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

Chapter 8- Bad Dreams

Millie's POV

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I'm dying. I want to shout for help but I can't, something is weighing me down. Sherlock and John are above me, looking down, their faces passive. John laughs, and folds his arms, and Sherlock raises an eyebrow a fraction, before putting an arm round Emily. They laugh at me. I try to speak, but no words come out. I turn my head, and I see that my arm is bleeding, from a bullet wound. I'm wearing a suit. I frown, and pick up shard of glass from the floor. Moriarty's pale face stares back at me. I start to scream-

"No!"

I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat and panting. That was unusual. I consider myself a lucid dreamer, and have always had the ability to control my dreams, turning them on and off at will. 

"Millie? Is that you, dear? There's someone here for Sherlock, but he's sleeping, and I don't want to wake him- he works so hard, bless him. Shall I send her in?" says Mrs Hudson, poking her head round the door, in a long white night dress.

"Yes. I'll be out... in a minute," I say, trying to steady my breathing.

I get up, and smooth out the creases in my oversized t-shirt. I walk softly along the landing and through the kitchen, then stop-

Emily Schott is standing in the dim light, regarding me with a look of bored defiance.

"What are you doing here?" I say, a little more sharply than I intended.

"Sherlock knows that I'm here," she replies simply, crossing here arms.

I notice the bruises spattering her arms, and the cut at her elbow. She looks in control, but also edgy, like she's trying to calm herself. I frown, and gesture at the dark living room.

"He's asleep. Wait there. I'll get him for you."

She looks at me steadily, then slowly walks over to the sofa, and sits down, wincing.

I push into Sherlock's room. He's sleeping on his side, breathing steadily and frowning slightly. I turn on the light. He sits up, and looks aroundsfrantically, his brain working rapidly to break out of sleep's dull fog. 

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"You have a visiter."

His frown deepens.

"Emily. She says that you were... expecting her."

"Oh. Yes. Tell her I'm coming."

I sigh, and leave the room. This is ridiculous. Emily's head snaps round at the sound of my appearance.

"He's coming."

"Right."

Silence.

This feels awkward. I go over to the kitchen to pour myself a drink. I'm awake now. Trying to sleep again is futile.

"Emily?"

"Sherlock. Did you get my text?"

"Yes."

I try not to listen.

"Things have happened, I won't bore you by going into the details. I'm fine now. I need you to know that I can't help you again. I'm sorry."

"What did he do to you?"

I pause at the sink.

"He? No-one's done anything to me Sherlock. I just... decided that helping really isn't my forte. Wrong side of the law," she says, smiling grimly.

"You have bruises the size of an adult male's- I'm estimating 43, 6"1-  fingerprints spanning the length of your forearm, which suggests that you were restrained, with force, probably against your will. You have a cut and bruise on your elbow. You fought back. There is chemical residue on you cheek, chloroform, I'm guessing by the white sheen. Now, tell me again that nothing happened."

She sighs, then says-

"Fine. Something happened. Happy? But I'm fine now, evidently. And that's not what changed my mind."

Sherlock sits down opposite her. I turn on the tap.

"I've got all night. You're going to tell me what happened."

"No, I'm not. It's unnecessary."

"Did Moriarty do that to you?"

"Don't be stupid. Like Moriarty would hurt me himself. He prefers to organise things from afar. You should know that."

"So you do know Moriarty."

She laughs.

"Oh you're good. Fine. He wanted to talk to me. And, being Moriarty, he anticipated that I wouldn't come quietly, so he sent some henchmen to take care of me for him. Hence the bruising. But he didn't actually do anything to me. In fact, he didn't touch me at all. Just spoke. Then I left. And here I am."

Sherlock is silent for a while.

"What did he want?"

"Nothing that would interest you."

"I beg to differ."

"You forget. I'm not part of your game. I'm a criminal. This kind of thing happens all the time. Part of the job, I suppose."

I turn off the tap. 

"Also," she continues, "I needed to discuss personal matters. Concerning your research. In private." she says pointedly, looking in my direction.

"Millie, could we have a moment?" asks Sherlock.

I nod, and leave the room, burning with an acute combination of curiosity, jealousy and agitation.

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Emily's POV

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Tired, I climb the stairs to my apartment. Talk about deja vu. 

I mull over my conversations with Moriarty and Sherlock in my head. I'm still a little irritated that Sherlock was able to suss out my situation, as, normally, I am very good at concealing what I want to stay hidden. 

I stop suddenly- there's something outside my door.

It's my jacket.

I bend down to pick it up, and see there's a note pinned to the collar.

See you around -JM

At first glance, it appears totally nondescript and innocent. However, because this is from Moriarty, there are considerably sinister undertones.

Somehow, I don't think this is a friendly suggestion.

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