country. Approximately two-hundred people have been confirmed dead, amongst them, Mao XenLin, a significant member of the Chinese militia. Investigations are trying to determine the reasons behind the attack, which appeared to be non-provoked."

"Jesus..." breathes John, "Two hundred people... he really went all out."

Sherlock turns away and continues to work on his laptop, although there's a notable crease between his furrowed brows.

I think we're all experiencing an internal debate.

I'm very happy to know that the orchestrater, XenLin, is dead. I don't consider myself a sadistic person, or a particularly revenge-hungry one, but it's good to know that the man who was responsible for the pain we all went through paid the ultimate price. 

But the fact that two hundred innocent people were killed in the process doesn't sit comfortably with me at all. 

I suppose to a man like Moriarty, it was nothing. Human life isn't a relevant factor. He has no moral compass. That's why he's a criminal mastermind. That's why he'll continue to be the only person in this world who can really confuse Sherlock, and make him unsettled.

That's why he is truly frightening.

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