Sherlock x Reader

Restlessness

It was so bright. And it wasn't even fucking daytime yet! You checked your watch and saw it was nearly 1am. Goddammit. Stupid London and its city lights. You were too lazy to actually get up and close the curtains so you stayed lying down with your arm across your face for a few more moments.

It was so quiet. You hadn't noticed before because of your tossing and turning but you could feel it now. Not a sound. You couldn't even hear Sherlock pacing or muttering to himself so he must have fallen asleep on the couch or something. It unnerved you, just a tiny bit. You were a strong defender of quiet so this shouldn't have bothered you too much, yet you still felt restless. You'd grown so used to hearing some sort of sound and now there was... nothing. Just the strange nothingness of quite, surrounding you, even making you feel as though it were threatening to choke you.

You got up. You might as well close those damn curtains. You walked over and looked out into the street. Even though it was past midnight, there were still stragglers wandering the streets, coming home from the pub. But this was London. This was as empty as it could get. And you felt this sudden urge to walk out and run through the streets and roads... Well maybe you'd be more careful on the road. Standing inside made you suddenly realise of warm it was, and how close the walls seemed to be to you. You wanted to get out and feel the cold air on your skin. Why not? You'd walked the streets at night before and anybody wanting to hurt you would be too inhebirited to actually do anything. Why not? You weren't going to be able to sleep anyway, and a midnight stroll might help to tire you out. Walking to the chair where your clothes now lived, you quickly put on a top, a pair of jeans, socks and shoes and your navy coat. It did look cold outside.

You walked down the streets slowly, rejoicing at the fact that you had had no trouble getting out. Sherlock looked like he'd passed out on the couch, you'd heard John snoring from his room and dear Mrs Hudson probably wouldn't have heard you slip out the front door even if she was awake. Well, at least you were out now. You hadn't realised how hot you were in Sherlock's room until you were here, just strolling through the relatively empty streets. But if there was one thing you hated, it was the street lights. They turned everything into a horrible orange colour and left no hint of darkness to see the stars that had to be there. Somewhere. That was probably the thing you missed most about Scotland. Even in a city, you could still catch a glimpse of the stars billions of kilometres away from you. You sighed and contined walking. It wasn't until a speeding car passed, that you realised where your feet had taken you. The park where you got stabbed. Immediately, you felt an instinct urging you to turn around, lest you got hurt again, but you kept on walking to the swings at the centre. There wasn't anyone here now, not even random drunks. What was there to fear? Sitting down on the swing, you realised how quiet it was outside, though you could usually hear the cries of the blissfully ignorant drunks or, at the very least, police sirens. But there wasn't any random shouting. No wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. It all looked normal. Quiet and normal.

A car pulled up. Just at the entrance to the park. It seemed strange but you shrugged off the feeling that something was weird about this. Random cars pulled up at random places all the time. But it just stayed there. You were expecting someone to get out at least, but it just stood there. Who could it be waiting for? Maybe they were looking for directions? People got lost in London all the time. But you were saved the the dangerous and very stupid move of just walking up to the car yourself by the driver's window rolling down and the man inside declaring that he was lost and desperately needed to get somewhere quickly. 'At this time of night?' You thought to yourself. But you shrugged it off and walked over, and were surprised by the driver ignoring you and rolling the back passenger window down instead. A man was inside, suited up as well. A tad classy for London at 2 in the morning. As you squinted in the darkness, you saw tht he had dark, slicked back hair and an arrogant expression. Like Sherlock, you thought.

"Ugh, are you lost... sir?" It felt weird to say 'sir' but you had no idea how to address this guy. And then he replied.

"No, ______, I've found what I need. Now if you wouldn't mind, you might want to get in the car. I don't want to waste time forcing you." You shivered. Maybe it was from the cold or the way he looked at you up and down, judging you. How could you trust him? Again, you were saved the trouble of making another reckless decision on your own. This time the driver got out of the car and stood, silently. Pointing a gun at you. The breath caught in your throat. What the fuck was going on? Were you going to be killed? You didn't remember making anyone hate you that much. Well, maybe Molly. But you doubted that she would go to such lengths to get Sherlock.

And so, with no other choice, you walked round to the other side of the car and got in. You couldn't help but be impressed. You seemed to be swallowed up by the car, the seats were comfortable and the interior was just beautiful. This person obviously had enough money to spend. The man had rolled up the window and had now indicated for the driver to... well, drive. You were sitting in a shocked silence for a few minutes when a thought occurred to you, one you should really have noticed as soon as the man had said it.

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, that? We've been spying on you, obviously." You stared at him, with more shock than before.

"Oh I'm sorry, where are my manners? I'm Jim Moriarty." He extended his hand out to you. Oh, so this was a polite kidnap? You hoped it wasn't a kidnap. Reluctantly you shook his hand quickly, not wanting to share so much contact with him. But he, Jim, seemed intent on prolonging your contact and kept a hold on your hand. You might have tolerated this if he hadn't started to run his hand slowly up your arm. Disgusted, you pulled your hand away, folded your arms and glared out of the window. 'Jim' snickered to himself. Damn bastard. You found yourself wishing you were with Sherlock. Though he was oblivious to normal conversation, every touch between you and him seemed meaningful, as he wasn't one to do anything without purpose. You glanced back at Jim, to see him looking you up and down again. Was he... checking you out? God, he seemed like such a pervert. After another few minutes of silence, you spoke up.

"Are you going to tell me why you've kidnapped me?" He looked at you, feigning shock.

"______, how could you think I would kidnap you?! I just want to ask you a few questions, really."

Just wanted to ask you a few questions. Brilliant. You went back to looking out the window, and watched as the streetlights went by. Quietly.