Millie's POV
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The line's been silent for five minutes, so I hang up, feeling frustrated. I'm not really sure who I'm angry at anymore.
"Who was that, John?"
"I told you, Sherlock- it was Harry."
"No it wasn't. You do not initiate conversation with your sister, and Millie continued the call on my arrival, suggesting that you were both concealing something from me. Who was it?"
John looks uncomfortable, hands clasped behind his back and rocking back and forward slightly.
"Er- It was-"
"It was Emily," I say, pushing past John and crossing my arms, looking up at Sherlock.
"Emily?" Sherlock's brows furrow in confusion.
"Yes. She got herself into a...situation last night, and we were checking up on her."
"Then why hide it from me?" asks Sherlock, narrowing his eyes and taking a step forward, "What was the 'situation', and how does it affect us?"
Now it's my turn to look uncomfortable. I look at John for confirmation, and he nods, his shoulders bracing for the inevitable outburst. I tell Sherlock about me using his phone to broadcast a message, and then about following '_M' to a bar in downtown London. I tell him that I saw Emily, completely intoxicated, climb into a taxi with Moriarty, soon afterwards. And then I tell him our theory, which hasn't been completely confirmed, but the silence on the other end of the line this morning provided me with sufficient evidence to draw a conclusion. I keep my tone unemotive and language short and scientific, hoping to appeal to his sociopathic side. When I finish, I step back, and prepare for a reaction.
It doesn't come.
He just frowns slightly, and looks out the window, as if I'd told him a particularly uninteresting story.
"Sherlock... do you understand what Millie just told you?" says John slowly, looking at him with disbelief.
"Of course I do. Though it's not particularly shocking. Moriarty may be my equal when it comes to intellectual prowess, but, unlike me, he openly embraces biological desires. I believe that it is a weakness, as such cravings lead to the clouding of the mind. I assume that, on the rare occasion he does commit to such activities, it is to either gain information or an advantage, or to relieve himself of the urges he is unable to suppress."
"You're a bloody machine, Sherlock," says John, shaking his head slowly.
I'm silent, thinking. His words mirror my thoughts yesterday. However, I think he's missing something.
"Sherlock, I think you're forgetting our situation. Moriarty is slowly chipping away at Emily's resolve, breaking down her shields. And, although she may not have been fully aware of her actions, by deciding to sleep with that man- and I'm assuming for argument's sake that she did, she is allowing herself to be manipulated by him. Although this doesn't affect us now- think about what it could lead to, Sherlock. If he manages to get to her completely, she will be used against us. And we all know what a dangerous counterpart she could make."
Sherlock's expression has changed. He is silent for a while.
"Of course..." he breathes, not looking at us, his mind drifting further away- "Of course. Oh, he is clever."
John raises his eyebrows and snorts in derision.
Sherlock snaps out of his trance and claps his hands together, pacing around the room, "You're right, Millie. He went where I do not go, and he used it to his advantage. It's so simple, so obvious- yet so audaciously brilliant."
"I think you're both missing a point," says John, surprising us both. We look at him, confused.
"You two are overlooking the danger here. You're making it sound like Emily is this helpless woman who has no control over her inhibitions, and succumbed to the seduction of Moriarty," he says coldly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "You're forgetting that she's a genius. She hacks databases for a living. She's got to take her share of the blame- she must have realised what Moriarty was doing at some point, and she went with it. Yeah, she was drunk, but I don't think that justifies her actions. You two wouldn't understand this, but believe me when I tell you that sex holds certain promises. Don't look at me like that. It does. What if, after last night, Moriarty convinced her- you know, to go against us, and she agreed?"
We consider this in silence. John has a point.
"We need to talk to her."
"I don't think that's a good idea-" I interject, "She sounded unwell-"
"I don't care," snaps John with uncharacteristic coldness, "She did this to herself."
He pulls on his jacket, and opens the door, marching out of the room.
Sherlock and I exchange a glance.
And then we follow him.
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Emily's POV
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I've just stepped out of the shower, when I hear it. Someone's knocking at the door. And I think that 'someone' is John, Millie and Sherlock.
I choose to ignore them. I told them I didn't want company. Especially if it's going to be the Spanish inquisition. They'll want to know why I did it, and since I have no idea myself, they're not going to be happy with the answer I give them. I scowl at my reflection, trying to ignore the cuts and the bruises and the bites that span the length of my body. Now that I've almost got over the shock, I'm starting to feel a familiar resentment build up. I'm furious at myself, of course: firstly, for getting into that situation, and secondly, for giving in first. I keep telling myself it was because I was drunk, but there are constant doubts plaguing my conscience.
