Shadows of the Past (BBC Sherlock) -1-

12. Dancing with the Devil

I sat cross-legged in John's chair, staring out the windows. My mind was in a frantic frenzy. I thought about the U.S. ambassador's children and where they were. I thought about Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Donovan all racing to the scene of the crime, finding clues as to where Moriarty took them.

My hands clenched into fists, I kept them in my lap.

Thinking of children made me think of Darien. The poor woman, she'd done nothing wrong. She always did everything she was told, followed the rules. She had a nice life going for her. I really hoped it didn't discourage her from having a family down the road with Max, if she decided to stay with him forever.

I cringed as my phone went off in the silent apartment. I pulled it out from my pocket. I scowled. It was that same unfamiliar number that wouldn't stop pestering me. I seethed, wishing this person would get the hint that I was never going to answer. Were they hoping to bother me enough to where I would answer? Was this some insistent prankster?

I would think this person was downright stupid, but to call the same number for over a month now? Come on, clearly this person had issues.

There were so many things I wanted to do to my phone right now to end this: throw in the toilet, throw it against the wall, or take a gun in the apartment—if there was one lying around—and blast it into bits. Hmm, better not make a mess of it. Someone—Sherlock—will surely throw a fit. Knowing him, he'd know I'd destroyed my phone.

I'd admit I was tempted to answer, to tell off the person on the other end. Maybe it'd teach them a lesson. Maybe they'd back off. Or, maybe they would continue to bother me, maybe stalk my phone number. If that third option became true, I would get a new number. That would be the end of that problem.

I sighed, letting temptation get the better of me.

"Listen, I don't know what your deal is, but it's obvious you've got the wrong number," I barked. "Stop calling or I'll get the cops on your ass."

"Hello to you too, kitten."

I nearly dropped my phone from shock. I wanted to believe that I was imagining his voice from the other end. I wanted to believe that some punk was doing this to prank me.

How did he get my number? I paled, wondering if he never got rid of it when we had been together. I pushed back all memories associated with Jim Moriarty. I didn't need to have those floodgates open right now.

"I know you're there, Rachel. Don't be ignorant, it's not good manners." I loathed his cheery voice on the other end.

"Shouldn't you be breaking into a museum or something?"

"And waste my time when I have better things to do? Please."

I leapt out of the chair I was sitting in and paced to the windows. "What do you want?"

"I missed the sound of your voice."

"I don't miss yours."

"Boy, you're irritated."

"Gee, I wonder why."

"All I want to do is talk, Rachel, that's all."

"That's right, waste your time with me while you have John and Sherlock on a wild goose chase," I snapped.

"Oh. You're not with them?"

"N-no." I cleared my throat.

"Really? I thought you were their puppy, following them around everywhere."