Moriarty's Musician

The Stand, Part 4

Annabelle reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She grimaced at the third text from her Uncle John.

John: Annie, are you alright? Mary said your flight left this morning for New York. I wish you had told me. I could have taken you to the airport.

Annabelle glanced across the ferry boat's bow and tried to muster the courage to text her Uncle John back. He had asked her to celebrate Thanksgiving with his family, but she wasn't in the mood to give thanks. Not yet, anyway.

It had been an achingly long three months since Moriarty told her to find her own music. And over that time, she couldn't get him out of her mind. He was always there in her thoughts, always smiling, brooding, always teasing. It was like he had left a part of himself with her, and she couldn't forget him no matter how hard she tried.

Annabelle held the violin case against her chest as the rocky shores of Ireland came into view. The Music Foundation she had created was doing well. That was a relief. And having Lady Smallwood's help organizing all the little nuances of the charity was more than a blessing.

Donating Appledore to the Music Foundation was like releasing a weight from her shoulders. It was the best possible place for youth to experience the healing qualities of music. And Annabelle was amazed at how many respected musicians and teachers were happy to donate their time to such a worthy cause. Maybe one day, she would even teach there herself.

Annabelle shivered and tightened the scarf at her neck as she watched the ferry boat glide over the waters. Who knew the Celtic Sea could be so damn cold? The chilled dampness had already settled in her bones by the time the ferry reached the Irish shore.

She would have to text her Uncle back so he wouldn't worry. And he would be concerned if she told him the truth of where she was. He would likely send MI6 to hunt her down, assuming she had lost her mind.

Had she lost her mind?

Annabelle's eyes dropped to where her hand gripped the ferry's rail. She couldn't even tell Sherlock the truth of where she was going. But he knew. She could see it in his eyes. The look that settled on Sherlock's face was far from his usual smirk. And when she gave him her father's phonograph, he was even more pensive. It was as if... as if he was sorry to see her go.

Annabelle watched the shipmate hop off the front of the ferry and secure the boat to the dock. The other passengers slowly made their way down the walkway as doubt crept its way into Annabelle's mind.

What if she just imagined Moriarty wanted her to come find him? What if what she wanted, dreamed about, was not the same for him? What if when she finally saw him, he told her what an idiot she was for travelling all that way?

"Miss... Miss, can I help you with your bag? I can carry your case too if ya like."

Annabelle clutched the violin case to her chest and glanced at the young shipmate as he shuffled on the spot.

She gave him an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry. I guess I was daydreaming."

His mouth curled into an awkward grin. "Well, do ya know where you're going? I can flag a ride for ya."

Uncertainty passed over Annabelle's face. She had the coordinates. They were firmly etched in her mind the second Moriarty held them up in the flickering firelight. All it took was putting the numbers into her compass app, and she'd be on his doorstep in no time.

Annabelle's mouth twisted as she looked down at her violin case. How could she just show up to see him? Maybe Moriarty wasn't even at his mansion... maybe... maybe this was all just a bloody big mistake and she should just go back to London.