Annabelle bid goodbye to the last customer and stretched her arms over her head, glad the day had finally ended.
"Thanks for all your work today, Annie. I don't know what I'd do without you." Mike, the owner of the cafe, came out from the little kitchen with a box in his hand. "Here. Take the rest of these and anything else you want. I appreciate you working a double shift for me. I can't believe how busy we were."
Annabelle smiled at him. She liked Mike; Speedy as he was called by his loyal customers. He was so kind and had such a warm sincerity about him. Annabelle took the box and opened it. Bringing the contents to her nose, she inhaled the variety of little pastries that were inside.
"Why is it that fattening foods always smell so good when they're inside a box?"Annabelle shook her head. "Mike, if I'm still here by this time next year, I'm sure I'll have gained 20 pounds," she said, with a frown.
Mike smiled. "Listen, the way you've been running around this place, you'll be thanking me for saving you money on a gym membership."
Annabelle laughed again. "Yeah, I wouldn't go that far, Mike, but I do appreciate your letting me prove myself to you. It's so hard to get work in London these days."
Mike wiped his hands on his apron and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, Sherlock did tell me you'd be excellent and he was right as usual."
Annabelle stared at him, not believing what she had just heard. "Sherlock said that about me?"
Mike nodded as he went about wiping some of the tables. "Yep. He's a good man, though he comes across like an ass sometimes."
"Most times," Annabelle interjected.
Mike chuckled. "Well, he's helped me out a few times." He stopped his task and frowned at the memory. "A few big times." Sighing, he continued, "I trust whatever he says."
Annabelle took a tray to the vacated table to clear the remainder of the dishes, trying to digest this news. "So, Sherlock recommended me?"
Mike laughed. "Why's that so hard for you to believe, Annie? Sherlock comes in here all the time and..." he paused. "Actually, I don't think I've seen him in a week."
Annabelle wondered if she was the reason he hadn't come in.
"Anyway, life goes on and I have a lady at home making me a chicken pot pie."
Annabelle walked over and took the cloth from Mike, smiling at his obvious love for his wife or his upcoming meal. "Please let me close tonight, Mike. It's the least I can do. After all, I only live next door."
He smiled back at her. "Ok, Annie. You've twisted my rubber arm. I'm going." Smiling, he took off his apron, grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "By the way, if you see Sherlock, tell him the next time he comes in, his meal's on me." Smiling he opened the door, "Oh, and come lock the door behind me, Annie."
Annabelle nodded and waved him off. She suddenly felt quite tired as she wiped down the last table. She walked to the counter that was lined with stools to give it a final cleaning. She picked up a discarded newspaper when an article on the front page caught her eye. She opened the paper and saw a picture of an elegantly dressed man and woman smiling as they posed for the camera. The headline read:
Lord and Lady Byron are proud to announce the engagement of their son, Nicholas Henry Byron to Gweneth Marie Standfield. A gala event will be held for the happy couple at Bletchley Estates to celebrate their impending nuptials.
Annabelle sat down on a stool as she digested this news. Nicholas was getting married? How could that be? He had never mentioned a word as he spoke of his unending love for her.
Annabelle took off her glasses, laying them on the counter and took a closer look at the happy couple, Nicholas's parents. As she stared at Lady Byron, a distant memory started to awaken in Annabelle's mind, a hazy remembrance from her tutoring sessions.
Her lessons had started to take place just as her mother was sliding into insanity. Annabelle had confided in her tutor plenty of times about how difficult it was at home. He was always patient as he listened intently to her confessions, but he was also adamant she continue to memorize the details he was instructing her on. Her teacher was strict about the material, but he allowed her to play his personal violin after every session for as long as she wanted. And as she played, he would sit with his eyes closed, quietly listening to her music.
So immersed in her thoughts, Annabelle didn't hear the door to the cafe open.
"Did you miss me, kitten?" the silken voice whispered in her ear.
Annabelle almost fell off her stool, turning so quickly to see her nightmare come true.
James Moriarty chuckled at her distress and grabbed hold of her arms, saving her from landing at his feet.
"How was your day, dear?" he asked, still smiling at her obvious shock, taking a seat beside her at the counter.
Annabelle tried desperately to calm her heart. Why didn't she lock the bloody door? She couldn't respond as she looked down at her hands now clutching the edge of the countertop.
Moriarty picked up the newspaper that had consumed Annabelle's attention moments before.
"So England's aristocracy is throwing a big party and look, Annabelle, your old boyfriend's getting married. How nice for him."
At the mention of Nicholas, Annabelle's shock turned to anger. The very beast who had beaten up her friend was now teasing her about him? She turned to face him, looking angrily into his eyes.
"How dare you come in here and mock me."
Moriarty was taken aback. He was incredibly attracted by the fire in her eyes. He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her soundly. There would be time for that later.
"I'm not mocking you, darlin'. I was merely commenting on facts. Apparently, little Nicky's mommy and daddy thought it wise to marry him off so he wouldn't be chasing after other skirts."
Moriarty touched a stray lock that had escaped Annabelle's hairclip and continued. "Of course, that's easier said than done since Lord and Lady Byron both chase after other skirts themselves. Don't they, Annabelle?" he said with a smile.
