Shadows of the Past (BBC Sherlock) -1-

4. A Snap Decision

Making the decision to live at 221B instead of a hotel was a much better idea.

A payment was settled. Sherlock had continuously insisted that I sign some sort of contract. Thankfully, John didn't deem it necessary. Even though I would pay for staying at the apartment, Sherlock wasn't happy.

Nothing was ever going to make that man happy.

The loveseat turned out to be a good bed. I was lent a few pillows and blankets courtesy of John. He was being a much better host compared to his counterpart, like I had expected. The first night I didn't really sleep, not because of Moriarty's capture, but because I was paranoid that Sherlock would fire at the wall above my head while I was sleeping. Luckily for me, that didn't happen.

I didn't get a good night's sleep, not with the consulting detective being an insomniac. I was sure he purposely stayed up late at night while I was trying to rest just so he could make my life hell and try to oust me from the apartment. He would pace in the den room, mumbling to himself loud enough for me to hear. There were even a few nights he decided to play his "lovely" violin in the most ungodly hours of the night. It was those nights that I regretted not taking John's offer on taking his bedroom instead.

Once the media got a hold of Moriarty's arrest and what he had done to get himself there, everything exploded. Newspapers made the story headlines for weeks, on TV and the Internet that's mainly what you saw. I still remembered some headlines: "Crime of the Century?" "Amateur detective to be called as expert witness."

This thing was spiraling way out of control.

Almost a month had passed since Moriarty's arrest. You would think that being that it was old news, his arrest would disappear. That definitely wasn't the case. Now that the trial was approaching, buzz was going up again.

No matter how much I tried to get Moriarty out of my head, he kept coming back like a nasty cold. Thinking about him wasn't helping me sleep; he made all my dreams turn bad. If there was any way to keep my thoughts from shifting to Jim Moriarty, I would have used it many times.

Today was going to be another bland, Moriarty-filled day in London. Even at whatever time I was consciously awake, traffic continued to bustle outside of 221B. My eyelids were heavy like bricks. I wanted them to fall back down, but I knew if they did, I'd dream. And I knew just who would be there to greet me.

Maybe I can just close them for a few moments...

***

I was perched in a dark corner of the pool area, waiting for commands to be spat in my ear thanks to the earpiece given to me. I didn't want to be here, but sadly, due to being watched and having an ankle monitor strapped to me, I had no choice in the matter. I had no choice in it, just like John Watson didn't when he had been abducted.

I was told to keep out of sight, that way Sherlock Holmes wouldn't suspect someone was on the ground. From my vantage point, I was able to hear everything that had gone on since Sherlock had arrived. I had been close to crying out so he would know I was near, but I was told if I did I wasn't going to like what happened afterwards.

The whole confrontation between Jim and Sherlock was very intense. I learned a bit through their conversation. For instance, I hadn't known Jim had gotten closer to Sherlock, so close that he had pretended to be a worker from I.T. That had explained his getup the one day he had visited me in my room—or should I say, hell.

Jim told Sherlock to back off, and that he would—and I quote—"burn the heart out of him" if he didn't. But honestly, their confrontation wasn't the worst part. The fact that Jim had John Watson strapped with explosives was. What was even more so appalling was that I had been forced to suit him up in his dangerous attire.