The Swan Queen | Sherlock

The Woman

 He knew I was still alive. That much was apparent. Mycroft had only just given me a brand new phone when I received a text from an unknown number. It could only be from him.

So the Swan Queen lives? Well played.

My lip curled into a smile, I couldn't help it. This in no way meant I was safe, but I didn't feel threatened either. I was somewhat afraid to leave the flat, I didn't like being left on my own either. Sherlock and John recovered from their ordeal and were back to solving cases again as if nothing had ever happened. Moriarty was still on everyone's mind regardless of how much we tried to forget. He had that power to get inside your head, embedding himself there. After that night, we didn't talk about it again. I don't think any of us really wanted to.

Mycroft had plenty of questions. He was curious, of course. Moriarty was on his radar but had somehow slipped unnoticed into my life and Sherlock's. It brought us closer together, I guess, both of us entranced by him, captivated. Our interactions were different, but the ending was still the same. Moriarty tried to kill me. He would have killed Sherlock and John were it not for a phone call.

My life somewhat felt like it was getting back to normal. Swan Lake, ever resilient, was returning to the stage. I worked at the cafe a few shifts a week. Everything was fine. But it was incredibly boring. Sherlock neither wanted nor needed my help. Mycroft was always busy. Even John always seemed to have something else to do. For a moment, I wished I was back on that cliff edge, facing the consulting criminal, as Sherlock had taken to calling him. I had nearly died, I could have died, he tried to kill me. There was nothing to stop him from trying again. I doubt I would be ready a second time.

And yet, that brief moment of excitement when I survived, still made my heart hammer in my chest. I had outsmarted him. I survived. Maybe he would come to my next performance as the Swan Queen. That face, lost in a sea of thousands. I would never know that he was there. Part of me hoped that he would be. I was craving that excitement again. But I didn't want to die, and that made me afraid.

Fear is a lot stronger than the other emotions, I think so anyway. When fear creeps its way into you, it takes a lot of strength and bravery to fight it off.

'You're afraid of me. I can see it in your eyes, I can see your fear. Don't be afraid. I'm all the way over here, behind the glass. I just want to look at you, my perfect little doll.'

Perfect...

I was impatient and bored. My fingertips tapping against the tabletop. I left the flat, finally desperate enough to get some fresh air. London was bustling, as per, but I drowned it out with some music. I had nowhere in particular I was going, I just walked. I kept walking until I found a quiet coffee shop and settled myself by the window with a latte. I kept my music playing. My fingers tapped against the cup, in time to the piece.

'Won't you play for me, little doll. I hear you're getting very good. Play something for me, play you.'

I played. Beethoven.

'No! Not that, I said play you!'

I played again. Bach, my teacher's favourite.

'Play you!'

I played, again, and again, and again. Tchaikovsky, the very little that I knew. I was allowed to play all the way through, uninterrupted. 'I'm going to be a ballerina when I grow up. I'm going to play Odette.'

'No. You'll be the Swan Queen.'

I was frowning now. Same difference, I thought, what did it matter what I said? Odette and the Swan Queen were the same role. My frown deepened, I couldn't remember where that conversation had taken place, or who with. My piano teacher perhaps, she's the only person I could think of who would make me play.