Stockholm \Moriarty\AWKIF BK2\

5

Clarice awoke groggily, instantly getting angry at Jim. The hands prodding her body only fueled her anger. The hands moved to lift her shirt so she shot upright and slapped the hands away, meeting the shocked grey eyes of John Watson. He held his hands up in surrender and held her gaze. "It's alright, I'm a doctor. I was just checking you for any injuries."

The door opened and Clarice's head snapped around to find Sherlock standing there with a pleased expression. "How do you feel, Clarice?" he asked lightly.

"How did I get here?" she asked instead, her eyes cold and harsh.

"I haven't figured that out quite yet, but you were drugged." Her hand smoothed over her neck, wincing when she found the tender area where Jim had stabbed her. "What can you remember?"

Clarice avoided the gazes of the men and thought for a moment. She had to be stratigic about her next words. "M-Moriarty," she mumbled, rubbing her neck. "He...kidnapped me after work at the begining of the week."

This seemed to catch their attention. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and looked her over. "You aren't injured."

"He kept me locked in a room... I-I never saw him. But...he talked outside the door sometimes..." Clarice closed her eyes and allowed a tear to slip down her cheek. "It was hell."

She was always good at the fake crying. It was a blessing for the most part because she was also a great actress. This was apart of the plan, she knew it. Even if the plan hadn't been explained to her. "I'll make some tea," John sighed before making his leave.

"It is important that you tell me everything you can about him, even the most minisule." Clarice shook her head and wiped her cheeks.

"He used a voice scrambler, I don't even know what he sounds like." Sherlock sighed almost inaudibly and Clarice had to fight the urge to laugh at his impatience.

"The room then," he tried, his eyes desperate.

"It was small and had a conjoined bathroom. It wasn't much, just a sink and a toilet."

"Was there furniture?" he persisted.

"No. Just the door..." Sherlock sighed and paced around the room. After a moment of inspection, Clarice realized she had been asleep in his bed. "Where did you find me?" she asked in a small voice.

"In my bed," he answered impatiently, flicking his hand in her direction. "About an hour ago."

"Do you think any of this has to with the recent bombings?" she asked curiously, testing the water.

"Possibly. It's hard to say but the balance of probability says yes," he muttered, his hands in prayer formation under his chin.

"Do you think you can figure out why he did this?" she asked next, this time lowering her voice down an octave, to make herself sound more troubled than before.

"He's bored," Sherlock stated simply as he continued to pace. "This has to be another one of his games. You must know something that could help me!" he suddenly snapped.

Of course I do. Doesn't mean I'm sharing any of it with you. Clarice shook her head and mocked a guilty expression. "He did mention you frequently but it was all delusional. He never made sense to me." John returned and handed a cup to Clarice. He confused her. He was kind. Unreasonably kind. He was a doctor. Army doctor. Where's his edge?

Clarice's eyes focused on Sherlock as she drank her tea. This was the fun of the game. This is why she was the final problem. Sherlock couldn't stand not knowing. At least, in this instance. He couldn't grasp Jim and he'd have an even harder time understanding her. She had buried her past deep. It'd be hard for even Mycroft to figure out.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to phone my mother," Clarice breathed as she finished her tea.

"Of course. John, give her your phone," Sherlock instructed with a dismissive wave of his hand. He quickly turned on his heel and left the room. Giving John a small thanks, they swapped items and he left with the door open. Clarice stared at the device disappointedly. She didn't know Jim's number. Or if he even had a phone.

She quickly dug through her pockets and fought a smile when she pulled a scrap of paper, humor struggling to surface in her expression when Jim had written his number and the name 'Daddy' above it.

She quickly dialed the number and listened to the dull tones. After two rings, they stopped but the call remained connected. "Hey, mum," she started, her eyes darting around Sherlock's room.

"How're things?" Jim hummed lightly.

"I just ran into some trouble at work. Don't worry." Jim snickered and Clarice had a harder time than usual keeping a smile from her face.

"Have you seen why we're playing the game yet?" Clarice smirked and nodded, her eyes drifting to the door. A panicked Sherlock was definately an amusing one.

"Of course we can reschedule our film night." Jim continued to giggle to himself and Clarice found herself actually liking the sound.

"I told you it'd be fun. Meet me at the pool I told you about." With a light sigh, Clarice pushed hair out of her face.

"I'll see you soon." After hanging up, Clarice sat still for a moment and left Sherlock's room, finding the two in the sitting room. Sherlock gave her an odd look before plucking the strings on his violin. John offered her a smile as she returned his phone. After nodding her thanks, she shifted her gaze to Sherlock and studied the doubt in his expression. "Well, thanks for the hospitality but I'd better get going. Mum's worried out of her mind."

Sherlock plucked a string and met her gaze, studing her once more. "Right. Off you go, then," he muttered before turning back to his instrament. With a sigh, John lifted from his chair and hailed her a taxi.

So selfless. Clarice gave him one last smile before the cab drove off. The drive was short and by the time she stood beside the water, her previous irritation at Jim arose. Her head snapped up at the sound of a door slamming and she met Jim's smirk with a cold glare. "You aren't still mad that I drugged you?" he chuckled, his voice echoing off the tile.

"Babe, it had to be done. Sherlock wouldn't have taken an interest otherwise," he sighed as he came closer. Still, Clarice was silent, her eyes searching him avidly. "If it makes you feel any better, now I won't need an excuse to kiss you."

Clarice scoffed and chuckled to herself. "And who said I wanted you to kiss me?" Jim stopped when he stood before her, his hands deep in his pockets and a smirk plastered on his lips.

"You did. Though, not with words." With a roll of her eyes, Clarice folded her arms over her chest and gave him a challenging expression. "The proof is right in front of me. I let you go. You didn't have to come here. There must be some reason you threw yourself into this line of danger."

"I'm enjoying your game," she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"Our game, my dear." When Clarice looked back to Jim, his eyes were different. There was something in them, filling the empty void with an unnamable something that excited Clarice. Perhaps it was choas, true choas reigning freely and influencing every action, destroying anything within reach.

It was better than her lonely life as a mortitian. She'd had the most fun since the camping trip when she was with Jim. She couldn't do without his constant choas. It would be much too boring. Jim must have sensed her internal battle because he smirked and twirled some of her hair between his fingers.

"In a few hours, we'll be back here. That's when you pick a side. You can help Sherlock, tell him where I live, I'll let you go. Or, you help me and the game continues. The side of the angels or demons." Clarice thought for a moment and met Jim's gaze with a small smirk.

"No one expects an angel to set the world on fire." Jim smirked as well and held her chin, his eyes dancing quickly over her.

"That's my girl."