Moriarty's Musician

The Stand, Part 2

"Well, Miss Watson, I hope you've come bearing gifts. If not, you can go out the way you came in."

Annabelle smiled as she shut the door behind her. She shook the little white box she was holding and set down the violin case. "I might've picked up something on the way. What can I say? I was feeling generous."

Sherlock raised his head for the briefest of seconds before lowering his gaze again to the microscope. "Off you go then. I knew you were coming. The water's already boiled. Teapot's on the counter."

Annabelle raised an eyebrow and shook her head as she made her way to the kitchen. She did what she always did when she visited Sherlock: four tea bags in the pot, steaming hot water poured over them.

"I need your help," she called over her shoulder.

"How did I know?" Sherlock's eyes flitted to the Stradivarius case. "And you brought the violin, how very obvious. What do you want, Miss Watson? I'm not one of your incessant fans, so make it quick."

Annabelle carried in the tray from the kitchen, set it down on the little table between the chairs, and took her usual seat. She poured two steaming cups of tea and waited.

It didn't take long before Sherlock joined her, plopping himself in the chair across from her.

Annabelle watched him take a strawberry tart from the plate. "Do you know how to contact him? I want to give the violin back."

Sherlock inclined his head as he studied her. "And why would I know where to find James Moriarty?"

"He likes talking to you."

"Me?" Sherlock scoffed as he examined the strawberry tart. "Surely Moriarty has other things to occupy his mind." He lifted his eyes and fixed them on Annabelle.

She returned his gaze, her mouth setting in a frown. "Why hasn't he contacted me, Sherlock? It's been over a year."

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"How can I ask him if I don't know where to find him?"

One corner of Sherlock's mouth lifted. "Are you sure about that?"

"I've told you before," her lips tightened, "I'm not into your mind games. I'm asking you a direct question. I expect a direct answer."

"Miss Watson, you are the major shareholder of the largest media organization in the world, and you're asking me where to find the man you spent so much time with?" Sherlock leaned forward, his eyes searching hers. "Think." He popped the entire tart in his mouth and sat back in his chair, grinning as he chewed.

Annabelle frowned. "You know I only sit on the board of directors, Sherlock. I'm not involved in the operations like my father was. Of course, he did have ulterior motives. Lady Smallwood tried to get me interested in the Media Holdings' affairs, but it's just..." she sighed, "not what I want to do with my life. And I'm not into blackmail."

"Yes, you've said that before." Sherlock reached for another tart, and Annabelle swiped away the plate before he could grasp another one.

"Are you calling me a liar?" she said, her jaw tensing.

Sherlock frowned and reached for his tea instead, studying Annabelle over the brim. "You are your father's daughter."

"I gave them my father's vault, Sherlock."

"Of course, you did." His lips twitched as his gaze swept over her. "So how's your schooling coming along? Is the Royal Conservatory of Music everything you hoped for?"