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

Chapter 40- Strange Events

Emily's POV

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I climb out of the taxi, and look up at the house with a sense of deep rooted confliction. I know I shouldn't be doing this. I am perfectly aware that the consequences of tonight will not be beneficial for me, or my friends.

But I'm still doing this.

As I enter the building, I catch sight of a taxi pulling up behind me, reflected in the dark marble. I consider whether this is a coincidence, or if someone is following me. Where I'm going, it doesn't really matter either way.

I don't know if he's actually here yet. Or if it's him at all. It could just be another, less high-profile psychopath who mimicked Moriarty's tone to lure me into a death trap. 

I doubt it.

No sane person would mimic Moriarty. As long as they valued their life.

I check the rooms on the first floor.

Nothing.

I repeat the search on the second floor, revealing equally lacking results. I climb up the final staircase, passing rows of dark alcoves and impressive mirrors coated in fine layers of dust. Faith House is a club house- typically a meeting place for sad, aging golf organisations or British nationalist associations. Not really the type of place I'd expect to be meeting the world's only consulting criminal, but hey, he's hardly the predictable type.

There's a large room at the end of the corridor, and the door's open, so I can only assume that someone's in there. 

Hesitantly, I enter the room, taking in the large, polished meeting table, and dark chairs stacked next to the walls. Dominating the room, is a  floor-to-ceiling window: and then I see him.

He's got his back to me, and he's looking out the window, his outline silhouetted by the moonlight streaming through the dirty glass.

"You're late."

"I wasn't aware this was a formal meeting."

He tilts his head up, looking at the sky but not at me-

"Formal's too obvious. I don't like obvious."

"I know you don't," I say, a little more sharply than I intended.

He's silent for a while. I keep my distance, ensuring that the table is between us, to act as a barrier.

"What did you want?" I say, after the silence becomes icy.

He looks down over his shoulder-

"I want to know why you shot your sister."

I inhale sharply.

"I don't want to share my reasons with you."

He smiles at the ground, before turning his head back to the window-

"So you're the type to hold grudges, hm?"

My hands ball into fists inside my pocket-

"I hold you responsible for everything."

"Good. I am."

"You did that to her. You made her into what she was."

"Yes. I think it was quite the improvement," he says, his voice playful and lilting.

I grit my teeth-

"You're sick."

He laughs, and turns around, examining me with dark interest. I fold my arms across my chest, and return his look coldly-