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

Chapter 44- Heat

Millie's POV

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Oh my god.

I don't know what to do. I'm standing half-in, half-out of the taxi, hand still on the door, gaping at the cab that pulls away from the curb and turns a corner. 

Sherlock was right.

Of course he was right. He's Sherlock Holmes. I mentally curse at my inability to recognise an accurate deduction. Emily has evidently forgiven Moriarty, ridiculous as it seems, for his involvement with her sister. More than just forgiven him, judging by what I've just witnessed.

"Are you in or out, love?"

I whip round, startled out of my thoughts-

"You know what, never mind. Can you take me back to Baker Street, please?"

He sighs audibly at my indecisiveness, then gestures for me to get in. I sit down, close the door, and lean back against the seat. I feel sick. What is she doing?! She's clever enough to see that he's manipulative, I know she is, and, last time I checked, she hated that man with every fibre of her being. 

And then there's Moriarty.

Obviously, he doesn't like her- he's not interested in any kind of relationship, even I can see that. The only reason Moriarty would get physically involved with anyone would be to gain information or an advantage in a situation- or for personal relief. I'm almost sure Sherlock's asexual; or at least trying to be, and Moriarty, as his opposite, would therefore be open to most 'experiences', as long as they are not at his own expense. It makes me shiver, thinking about the poor individuals-male or female, involved in anything intimate with that man. 

 And what do I tell Sherlock? That I saw Emily? That she was clearly intoxicated?  Should I try to stop her, before she does anything she regrets? 

Should I say anything at all?

I fight furiously with my conscience and my logic, whilst at the same time being driven further and further away from Emily, the bar, and all her bad decisions.

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Emily's POV

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I don't make it in to my apartment before he's kissing me again- if you could call it that. It's more like biting, snarling against eachother's mouths, persistent and hungry. Desire and alcohol happens to be a lethal combination- any sense that may have prevented me from doing this has figuratively gone out of the window. There's enough vodka in my system to eliminate questioning thoughts- I don't care, I can't care anymore.

I somehow manage to open the door, although my hands are somewhat occupied, and I'm pushed through the apartment,struggling to stay upright with his additional weight. I don't realise until I actually feel myself falling that he's virtually manhandled me onto the bed.

I should probably be panicking now, or at least fighting, but, the thing is, I don't want to. I still hate Moriarty, and I suppose I'm still aware that this is purely for his personal gain, but I can't find it in myself to stop, let alone pull away.

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Millie's POV

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I slam into 221B, looking around wildly for John. It's the middle of the night, and he's probably asleep, but I need him, desperately, before it's too late.