A/n:
Twenty minutes till my math class, let's get this bread
********
One week had passed, when John told (Y/n) they were close to finding her she didn't think it meant to hang in there for another week! Waiting was so beyond torture.
She hadn't got out again, and She hadn't seen Jim at all.
******
One month had gone by, she got to go out again, but only for food shopping. She still was hopeful her rescue was on the way, though texts from John and Sherlock had stopped. Not even a check-in.
*****
Two months. Her hope was dwindling. Still nothing.
*******
Three months it was Christmas now. Jim had been around all month, rarely leaving. He had the house decorated for the holiday, and his festive choices made her feel constantly uneasy (think nightmare before Christmas-ish)
She still hadn't heard for the detective and his blogger, and she started to fear that they had forgotten. They couldn't have, they shouldn't have at least.
Jim had seemed to have gotten less attentive to her day to day actions so she simply pulled out her phone, and shared her location to Sherlock and John over SMS.
Five minutes had passed, and she jumped at the angered voice.
"(Y/n)!' Jim yelled out into the house.
He walked into the kitchen where she had been staring at her phone and she saw neither of the people she texted had seen it yet.
"You really enjoy testing my patience, don't you?"
"I- erm."
"Speechless? right?," He groaned, "You are so lucky I can stop the message from getting to their mobiles."
She had gone into full panic mode. still as a rock, stiff as a stick.
"Though we've had out little crisis averted, I think some punishment is in order, don't you?"
She gulped.
Jim harshly grabbed her wrist and dragged her down the hall and opened the door she hadn't bothered to look in.
He violently opened the door and snarled, "You can come back up, once you've learned your lesson."
And with that venom, he threw her inside. She tumbled down old wooden stairs, head pressed to her chest to avoid any fatal damage. the rough edges cut her arms, and corners poked and bruised her skin. She fell finally with a thud on the concrete of an unfurnished cellar. She laid there in defeat, what else had she expected from a psychopath?
She laid unmoving and whispered to nobody in particular, "My favorite psychopath."
***********
She woke not realizing she fell asleep, still in a cold damp cellar, light only flooding though a small window too high up to reach and too small to crawl through.
She ached all over and saw on her arms and legs nasty yellow marks warned nasty bruises were about to form in a few hours. She still limped her way up the splintery steps and to the door the was thrown from. She tried its handle and tried turning it, she found it turned but was locked by unseen bolts on the other side.
She sat on the top step and leaned on the door.
"Can't I be let out?"
no reply.
"I swear it won't happen again."
nothing.
"I know what I did was wrong. Please?"
Silence.
Hot tears spilled from her eyes and fell freely down her cheeks.
"I need you," She whispered hoarsely.
YOU ARE READING
fear (Moriarty x reader)
Mystery / Thriller(Y/n) (L/n), resident of the flat in central London that was always damp and cold, as the curse of basements is. There is something about living underneath the worlds greatest detective that makes one so much more cautious in life.
