Moriarty's Musician

Falling for a Sociopath, Part 2

A few hours later, John found Annabelle sitting on Mrs. Hudson's sofa, quietly sipping her third cup of tea while she listened to the older woman's many elaborate stories. Mrs. Hudson had given Annabelle a small blanket that she was now curled up with and a plate of scones sat on the coffee table in front of her. John couldn't be happier to see his niece so relaxed.

He had worried for Annabelle after hearing about his dear sister's sudden madness. Harriet had sent him many letters over the years when Annabelle was young. She spoke so fondly of his niece and often told him about her incredible musical talents. Harriet had said that Annabelle had been offered a scholarship to Oxford University's Faculty of Music and she had only been 15 years at the time. Of course, Harriet didn't allow Annabelle to accept the offer as it was much too far from their little home in Norwich.

It was five years ago when the letters from Harriet had stopped coming. John knew he should have been more diligent in trying to contact his sister but his time in the military made that difficult. When he returned from his service in Afghanistan, he had been so caught up with his new life with Sherlock that he procrastinated checking up on Harriet. It was Annabelle who had contacted him about her mother's admission to the psychiatric hospital. 

He had tried to ask Annabelle about Harriet but it was a topic Annabelle refused to speak about. Her mother had hurt her badly and John was determined to find out what had happened. For now, however, there was a more disturbing subject on John's mind.

Mrs. Hudson looked up as John entered the room. "Oh, John. Annabelle is an absolute delight. It has healed my soul to have her here with me."

She remembered her plate of scones and jumped up to fetch it for John. "Oh dear, please sit down, John. You must tell me what happened with Mr. Blackstone." Mrs. Hudson sniffed, remembering her poor tenant's misfortune. "You know, I'll never get a word out of Sherlock."

John nodded as he accepted the scone and sat on one of the matching armchairs across from Annabelle. She straightened in her spot and took the throw off her lap, setting it beside her. John smiled at her, curious at her change of demeanour with his arrival.

"Well, Mrs. Hudson. It appears to be a suicide. At least, that is what the police are ruling it as."

"What does Sherlock think it is? Oh please, John, I must know. Why would he give me a year's rent if he was going to kill himself?"

"That, Mrs. Hudson, is an excellent question," Sherlock said as he came into the room.

Annabelle sat up even straighter with Sherlock's entrance. He casually strutted into the room, spotted the plate of scones and proceeded to take two, stuffing one in his pocket for later. As he filled his mouth with the scone, he turned his attention to his newest fascination. Annabelle glared at him. His eyes were unnerving as he silently stood staring at her while he chewed the scone.

The air was thick with tension as he waited for Annabelle to speak. Sherlock had found it particularly effective to let clients talk first then cut them off when he got the information he needed. Annabelle, he was discovering, was not his typical client. She continued to stare back at him without a word, blinking occasionally but remaining still. She was not going to let him win at this silly game of his.

It was Mrs. Hudson who couldn't stand the silence. "Sherlock, why are you being so rude to Annabelle. Stop staring at her like that and sit down while I make you some tea."

Sherlock huffed then planted himself obediently in the chair that Mrs. Hudson had vacated. He grabbed another scone leaned back in the chair and started chewing again, still staring at Annabelle.

John knew Sherlock's tactic for getting information and he would have stepped in, but he was fascinated that Annabelle did not seem to be the least bit intimidated by him. He looked back and forth between the two and smiled. Sherlock didn't know it yet, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his niece was going to surprise his overly cocky friend.

Mrs. Hudson returned with Sherlock's cup of tea, this time, standing between the two so they couldn't meet each other's eyes.

"Now Sherlock, you must behave. I know you don't make the best impressions on people but Annie is John's family," she lectured. "Besides, you'll be seeing much more of her."

"What do you mean I'll be seeing much more of her?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, looking over the tea cup.

Mrs. Hudson beamed with excitement, clasping her hands together. "Annie has agreed to stay here with me until the police finish their work then she'll move into Mr. Blackstone's... err... the empty flat. Isn't that wonderful!" She turned to Annabelle and hugged her tightly.

Annabelle smiled sweetly at Sherlock over Mrs. Hudson's shoulder. "After all," she continued, "I do have a full year's rent for the flat. I'm sure Annie will be an excellent tenant!"

The two men looked at each other, Sherlock in annoyance, John with increasing amusement.

"Mrs. Hudson," John said, in between chuckles, "we really do need to speak to Annie. Would you mind if we took her for a little while?"

Mrs. Hudson thought about it for a moment, sighed and agreed. She wrapped up the remaining scones in a napkin and gave the bundle to Annie as Sherlock looked on with distaste that he wasn't the recipient.

"Hurry back, dear," she twittered to Annabelle. "I have some photos to show you."

Annabelle kissed Mrs. Hudson's cheek. "You are such a special lady. Thank you for taking such good care of me. I can hardly wait to see your photos." Mrs. Hudson beamed, John smiled and Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

Sherlock was the first out the door, John and Annabelle following. When they were a few steps from Sherlock's flat, John stopped and turned to his niece. "Annie, tell me the truth. Is this what you really want? You can always stay with Mary and me."

Annabelle smiled at her sweet uncle. She wished she had been given a chance to know him more while she was growing up. Had he been there, Annabelle was sure her mother's slide into insanity would not have been so painful.

"Please don't worry about me, Uncle John. I'll be just fine. After all, we're closer now." Her last sentence had a double meaning and John knew it.

He touched her cheek and smiled, wondering if he was doing the right thing by letting her stay. She was 21 and old enough to make her own decisions so he couldn't stop her. Sherlock was the best person to keep her safe... or not... he'd have to think about that one.

The door flew open and Sherlock looked at them both, totally annoyed. "Come in already and bring your scones!"

~~~~~
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