Moriarty's Musician

Siding with the Angels, Part 5

By the time, Annabelle emerged from the bathroom, Moriarty had almost finished eating. He casually looked up at her before his eyes widened in surprise.

Her hair was pulled back into a damp ponytail from her quick shower, and the scent of soap and lilacs that followed her as she brushed past him was nothing short of delicious. He caught his breath at the lovely rosiness of her cheeks, her skin seeming almost translucent as the dim light cast its ethereal glow around her.

Annabelle glanced at him as she plucked the blanket from the chair and tossed it on the bed. She came back and took her seat, straightening her back as she unfolded the napkin and set it in her lap. She reached for her glass of water, but Moriarty's hand was already there, wrapping his fingers around hers.

"Welcome back, darlin'," he said, his mouth lifting in a smile. But as he looked into her eyes, he dropped his hand and leaned back in his chair. His forehead creased. It wasn't anger or hate shining from her eyes, but something else. Something he didn't recognize.

"Thank you, James," she said softly. The corners of her lips curled into a small smile as she lifted the glass to her lips and sipped.

Moriarty stared transfixed. She lowered her glass and then taking the knife and fork in hand, began cutting the roast beef into bite-sized morsels. The smile lingered on her mouth, even as she closed her eyes and chewed. And when she swallowed the meat and gave a satisfied little sigh, Moriarty swallowed too. Taking a deep breath, he withdrew a bun from the breadbasket, buttered it, and placed it on her plate.

Annabelle's eyes opened and her smile grew. "Thank you."

His eyes didn't leave her as she continued to eat until her plate was almost clean. And when she was finished, she daintily wiped the edges of her mouth with her napkin before reaching over and taking a sip of water. Her eyes trailed over the rim of the glass to meet his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me that way?" she asked. "Don't you know it's impolite to stare?"

A line etched between Moriarty's brows. "Why are you so happy?" he replied

She shrugged lightly and held his eyes. "Because I've had a hot shower, delicious food, and you've hardly spoken a word the entire time to rile me up." She continued to smile and took another sip of water.

"You do remember how you were feeling just a little while ago?" he said. Leaning forward in his chair, arms on his knees, he shook his head and studied her. Was she already going mad like her mother? "You remember what happened to your father, right? What Sherlock did. How could you possibly be happy?"

Annabelle sighed and lowered the glass. "I'm happy you told me the truth, James."

His eyes widened. "You are?"

She smiled at his question. "I don't know why Sherlock killed my father, but regardless, I still have faith in my Uncle John. Until I understand both sides of the story, I'm not going to let it eat me alive."

Moriarty's jaw clenched, a scowl spreading across his face. "Why the hell not?" he yelled as he jerked out of his chair, and knocked the glasses over. She righted them again and unruffled at his fuming, blotted up the spilled water with her napkin.

He balled his fists at his sides and started pacing the room. How could she sit there so calmly after everything he had told her? The woman made him crazy! He growled and fixed his gaze on her.

Annabelle leisurely glanced up at him, unfazed at the frustration that emitted from him. Shaking her head, she stood and started piling the dishes on the trays. When she had finished clearing the table, she brought one of the trays over to him.

"Here," she said, handing him the tray. "Stop being so angry and help me get these dishes downstairs for Meg."

Moriarty took the tray from her hands, turned, and put it hard down on the bed so the dishes banged together. He came back, standing only inches away from her, his face looming just above hers.

"No!" he said menacingly. "First you're going to help me understand why you're not miserable."

Annabelle felt her heart beat a little faster. He was so close she could feel his breath brush against her forehead as it came in rapid spurts. She was quickly losing her resolve to stay calm.

"There's a bigger question," she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. "Why are you so miserable, James?"

He took a step back. She had just shone a light on a part of him he thought he had buried. He gritted his teeth, and before he could storm out of the room, Annabelle stepped towards him and placed her hand on his arm.

"I know you're upset," she said, "but please don't go yet."

His eyes bore into hers. "Why not?"

She took a deep breath. "Because I don't want you to."

Moriarty studied her. Slowly, he reached out and touched her face, he couldn't help himself. And he was shocked to see she didn't pull away. Rather, she leaned into his palm and his breath caught in his throat. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, further mesmerized when she lifted her hands to rest them on his chest.

She kept eyes downcast. "My father was always calm," she said in little more than a whisper, "except for the one time I questioned him. He always said knowledge is power and using that knowledge will make you invincible." Her eyes gleamed as she looked up at him. "You have no idea how much I know, James."

He lowered his hand, a fire igniting in his eyes as he stared into hers. She had his attention.

"I'll give you everything," she continued, "but you must let me go. Promise me and I'll believe you."

Moriarty searched her eyes as a deep ache started constricting his chest. Let her go? His lips twisted with the vileness of the very thought.

"Then you'll have given me nothing at all, darlin'."

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