Stockholm \Moriarty\AWKIF BK2\

2

Clarice's head pounded and she slowly opened her eyes, finding herself in a surprisingly comfortable bed. "Good morning, sunshine. Bedside table." The blonde snapped into an upright position at the amused voice of Jim. Her eyes were full of obvious panic but she remained silent.

Jim nodded to her right and Clarice slowly turned her head to find an unopened bottle of water and a bottle of pain relief. She cautiously grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap, finding that it's seal was unbroken as well. Her blue eyes shot back to Jim, a silent question passing between them.

"Don't think me cliché, but I don't want to hurt you. I know who you are. No point in denying anything." Clarice raised an eyebrow and Jim folded his arms as his grin grew.

"Jade Carlisle Renner. Should've changed it to Runner," he added in a small chuckle. "You hate your first name, always went by Carly. About a year and a half ago, you went on a camping trip with your parents and boy friend." The tents were far apart. Out of ear shot.

Clarice glared at Jim and he began giggling to himself. "I love the quiet game. You have fun with that." She rolled her eyes and began studying him carefully. How does he know? 'Kill him.' Not yet. Information.

"I still don't know how you got away though." Something shifted in Clarice's eyes and she looked away.

"Anything can happen in the Outback," she hummed, her voice light. Close your eyes. A splatter of red warmth.

"Care to tell me the rest?" Jim tried, his tone suggestive. Clarice shook her head. When she remained silent for several minutes, he realized that her silence was going to be constant.

"Look, I know who you are. Didn't take me too long. How long do you think it will take Sherlock?" Clarice scoffed and looked back to Jim with a half smile.

"Not long, especially now that you've kidnapped me. Now he'll burrow through my cupboard and sniff my tea to figure out what you want to know. Before hand, I had at least a month." She let the bitterness of her words and the accusation in her eyes to fully register in Jim's mind before looking away again.

"Give it a few days, you'll realize how I've helped you." Jim stood as Clarice chuckled to herself. "Oh, and the door will be open, I'm not confining you."

Keys. Locks. Small, uncomfortable space. It's all missing. "For being a hostage, my rules are rather lenient," she noted.

"Not a hostage. Guest. Welcome to my house." Jim turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing loudly as Clarice got lost in her mind.

Half an hour later, the pounding in her skull had lessened into a dull throb and she had showered, surprised to find her own things around the room. Does he expect me to live here?

Clarice stood at the door and turned the handle, surprised that Jim had held true to his word. She stepped out into a small hallway that only held four doors and led to an open staircase. The hardwood floor was cold and stole the heat radiating from her socks, each step taking her weight silently.

Jim's house was small but impressive. It was clear that he had money but he kept his decor simple. As much as she didn't like it, she found herself liking him just from his fruniture. She can't help that his layout pleased her OCD and pet peeves. Clarice gave herself a quick tour of the place and found Jim in the kitchen.

"Ah, so you do trust me." She raised an eyebrow and chuckled to herself.

"If you say so," she mumbled, sitting at the island.

"And you're speaking. Another good sign." Clarice rolled her eyes and folded her arms over the marble top.

"Why'd you bring my stuff here?" Jim looked up from the tea kettle and shrugged.

"So Sherlock can't sniff your tea." Despite her somewhat sour mood, Clarice allowed herself to smile.

"Define what you meant by guest." Jim leaned his back against the counter and took a long drink from his tea.

"I don't have an excuse for kidnapping you. That part was mostly for the rush and it's also time effecient." He wore a smug grin and whatever humanity he had left his eyes, the emptiness Clarice distinctly remembered returning. "Did you use a knife? Police report said that three bodies were mauled and the missing girl was badly wounded, pressumed dead."

It was then that Jim caught a spark of insanity in Clarice's eyes, like she was reliving it for half a second. Her face was stone but her eyes did all the speaking for her. Only showing what she wanted you to see. "Are you a sadist? Machosist?" he added in a whisper like a teenage school girl.

There was an underlying hint of amusement in her eyes but it quickly faded as she glared at him. "I'm no sadist, nor am I a machosist," she hissed out. "I did what I had to in order to survive."

"And that's exactly why I brought you here," Jim sighed dramatically. "I play dumb but I know what you did. Some people hired me to look for you, I found you, and my job is done."

"So I'm just a way for you to make money?" she asked with a humorless chuckle.

"Originally. Then I met you. I think you have potential. You just want to stay off the grid. This is the best place for you to be. No one ever gets to me...and no one ever will." Jim stood upright and opened up a cupboard, revealing her favorite mug and the baggie containing all her tea bags.

He threw a wave over his shoulder and walked out of the kitchen. Everything fit into place.

Small uncomfortable space will eventually become the house. Cabin fever. The lock was her past. Blackmail. The key was Sherlock. But her past would be exposed. The perfect trap. All he'd have to do is keep her happy. He has already failed.