The Swan Queen | Sherlock

Lord M's treasure

 There was a silent standoff happening between us. Moriarty was quiet, contemplating I think. While I was debating saying please again. It seemed to work. Calling him by his first name worked out well too. His eyes lit up with an idea, now I'm certain he was deciding how to execute it. Our food was served. I still couldn't face it. The mere thought of eating was making me feel sick. Sebastian Moran kept catching my eye from across the room. Always watching...

"What's in it for me?" Moriarty asked suddenly.

I shrugged my shoulders, moving the vegetables around on my plate. "What do you want? Money, secrets," I hesitated, an idea forming, "the treasure." My eyebrow arched playfully at the thought of Lord Melbourne's treasure.

"I don't want your money, and while secrets do sound exciting, this elusive treasure is very tempting."

I tried to stifle the smirk threatening to appear. "Treasure it is then." I impaled a carrot with my fork and popped it in my mouth, feeling smug with satisfaction.

He began a longwinded tale about how Lord Melbourne's children had been cut out of the will and his illegitimate son was left almost everything. There was a rumour surrounding treasure, and once they found out it had been left to me they conspired to kill me. They tried to kill their father before he officially changed his will, entirely cutting them out for some unknown reason, but it was too late. The new will was already signed and approved.

My fingers were tapping restlessly against the tabletop, processing everything. The waiter approached, asking if everything was ok. I said nothing, while Moriarty ordered a whisky for himself.

"The gunman, Paul Smith or Thomas King or whatever his true name is, who is he and why has he taken such an interest in me?" That creep, I hadn't forgotten about him. Murderer.

Moriarty smiled. "He likes to think of himself as an assassin. I recommended him for the job. He's done a few for me, I trusted him to execute it properly."

Execute Lord M, you mean. I bit my lip, pain surging through my stomach, chest tightening. An overwhelming feeling of sadness took over, drowning me in my grief, my shock, my torment. Paul fucking Smith.

"What made them think they would get the treasure if I was killed? By right my family would inherit."

"Yes, but the will hadn't officially been read by that point, therefore giving them time to find and hide it. Perhaps they hoped it would never come out that you were a beneficiary, with your death your family need never know. Although I'm sure your cousin would have worked it out, or should I say your uncle." He smirked as the waiter returned with his whisky. He took a sip, watching me over the rim of the glass. His smirk only angered me further.

He clasped his hands together, satisfied. "Well, I think that covers everything. Now, about this treasure."

I was staring at the broken glass on the floor, no one had come to clear it up and the water was seeping into the carpet. "Everybody wants the treasure," I muttered. My attention turned back to him as I drummed against the table with my fingertips. "There isn't any treasure. It's not real. Lord M was talking about me. I'm his greatest treasure."

I expected him to look somewhat surprised. Instead, he flashed a devilish grin that set me on edge and replied, "I know."

At that moment, I wanted the ground to swallow me up. Not quite the reveal I was hoping for. "You knew?"

"You sound surprised."

Of course I was surprised, how could I not be. I might have known. I should have known. As always he was one step ahead of me. He said he was tempted by the treasure, but the treasure didn't exist, and he knew it didn't exist. That could only mean one thing. My heart rate increased, I could practically hear the beats ringing in my ears. I imagined all the colour had drained from my face. And all the while he was still slyly grinning.