"Flat Buddies"

Chapter 4

Sherlock. Sherlock frigging Holmes. The idiot who had crushed practically your only friend's heart, got you fired AND now (oh yes this just keeps getting better and better), NOW got a psychopathic, supposed to be dead, criminal, mastermind to target you, HAS A SCHOOLBOY CRUSH ON YOU.

Needless to say you were in a state of complete shock. But as John's laughter and Sherlock's rage filled the room it began to wear off. A different emotion replaced it. Pretty quickly actually.

Anger.

Slowly it spread from your head to your toes. Furious thoughts begin to swim throughout your mind and made their way through your system.

You were never going to see your friends again or else Moriarty would target them. You would never get to go home. You had been in England for UNDER A WEEK. THAT'S IT! And now you were being told that you were GOING TO BE MURDERED! All because stupid, friggin, Sherlock bloody Holmes liked you. Wait how was that even true? After all he had just tormented you. NON STOP. Stealing your number, hurting your friend, getting you fired, and then leading Moriarty to attack you.

Ugh.

You needed to clear your head.

"(YN), where are you going?"

Your hand closed around the doorknob and you were sorely tempted just to ignore John and flee outside but you resisted the urge and muttered,

"I need some air."

"(YN), is that a good idea? I mean Moriarty could just be wait-"

John's objections were silenced as you let the door slam shut behind you. Your feet glided over the steps as you raced towards the door out of the flat.

Do this. Do that. Are you sure going outside is a good idea? I mean this is a big city, and it is dark.

OF COURSE IT WAS A STUPID IDEA JOHN! IT IS DOWNRIGHT IDIOTIC AND BRIDGING ON SUICIDAL!

You wondered which was the stupider idea; going out in the dark when you know a serial killer was after you or deciding to move to London.

You put it behind you as a gust of cold air seeped through your jacket. You pulled the brown leather closer to your body as you let your feet take you away from the flat. Black converse patted gently along the sidewalk in a steady rhythm as you walk onwards.

What were you gonna do?

Shaking your head to clear it, you meandered into a park. It was quiet. Almost eerily so. A playset nearby beckoned you over and you let your feet take over for your preoccupied brain. With a creak you took a seat on the empty swings and gently begin to sway back and forth.

Creak.

You needed to determine the facts and sort out this mess in your head.

Creak.

Sherlock likes you.

Creak.

He also got you fired. Because he likes you? No that didn't make any sense...or did it?

Creak.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat causing the swing's metal joints to protest.

Creaaaaak.

Let's get off THAT subject.

You turned your mind to another troubling problem and automatically wished you hadn't.

Moriarty's face gleamed out in the darkness of your memory.

Ugh.

His neck twitched jerkily, like a snake's, his fingers clenching as if itching to wrap around someone's throat and his deep, brown eyes, his dark eyes, they, were full of madness.

Shuddering instinctively, not from the cold, you opened your (EC) eyes. A gasp escaped your lips.

No. That wasn't possible. It was just because you were thinking about him. He couldn't be here.

Moriarty's voice was colder than the icy wind that cut through your thin jacket.

"Hello Love! Rather cold to be out here isn't it?"

You sat stunned in your seat, your mind refusing to comprehend what was happening.

A black limo had not pulled up to the curb. A man had not stepped out. That man was not Moriarty. He was not smiling at you. He was not raising a hand to invite you inside his car of death.

"Wouldn't you rather sit with me?" Moriarty croons as he draws closer.

Your brain finally kicks back into gear and with a leap you fly out of your seat. The leaves from the park crunch under your converse as you speed away from Moriarty. You have to put as much distance as you possibly can from him before-

"ARRRGHHH!"

A screech is torn from your lips as someone jumps out of an alley blocking your escape. Unable to stop you slam into him and bounce backwards. The man looks greedily down at you and pulls out a cloth.

"AW HECK NO!" you roar rolling away.

The man's eyes narrow from behind his mask as he leaps towards you. This time you aren't so lucky and the freak gets ahold of your arm.

"LET ME GO!" you scream desperately struggling in his iron grip, "SOMEONE HELP ME!"

"Shut up!" the man snarls trying to press the cloth against your mouth and nose.

You wriggle fruitlessly in his grip trying to get away.

Someone has to come right? This is London for Odin's sake where is everyone?

A sickly smell emanates from the cloth overpowering your senses. Your brain immediately begins to fog as you sag in your captor's grasp.

"No," you murmur hazily.

The cloth is pressed over your face and you feel the hope drain out of you.

Screw London.