The Science of Illusion || James Moriarty x Reader Fanfic

It's A Windy Night

*Present Day*

*Y/N's P. O. V.*

It feels like I've been isolating myself for two weeks now, no one is looking for me, no one is contacting me, it's like they forgot that I exist all of a sudden, but somehow I felt like I needed this break from the world.

Things have been going off the rails for the last few months that I honestly don't know how to comprehend it all anymore. And really, the people around me is not making it better, everyone just seems so...bipolar. Sherlock and Mycroft are on and off with siding with me and letting me do what I want and James is going on and off with wanting to kill me or not. I guess everything is just set to be this complicated, I'm not around normal people anyways.

It's been two weeks after what had happened to the arena and since then, I've talked to one, not because I didn't want to, but because everyone seemed to just drift away from me. Surely, Sherlock is still upset with me, most especially with what happened to John; Mycroft is probably busy with a lot of things, and; James...well, I'm just glad he's not out to kill me yet. I sure did anger that psychopath this time.

I'm currently staying at a small apartment which is a little bit far from Baker Street, but still close enough just in case something happened. Honestly, I'm enjoying this alone time with only myself, I now have the time to think through my actions and I just realized how not normal I am.

Most of the time, people want this, they don't want to be normal, they don't want to be counted as one of the general public. Being not normal is cool for them, but when it comes to this...comes to what I am experiencing...it's not cool. I'm a killer, a psychopath, really. And what made it worse is that I know this is bad, I was raised to think that this is wrong, yet I'm still doing it. It's honestly frustrating, but that's just who I am now: a psychopath with a sentiment. That's actually contradicting, but that's how it is. Again, I'm really not normal, but at least I'm not alone, Sherlock and Mycroft are still around and those two are not that normal too.

I am currently sitting near my apartment window, just looking at the busy night street outside. This is honestly relaxing, I should do this more often and ---

Suddenly, my thoughts were stopped as I heard a faint 'swoosh' near me and then feeling a stinging pain on my arm. Before I could even comprehend what just happened, the vase that was sitting silently on top of the table near me just broke. I immediately hid behind the wall before I looked at my arm, it has been lightly scratched by a bullet which then hit the vase that caused it to break. I was about to move out of the room, but then a small rock with a paper landed inside my apartment. I cautiously went to it and picked it up, reading the short message inside:

"Get up, Holmes. Duty calls. - S. M." I read the letter and I involuntarily grunted in annoyance, "You're such a jerk, Moran," I murmured.

I immediately packed the only things that I need, and by that, I meant my gun and jacket. I just lightly wiped the few blood off of my arm and wrapped it with a handkerchief as I walk out of my apartment to meet Sebastian outside. I immediately saw a guy wearing a hoodie just by the side of the street the moment I walked out of the building.

"Ever heard of a fucking phone, Moran? You could have just called," I told him the moment I walked up in front of him.

"I like to keep it traditional and you're the one who moved towards the bullet, it isn't my fault, Y/N," he answered sassily. Seriously, are all people around me cocky? "Hop on, we need to get back as fast as we can. Serious business," he said. He pointed at his nearby motorbike and without any hesitation, I just walked to it with him.