(A/N- Hey, did you hear about Ben, Martin and Steven winning at the Emmy awards? Congratulations........if you ever read this, which you probably won't. Anyway, next chapter! Read, vote, comment; thanks! Live long and prosper.)
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Jane's eyes flew wide open, sensing someone in the room. She craned her neck a bit to see if anyone was there. Then it all came back to her. Jim Moriarty kissed her. And then shot her. And then got her to the hospital. And then told Sherlock Holmes that she was here. Sherlock Holmes, who ran to her. And then kissed her forehead. And then hugged her. And then was interrupted by some other man.
She turned her head and saw a neatly folded letter on her bedside. Jane gingerly reached out for the letter and opened it, carefully reading the contents. Her heat skipped a beat when she finished. Sherlock was sorry, he would be back, when this gets over. But she loved Jim, he shot her, he manipulated her to get close to Sherlock. A tear ran down her cheek. Jim pretended to love her for the same reason he dated Molly. To get close to Sherlock. The door opened slowly and Jane quickly wiped away the tear using the back of her palm.
There he was. Jim. In Westwood. With a gun and a devilish grin. "Read the letter?" he asked. Jane glared at him, but nodded all the same. Jim put the gun back into his trouser pocket and walked closer to Jane, his expression now guilt-ridden and remorseful. "Jane..." he started before being interrupted by Jane shouting. "HOW DARE YOU! YOU USED ME! IT WAS ALL TO GET CLOSE TO SHERLOCK WASN'T IT! LIKE MOLLY!!!"
Jim shouted back, easily matching her volume. "NO! JANE I DIDN'T USE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I..." He was interrupted by Jane's palm meeting his cheek with a great force, resulting in a loud crack. "Get out," seethed Jane. "Get out, and never show your face to me again." Jim stood there, not knowing what to do. Should he explain? Should he shout? Should he drug her? Should he leave?
Jane was still glaring at him, her glare burning into Jim. Jim sighed apologetically, leaving the room, without looking back. Jane let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and fell back into her bed. Tears streamed down her face, reminding her of the time Jim left her for the first time.
Flashback
She waited. She waited for him in the library, where he told her he would meet her. But he didn't. He left her. He went off to Dublin. He didn't tell her why. It was like he didn't trust her. But she did. She trusted him with all her heart. But he left. Jane left the library and ran back to the hotel she lived in. She ran up the stairs to her simply decorated room, which she was using for the past 2 weeks. She ran into the bathroom, and took out a shining piece of metal from a compartment in a drawer. She stared at the blade for a few minutes, carefully turning it around in her fingers, trying to get herself to do it.
She kept the blade against her her and drew a line, the blade her pricking her skin as it went across, but she was used to the pain. She did it in high school when she would be called a freak or anything insulting. She didn't know why she started, probably to forget the pain. She was broken. But then Jim Moriarty came along and helped her. He saved her from her struggle and would talk to her whenever she needed to. Jane fell asleep on the bathroom floor, her wrists stained with red blood and her face streaked with tears.
End of flashback.
Sherlock visited her the next day and sat to talk to her for a long time about what he was doing and about the recent puzzles posed by Moriarty. Sherlock kissed her cheek before leaving, making Jane blush and smile to herself. As soon as Sherlock left, another man walked into the room, and Jane's eyes widened at the sight of who was there. It was Jim, dressed in Westwood, looking very furious and outraged. "One day," he whispered as he walked closer to her. Jane refused to show any emotion and kept her face blank. "One day and you forget me for Sherlock. Because you won't listen to WHAT I WANT TO SAY!" he said, shouting by the time he reached the end of the sentence. "You used me," whispered Jane, intimidated by the fearful side of Jim. Jim went closer to her, kneeling against her bed, holding her hands. "No, Jane I would never do that. Please believe me. I love you."
"Then tell me why you did that. Tell me why you shot me and then got Sherlock here," she said. Jim sat up, squeezing Jane's hand. "Sherlock broke the heart of someone I love, and I want me revenge. He broke your heart, Jane. I want to have revenge for that," he explained, his voice showing loathing as he reached the end. "Tell me it is the truth," whispered Jane, ready to believe Jim if he was truthful. "Yes. It is. I promise with all my heart it is. Please believe me," he whispered, keeping his voice as low as Jane's. She smiled satisfied and hugged Jim, feeling safe in his embrace.
Jane knew it was going to happen. The Great Game. And was going to happen that night.