Moriarty's Musician

Chapter 5: The Master Blackmailer, Part 1

The morning light streamed through the window and Annabelle groaned as she put the pillow over her eyes. As details of the previous night started to fill her mind, she sat up and looked around Sherlock's bedroom. She tried to remember how she had gotten there. Pulling back the cover, she saw that she still wore the black dress. She reached around and felt her bare back, blushing as she thought of Moriarty unzipping her dress before putting her to bed.

But what had happened the night before? She remembered the confrontation with Lady Byron and Nicky. She remembered how angry Moriarty was with her defiance. She remembered him taking her to the pillar and threatening to kill her. She remembered the chandelier and the music... Annabelle rubbed her head, still sore but thankfully, the pain was no longer excruciating. After hearing the music and gazing up at the chandelier, the rest of the night was a blur.

Annabelle got out of the bed, slipped out of the dress, retrieved her towel from her bag and went to the bathroom. She turned the tap on to the hottest setting she could stand and stepped into the shower. After washing her hair and body, she spent long minutes letting the hot water fall over her face. With the heat of the water, the remnants of her headache faded and her thoughts for the first time seemed to be clearer.

Turning off the tap, she stepped out of the tub, dried herself off and looked into the mirror. As she gazed at her reflection, she remembered her tutor. He was a tall man with a thin face, neatly trimmed beard, and rounded spectacles. It helped that he let her play his violin after every session, but it was his cold, piercing green eyes that kept her focused on the material.

He always demanded perfection as she recited the subject matter back to him. Once, during those two years of intense study, she forgot a detail about a member of the London parliament. He slapped her face so hard that it made her teeth rattle and sent her flying from her seat. For over a week, she had to wear her hair down and her hoodie pulled up to hide the bruise that covered her cheek. After that day, she no longer questioned why she needed to learn so many random facts.

Annabelle pulled the brush through her long damp hair and thought again about Nicky. What other things would Lady Byron tell Nicky to make him hate her more than he already did? Annabelle hit a snag and angrily yanked the brush through. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her reflection.

How hard would it be to shut Lady Byron's lying mouth with the juicy information she knew about her? She was such a cruel woman. After every lesson, her tutor had said that knowledge would make her invincible. Annabelle smiled at the thought of Lady Byron on her knees grovelling, begging her not to tell.

Annabelle finished drying off then wrapped the towel around herself. She went to the bedroom and finished getting dressed. As she reached for her handbag, she stopped and her breath caught in her throat. A small, silver handgun lay on the bag. Slowly, she picked it up and turned it this way and that in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she remembered what Moriarty had said to her on the way to the symphony. Someone wanted her dead. She slipped her finger into the trigger hole and gripped the cold stock. She liked the way the small weapon fit perfectly in her palm, but would she have the guts to actually use it? Carefully, she put it into her handbag and pulled out her phone. As she flicked it on, a text immediately popped up.

Annie, I need to see you. I'll pick you up at 9:15 am at your door. You're in danger!! Don't text me back. --Nic

Annabelle couldn't believe what she was reading. Nicky was texting her! Why would he be warning her if he hated her? Hope filled Annabelle as she reread the text. Nicky had been her only friend since her arrival in London and she desperately needed him now.