38. Cursed

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My mouth dropped. "What?" This has got to be the medication talking. It's one thing to accuse Bay of lying, but to claim he worked with Jim Moriarty? This is insanity.

"What are you on about?" Bay demanded.

"Sherlock, this isn't funny," I snapped.

"You think I don't notice when you're around Rachel?" Sherlock directed the question to Bayley. "The way you hold her. You avoid her shoulder, the one that was shot."

"I don't want to hurt her." Bayley got defensive. "It could be aggravated."

"It's been years since that wound was sensitive to her. You don't touch that shoulder because don't want to be reminded of what you'd done to her."

"Wait," Dad interjected, throwing a questioning look at Sherlock. "You think Bayley is the one who shot her that night at the pool?"

"I know he is."

"You know what," I butted in, "this is getting out of hand."

"He has a guilty look in his eye sometimes, doesn't he, Rachel, when he looks at you or sees your scar?"

Sherlock's question took me aback. "Um, I guess," I said awkwardly.

"And then you ask what's wrong, and he comes up with a quick response which doesn't make sense to you, but you go with it anyway?"

I looked to Bayley, starting to see Sherlock's point. I couldn't count how many times Bay saw my shoulder and had that guilty twinkle in his eyes. I remembered asking what was wrong, but then he'd either say it was nothing, or he said something about regretting not doing more to save his girlfriend the night she was murdered.

If Sherlock was onto something, did that mean Bay's girlfriend story was a lie too?

Bayley looked furious; a visible vein pulsed in his forehead. I knew his anger wasn't with me but with Sherlock, but it could have been with me too since I was siding with the consulting detective.

"It's all there, Rachel," Sherlock said quietly.

"Come on, Rach, who are you going to believe? Me or him?" Bay demanded, throwing a stink eye towards Sherlock.

I knew who I was putting my faith into. It was a shot in the dark.

"Is he right?" I asked Bay in a small voice. Bayley didn't answer; his focus was still on Sherlock. "Hey!" I raised my voice, snapping my fingers. "Is what Sherlock saying true?"

This couldn't happen, not again. Dad was already faced with Mary; I couldn't face Bay if he turned out to be what Sherlock thought he was. I looked to Bay with impatient eyes.

Bayley sighed.

Emotions flew inside me, alternating. First came the shock. I'd been dating the sniper that had spared my life. I'd never wanted to thank the bastard because he had injured me. I didn't want to thank him for saving me now, even as he stood right before me. I almost hyperventilated, staring at Bayley.

This was going dangerously down the Jim Moriarty path I'd been down before, with the exception of a few changes.

The shock evaporated, replaced by fury. My heart sped up, revenge raced through my veins. I felt the sudden urge to be out for blood, to make Bayley feel the same pain I had the night he had shot me thanks to his boss's orders. I can't believe this. My dead, psychotic ex had been my current boyfriend's boss. This seemed a little easier to wrap my head around compared to when Sherlock had first told me John Watson was my biological father.

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