Annabelle jolted upright at the sound of the door crashing against the wall. She shrank back into the folds of the blanket and stared again at the blackness of the night outside her window.
As Moriarty carried the table into the darkened bedroom, he looked around and sighed as memories flooded his mind. He hadn't been in the room since his mother told him she was enrolling him in a private school in Paris for gifted children. At ten years of age, he had argued and even cried, begging her to change her mind, but she refused. She simply pulled him into her arms and held him until he calmed down. She tucked him into her bed, pulled the chair up beside it and stroked his head and hummed to him until he finally fell asleep. Moriarty looked down at the bed devoid of the bedspread. That was the last he ever saw of his mother. He shook his head, trying to dispel the unwanted memories.
Looking around the room again, he saw a movement in the flowered chair by the window. He brought the table over and was taken aback by the slight figure hidden under the blanket. He could hardly see Annabelle in the darkened room. He set down the table, walked over to the lamp and turned it on, casting the room in a warm glow. Taking the chair from the writing table, he sat down directly across from her, leaned back, and studied her still form.
"So, this is where you've been hiding."
He swallowed as she glanced at him with green, bloodshot eyes. She immediately went back to staring out the window, pulling the blanket tighter around her neck as if trying to block him out.
Within minutes, Meg, William, and Jack came into the bedroom carrying trays of food. Meg spread a tablecloth over the table and put down two place settings. She spooned food from the trays onto two waiting plates, setting them down on the table. Pouring two glasses of water, she set them beside the plates.
"Will you be having wine tonight, James?" Meg asked. She smiled to herself, noticing how James's worried eyes never left Annabelle.
"No, thank you, Meg. I'll take care of the rest. Leave the trays. I'll bring them down when we're done."
"Very well. Enjoy your dinner." The three walked out of the room, and Meg shut the door behind them. Meg and William gave each other a knowing nod that wasn't lost on Jack.
"W-w-what just happened?"
Meg patted Jack's shoulder. "Nothing, dear, but I do have some extra time to review your calculus homework with you. James won't be teaching you tonight."
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As the door shut, Moriarty continued to stare at Annabelle. He never expected her to be so despondent. He thought she would be full of rage at the knowledge that Sherlock, with her uncle's help, had killed her father and kept that information hidden from her. Surely, she should be angry and bent on revenge.
He inclined his head as he saw the sadness clouding her lovely eyes as she stared out the window. He felt a tightening in his chest. He knew he was the direct cause of her misery, but her depression was the opposite of what he wanted. Being in this room... being so close to her, he could almost feel her pain. It was too much. He had to make her angry. He was much more comfortable with anger than with grief.
He leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm. "I always thought I was an excellent judge of people."
She didn't move.
"Here I assumed you would be working with me to make Sherlock and his rich friends pay for what they've done to you." Moriarty took a sip of water and glanced at her. "It appears I've misjudged you, Annabelle."
She continued to stare out the window.
"So, this is the way it's going to be, is it? You're going to sit here, shrivel up and die from a broken heart. A beautiful irony, I think. Sherlock didn't even have to lift a finger to take down Magnussen's daughter." Moriarty saw her eyes were changing as he plunged ahead. "He just needed to take out her daddy first."
Annabelle's head snapped up as she glared at him. "At least I have a heart to break! Get out of my room and take your food with you!"
Moriarty chuckled and unfolded his napkin. "That's my girl. I've missed you, darlin'." He smiled as he placed the napkin in his lap, picked up his fork and knife, and started cutting the tender roast beef.
Out from under the blanket, the smell of the roast beef began to fill Annabelle's senses. Her tummy started to rumble... loudly. Moriarty smiled at her.
"Sweetheart, go into the bathroom and clean yourself up. Your meal will be waiting for you when you're ready."
Embarrassed, Annabelle shook her head and lowered her eyes. "Please just leave me alone, James. I'm not eating anything."
Moriarty put some of the beef into his mouth, chewed and swallowed with a smile. "No, I won't leave you alone." He took a sip of his water, steadily looking at her, then set it down. "Sit there and watch me eat then. But know that Sherlock has already won and your father will never be avenged because you, Annabelle Watson, have decided to be a little mouse and hide away in your little house feeling sorry for yourself."
Annabelle dropped the blanket and stood up, almost knocking over the water glasses had Moriarty not reached out and grabbed them in time.
"Why must you always torture me?" she said, his words fueling her anger.
"Because, darlin', I once told you that I don't just kill the mouse, I torture the mouse. Surely you remember that conversation." Annabelle clenched her teeth as she watched him slowly cut into his meat. He looked up at her, his face expressionless. "So stop being a bloody mouse and start sharpening your claws."
Annabelle's eyes shone with anger as she stormed to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
Moriarty grinned as he put another piece of roast beef into his mouth. This was quickly becoming his favorite meal. Sherlock had better get ready because it wouldn't take long before his new dance partner learned her steps.
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