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

Chapter 37- Planets, Gum, and Messages

Millie's POV

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I'm sitting on the steps of an ambulance, a blanket draped across my shoulders, watching but not being observed. It's dark now, and the night is pierced by sirens and flashing lights. Sherlock, John, and Emily are still inside the building, presumably asking and answering questions. 

It starts to rain.

The memories flicker, and my body tenses up, expecting pain that does not come. I fiercely correct my illogical behaviour, and sit up straighter, breathing in the smell of wet tarmac.  I'm still fighting the sedation that's lacing my blood; I feel strange, like there's a dull, cloudy fog tugging at my thoughts, and there's white at the corners of my vision. I have a degree in chemistry, so I can name  the chemical that was used to drug me, and I know that the effects will wear off soon enough. I just have to wait, and not do anything irrational, because the sedative used has similar properties to alcohol in the sense that my inhibitions are somewhat fragile.

Maybe that's why I don't react when he steps out of the shadows, and weaves his way through the oblivious police officers and paramedics towards me. 

He doesn't look different; not really- the shadows under his eyes are a shade darker, his eyes look flatter, and his mouth is more unsmiling- but that's it. 

"You're not in China?" I manage through the chemicals, meeting his eyes.

"Evidently not."

"You took your time."

The corner of his mouth turns up,  in a cold half-smile:

"Well, I had some business to take care of while I was out there. Arrangements, if you will."

I look down at the ground, thinking of the explosions and the deaths of two hundred innocent people. He looks at the entrance of the swimming pool, now taped off, and squares his shoulders, his hands in his pockets-

"I can't stay long. Sherlock and Co. will be out soon. Much as I would love to participate in a reunion, I really don't have the time."

"Then why are you here?"

"I need you to pass on a message."

I laugh quietly. 

"Tell Emily that we need to have a little chat at some point."

"You can't tell her yourself?" I say, my mind sharpening as the drugs begin to exit my system.

"I could. But it's more fun watching you do it."

He says it lightly, with a shrug, but there are definite dangerous undertones lining his message. I'm tired of threats, and he knows it. I've experienced too much recently, and I don't want to risk anymore pain. So, I nod slowly-

"Fine. I'll tell her. But I wouldn't hold out much hope on getting a response."

He laughs, and what he says next effectively chills me and surprises me simultaneously-

"I don't hope."

And then he turns on his heel, and walks away, back into the dark streets, not looking back.

I feel something unexpected tug at my chest cavity.

Something that almost reassembles pity. But this is Jim Moriarty. He doesn't feel pity, and therefore doesn't generate it.

I watch him until the shadows match his suit and he disappears.

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Emily's POV