Annabelle angrily pushed away his hand. "What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about." He moved so close, she could feel his breath on her face, as he looked deeply into her eyes. "Think, Annabelle. You were taught this and many, many more juicy tidbits."
Annabelle was finished. She got off the stool and faced him. "You need to leave before I call the police. I'm sure they'd be very happy to know you're here."
Moriarty stood and shook his head smiling. "Darlin', I own the police." He paused as his tone became serious. "You own them too, Annabelle. You don't have any idea how special you are, but I do."
Annabelle was tired of his games. She casually walked over to the cutlery box and grabbed her weapon. Moriarty remained still, watching with fascination as Annabelle walked back over to him and held the tip of the knife to his throat. Long moments passed as they looked deeply into each other's eyes.
"Leave me alone," Annabelle whispered.
Moriarty could feel her desperation. He didn't want that. He wanted her to team with him and recognize the power they had together. He wanted her to be excited about her incredible gift, but he realized he had to go slower. Like Sherlock, she was on the side of the angels... but not for long.
Not breaking his hold on her eyes, Moriarty carefully pushed her knife from his throat, knowing full well that she was too good to use it, even on him. Slowly, he turned her hand that clenched the knife, bringing the back of it to his lips. Staring into her eyes, he brushed his lips across her fingers and gently kissed each of her knuckles.
Annabelle stood transfixed. A part of her was screaming to use the knife on him, another part was held in place by this man who was sending unwanted sensations throughout her body. What the hell was wrong with her?
Moriarty smiled, knowing the war was once again raging in Annabelle. It was just a matter of time before he had her, he reminded himself. He brought his other hand to her waist to pull her closer to him as he lowered his head to kiss her lips. Annabelle couldn't move.
"Get your filthy hands off her!"
They both whipped around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway with gun drawn. Annabelle was relieved and Moriarty was furious. Not letting go of Annabelle, Moriarty rolled his eyes in feigned disgust.
"Once again, Sherlock, your timing is nauseating."
Annabelle pushed away from Moriarty's embrace, got her bag and ran out of the cafe.
Sherlock didn't say a word; his eyes never leaving Moriarty as he continued to point the gun at his head.
Moriarty sighed dramatically, trying to hide the anger that was threatening to spill over. He turned his back and picked up the box of pastries on the counter. Opening the box, he pulled out a dark chocolate brownie and took a big bite as he leaned against the counter. Moriarty offered the box in Sherlock's direction.
"Here, Sherlock, try a brownie. No, wait. How about a strawberry tart?" he said, as he popped the last of the brownie in his mouth.
Unwavering, he continued to point the gun at Moriarty until the door opened and Sherlock swung around to see another gun pointed at him.
"So good of you to join us, Sebastian," Moriarty causally took another pastry and chimed. "Would you like a tart?"
"What do you want with the girl?" Sherlock seethed, ready to shoot Moriarty in the head.
Moriarty laughed. "I can't tell you my secrets, Sherlock. Where's the fun in that?"
He walked over and offered Sebastian a tart, which he took; popping the whole thing in his mouth. Never did his gun lower, but remained trained on Sherlock's chest.
"That's a good assassin," Moriarty smiled in approval. "Now Sherlock, I want you to take good care of Annabelle for me."
He walked over to the counter, retrieved Annabelle's black-rimmed glasses and slipped them into his pocket. "She's very important to me so I need you to make sure she's alright."
He walked over to Sherlock and stood directly in front of the gun. His tenacity surprised even Sherlock.
"How does it feel, Jim, to know that I'm going to put a bullet in your brain so you can't fake your own death again."
Moriarty rolled his eyes. "You're really starting to bore me with your empty threats, Sherlock." He shook his head and chuckled."Don't you have the slightest interest in who she is?"
Sherlock lowered the gun. Moriarty had found his Achilles heel. "Alright, then. Who is she and why are you so interested in her?"
Moriarty smiled as he remembered how Annabelle had fit so perfectly in his arms. "She's my musician, Sherlock," he paused as he thought about her, "and together we're going to write a glorious concerto."
Sherlock angrily pressed the gun to Moriarty's forehead. "I'll send you to hell first."
Immediately, Sebastian's gun pressed against the back of Sherlock's head.
"My, my, Sherlock, it appears you care for the lovely Annabelle. I know she's John's niece, but is she really worth dying for?"
Sherlock didn't respond.
Moriarty laughed. "Your silence is telling, Sherlock."
He backed up from Sherlock's gun and walked to the door as Sebastian kept his gun pressed against Sherlock' head.
"Goodbye, Sherlock. Tell Annabelle that I'll be thinking about her lips and the way her body felt, pressed against mine." Moriarty laughed again and left the cafe.
Sherlock turned slowly and saw Moriarty's henchman had left with him. His mouth twitched. Walking to the counter, Sherlock picked up the discarded newspaper and read the headline story.
So, Nicholas Byron was getting married. That's a start, he thought.
Folding the newspaper and putting it under his arm, Sherlock walked to the cafe door, clicked off the light, and pulled the door securely behind him. He didn't want any burglars to break into Speedy's on his account.
After all, where else would he get those delicious strawberry tarts?
~~~~~~~
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