The hammering on the door intensifies.
"Emily?" shouts John's voice.
"What?" I yell back at them, my voice still not fully recovered from the alcohol.
"Can we come in?"
"No."
"Why not?" he says, sharply. I roll my eyes at the suspicion in his voice, and don't bother with a reply.
I hear John mutter something under his breath, and then the door opens. I should really get a new lock.
"Where are you?"
"I'm in the shower. Which part of 'I don't want you over' didn't you understand?" I say, wincing as the headache intensifies. I wrap a towel round myself and shake out my wet hair, refusing to leave the bathroom.
"I can't hear the water running."
"Oh for god's sake," I growl. This is ridiculous.
Maybe if I ignore him for long enough he'll get bored and go away.
"Is he with you?"
That's when I lose my patience. I wrench open the bathroom door, and storm into the living room. John steps back on my arrival, taken aback, and Millie and Sherlock shift around in the background, looking uncomfortable.
"Get out."
"No," says John harshly, folding his arms in defiance. He takes in the marks on my skin, his eyes travelling across my arms, neck, and face, then says coldly-
"He really went all out, didn't he? I suppose that's to be expected, given his personality."
"I'm going to ask you again," I spit, furious, "Get out of my apartment."
"Why?"
His response renders me incoherent. I swear to god, if I wasn't wearing only a bath towel, I would hit him.
"Something you don't want us to see?"
"John-" begins Millie, warning him.
"Someone?"
Of course, at that precise moment in time, something falls from a shelf in the bathroom, making an impressive clatter.
"Sharing showers? How romantic."
"John-" says Millie, loudly.
But I don't hear her. I grab John's wrist, and tug him violently with me into the bathroom. I push him forcefully through the door, and watch coldly as his expression changes from contempt to shock.
"Anywhere else you'd like to check, John?" I ask sweetly, as he rubs his wrists and continues to stare at the empty bathroom. He shakes his head, and I nod at him coldly, before leaving him and re-joining the others in my living room.
"What do you want?"
They're silent.
John re-emerges from the bathroom.
"Emily, listen, I'm sorry. I didn't think-"
"No, you don't think. He's not here, John. What do you want?" I repeat, pulling the towel around myself more tightly.
"We wanted to see if you were alright."
"Well, I am. Minus the hangover."
"You don't look alright," he says, more softly, looking again at the very violent reminders on my skin.
I shrug-
"I'm fine. I've looked worse, trust me. I'm going to get dressed. You can wait here if you want," I say, turning away and going into my bedroom.
I listen to the hushed conversation as I get changed. From what I can gather, they're as shocked at John's outburst as me. I bite back an exclamation of pain as I pull the shirt over my head. Now that the headache is subsiding, my body is protesting at each movement.
I enter the living room, and sit down opposite them.
"Are you going to tell me why you really came over?"
Sherlock sits stiffly against the sofa, his back rod-straight and piercing eyes fixed on the most prominent teeth marks on my jaw. John still looks embarrassed. Millie looks at both of them, sighs, then begins.
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Millie's POV
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"Emily, we think that Moriarty is trying to turn you against us. I don't think you're fully aware of how dangerous you are. You're the perfect weapon, and he knows that. We have all known him a lot longer than you, and we know what he's capable of. He's manipulating you ruthlessly. Now that you've... consolidated your emotional involvement, he thinks that he has you, and that you'll do what he wants-"
I stop at the look on her face. She's smiling.
"Is that the only reason you're here?"
When we don't answer, she laughs, then continues-
"Relax. It was just sex. It's not like I've sold my soul to him-" she breaks off, her face darkening for a second- "Not that he'd know what to do with a soul. I don't think that was his aim- turning me against you. I was drunk. I wasn't thinking properly. I can assure you, I'm not suddenly passionately in love with the man- on the contrary, I hate him, I really do. And I don't think he's particularly fond of me either. The only reason he hasn't killed me off yet is because he doesn't understand me. That's all last night was. He was testing me, trying to work out where I stand."
We didn't think of that.
However, I'm noticing something else, too. Although she looks perfectly composed on the surface, there's something unsettled beneath her exterior. She's uncomfortable: something about the experience has deeply unnerved her. Her tone is light, but behind her eyes is very dark.
I think we're missing something.
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