Moriarty's Musician

Chapter 4: Music of the Mind, Part 1

Annabelle snapped out of her shock. She grabbed the door to slam it on Moriarty, but he caught it and easily pushed it open.

"Darlin', is that any way to act on our first date?" he asked. "Now turn around and I'll help you."

Annabelle didn't know whether to fight, run or scream. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Moriarty laughed and rolled his eyes. "How else can I do up your zipper if I don't touch you, sweetheart?

"Why are you doing this?" Annabelle tried to keep her voice from trembling. "You need to leave or I'll...I'll..." She didn't know what she'd do.

"Or you'll what? Miss a perfectly wonderful night at the symphony?" His voice turned serious as he inched closer to her. "Surely you knew it was me who'd be taking you out on the town?"

Annabelle felt like a fool. She should have known it wasn't Sherlock. She should have known it was the devil himself. She hated herself for her stupidity.

Moriarty slowly walked toward her. Annabelle didn't fight him as he gently turned her shoulders. He looked down at the creamy whiteness of her back and positioning his fingers so they touched her skin, his other hand grasped hold of the zipper. Very slowly, he inched the zipper up as the back of his fingers caressed her skin. Bringing the zipper to the top, he deftly looped the clasp with his thumb, and smiled as he stroked the back of her neck.

Annabelle shivered from his touch but did everything in her power not to show him the effect he was having on her. She turned around quickly and tried to summon her courage.

"Thank you, you can go now. I'm not going anywhere with you."

Moriarty smiled and shook his head. "Now, why is that? Andre Rideau is conducting, and we have the best seats in the house."

"Maybe it's because you're a murdering psychopath who cares for no one but himself," Annabelle blurted out. At the sudden change of his face, she immediately regretted her words.

Moriarty's eyes clouded over and Annabelle knew she had stepped over the line. He came closer as she backed away; right up against the wall. His black, fathomless eyes penetrated into her soul, his face inches from hers. If she screamed, who would hear her other than Mrs. Hudson? And she would die before she put her kindly landlady in danger.

Moriarty leaned even closer to her so that his mouth hovered over hers. His eyes unblinking, he whispered, "If I wanted you dead, kitten, you would already be dead."

Slowly, his lips traced a searing path along her cheek, leaving a lingering kiss on her forehead.

Annabelle gripped her hands at her sides. She had a sickening feeling as everything started making sense. "You... you were in my room when I had that nightmare," she whispered. She could hardly breathe. "It was you."

Moriarty's eyes softened as he looked down at her beautiful face. He placed his arm on the wall behind her head and leaning over her, touched her cheek, while he marveled again at the softness of her skin.

"Who else would look after you? Sherlock? All he cares about is the game, Annabelle. You're a riddle to him and once he figures you out, the game's over and you'll be nothing to him."

"That's not true." Annabelle doubted her own words.

He brought her clenched hand to his lips and slowly kissed her knuckles, looking deeply into her eyes. "Time to go, unless you prefer getting more comfortable on Sherlock's couch." He smiled seductively, looking at her mouth. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."