The Art Of Corruption ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book III}

Chapter 22- The Height of Blackmail

Emily's POV

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I stare at him for a minute, rapidly scanning through the files in my head, looking for a loophole, or a way out.

He's bought it. The whole building. 

He glances around the room, taking in the general clutter and lack of order. It's strange; despite having been struck across the face only minutes ago, there's no redness. His usual pallor is unaffected. Pale skin, offset by dark eyes and hair. No difference. 

And then everything crystallises.

It's so simple.

"No," I say, and he looks up, inquiring. "No. I don't have to deal with this."

He smiles, his head to one side.

"I'm afraid you do."

"No, I don't. You bought this apartment? Fine. Have it. I'm not staying here."

I turn around, and make my way towards the door. This isn't convenient, by any means: I'll have to stay at Baker Street for a while, until I sort out a new lodging. I will also have to increase my hours and broaden my clientele list, to fund the move, which means more late nights spent hacking governments and data bases and bank accounts.

But it's better than staying here, with him.

"I didn't want to threaten you, Emily."

I stop walking, my hand on the doorknob. 

"Ok, I lied. I did."

I twist the handle, and hear him shift position behind me.

"How much do you value your friendship with Millie Shon?"

 I pull open the door.

"Humour me. Answer the question."

I look over my shoulder at him:

"Don't talk to me about friendship."

He raises his eyebrows, the paragon of mock offence.

But then his body language changes. He takes his hands out of his pockets, his eyes get darker, and the shell of repartee falls away in it's entirety. Then he speaks, and his tone has dropped the taunting cadence:

"If you care for her as a person, you will listen to what I have to say very carefully."

I should walk away now. 

I stay where I am. Unmoving, hand still poised on the door handle.

"Don't you think," he says, and his voice has taken on a sinister, pointed undertone: "That it's a bit strange, how you know next to nothing about Millie's history? You don't know about her family. Or her childhood. Or her previous...involvements."

"She knows nothing about my past. It doesn't affect anything."

He chuckles, leaning against the wall and watching me unwaveringly.

"She knows you have a sister. Had a sister."

My grip tightens on the handle.

"Is that still a sore topic? After all this time?"

"I don't see how this is relevant."

"You're right. Let's get to the point, shall we?"

This is the side of Jim Moriarty that scares me. The teasing, the provoking, the inflammatory remarks; I can take those. I can manage them. But this. This is the cold, calculating, almost business-like spectra of his personality. This is the consulting criminal who has a global reputation as the most dangerous mind the world has ever seen.