It didn't feel the same, eating alone at a place I barely knew. The only way I knew of it was because the taxi driver took me here.

It was a nice little café, which was all I could have asked for. I wasn't really hungry; I just wanted to be away from Baker Street for a little bit.

The outdoor seating was semi packed when I got there, so I ended up sitting outdoors by myself. Let me tell you, I got some stares by some guys. Most of them were sitting alone. A few of them even made gestures for me to go over and talk to them. I also knew a few were trying to be sneaky and slip over to where I was, but I caught onto them first. I'd put my feet up in the chair opposite me just as they were about to pass me.

In the end, I decided eating lunch wouldn't hurt. While I waited for my sandwich and salad to be delivered, my mind wandered to the current case John and Sherlock were on. The U.S. ambassador's two children missing from their boarding school, swept off to who-knew-where. My stomach churned uneasily. Moriarty was definitely behind their kidnapping. Where had he taken them? Why had he? This had to be a part of a bigger scheme of his. The children were innocent beings, for Christ's sake!

Every victim—whether living or dead—of Moriarty's had been innocent. I could speak from experience, as I was one, and I had met some of his victims.

I clutched the fabric of my shirt tighter as I thought back to what transpired in the apartment. How Moriarty just let himself in, like he had the day he was found not guilty by the jury. Unlike Sherlock—because I was probably sure he hadn't been afraid of Moriarty—I had been petrified.

I blinked back tears, remembering how close I had been to my almost-killer. Jim Moriarty was a monster, the Devil. He was cunning, dodgy, and manipulative—those were just a few adjectives that could describe that man. He was a lot more than that.

I kept checking my phone, half the time because I wanted John to keep me updated about the case, and the other half of the time I checked because I thought I felt my phone vibrate. Moriarty made me paranoid.

Well, wouldn't you be if you got visited by the Devil himself?

I shuddered. I really needed to think about other things. Yeah, okay, because that will be so easy to do. What else could there possibly be to think about besides Moriarty and those kidnapped children? I had a bad case of London on the brain, such a bad case I was considering deeming it a London fever.

I was happy to stop thinking temporarily as my food arrived. I thanked the waiter kindly and began munching lightly, taking my precious time. I was in no rush to head back to 221B, especially not if Moriarty felt the need to pop in again or greet me when I came back.

I managed to keep my food down. But after some time, I felt like I was going to puke it back up. I was thinking too much again, I knew, about everything currently going on in London.

I stared at my barely-touched salad, remembering that a while ago, I would have never been out here by myself, with no one keeping tabs on me like they were my babysitter.

~*~

I felt like the life was being sucked out of me, being in this room. I was groomed into a rut. I couldn't go anywhere, and even if I could, I wouldn't get far. Not without him sending one of his minions to spy on me.

I scoffed. He should have known by now that I wasn't going to run. How could I? In addition to goons, he strapped an ankle monitor to me, tracking me via GPS. If I could find a way to destroy the thing and escape, I would have found a way by now. I would have freed myself and hopped on the first plane back to America.

Instead, here I was, sitting on the edge of the bed, glaring out at the London scenery, which didn't feel so special anymore. New places gave you new life. This new view had given me new energy for a time, until last week, when my life was turned on its head.

I lumbered over to the window, resting my forehead against the cool glass. I looked down. I wondered if I was high enough that I would possibly kill myself. I wasn't considering suicide, I was actually hoping to jump out with minimal damage and find the nearest police department to help me.

I didn't react as the door to my room squeaked open. I looked blankly out the window, ready to endure another few hours with a man I barely knew, a man I thought I had known.

"Morning, kitten," he chirped cheerily. His positive attitude made me want to strangle him, just like he had attempted to do to me last week. I had never forgiven him for that. I never would, not even if he begged. Monsters like him didn't deserve any redemption.

My nails dug into the windowsill under my hands. I sniffed, accustomed to remaining silent while he tried to get me to talk.

"This can't go on forever, Rachel." Though his steps were muffled by the carpet flooring, I knew he had to be approaching me. "You have to stop giving me the cold shoulder sometime."

I tossed my head. Translation: That will happen when Hell freezes over.

"You know, I don't see why you're being so...isolated," he droned. "I mean, I've given you everything you need. I haven't let you starve or stink. I haven't let you get dehydrated. I've even let you keep in touch with your friend—what was her name? Madeline? Annmarie?"

I bit my tongue. I knew what Jim was trying to do.

He wasn't lying when he said he was taking good care of me. Really, I wasn't bone-thin, I wasn't ill or dying. And he was letting me talk to Amanda. I was shocked he let me get away with that one. Then I soon realized that he was probably tracking my texts somehow, so even if I tried to encode something to Mandy, he would probably figure it out faster than she could.

Amanda. I hated lying to her. I told her I was staying longer in London because of a guy. Okay, so I wasn't lying entirely, but I was still lying to her to some degree. I never told her the true reason why I was staying behind.

If I ever made it back home, I would tell her everything. She had a right to know.

"Come on, Rach, what was her name?" Jim sang. I tensed more. He was right behind me now. I closed my eyes, counting in my head. "Briana? Candace? Liana? Sabrina?"

I sucked a breath through my teeth. Jim chuckled, noticing.

"It does get pretty boring coming here if you don't talk to me. I sound like I'm insane, talking to the walls!"

"Because you are insane," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?" His voice rose in a high pitch.

I bit my lower lip, shaking my head. Damn it. After so long of icing him out, I caved. I went for much longer than I expected. "You're insane. Must I spell it out for you? Draw a picture?"

"She speaks!" Jim laughed. "There's the girl I've missed for the past week." He hugged me from behind. My heart raced but not for the right reason. "I knew you would come back to me. All I had to do was be patient."

"I can't see you as the patient type." I licked my lips.

"So, was I right?"

"About what?"

"Her name. Did I guess it right?"

I rolled my eyes. "No."

"What was it, then?"

"Like you care."

"Oh, I do, kitten. I do."

I cringed at the pet name he gave me. I remembered when it had actually meant something, like those other names he had given me. I never wanted to hear those nicknames ever again.

My teeth grinded together. To make things even worse, Jim kissed my cheek and worked his way to my ear. I felt like I had been touched with a deadly disease. I glared at the window with hard eyes, trying to see his reflection and mine in it. If I could find it, I would see an unhappy, captive girl, and a delighted guy. I would see a dysfunctional couple.

I would see a match made in Hell.

"Come on, Rachel, let me see a smile on that lovely face of yours."

He can see the reflection. Either that or Jim had gotten really good at guessing my facial expressions. In all honesty, there wasn't much to guess. "You'll never get what you want." My voice was eerily calm.

"I don't understand."

"I think you do." I elbowed him hard in the gut. He moved back, letting go of me. I whirled around, alight inside. "You can treat me like a queen all you want. You can pamper me and spoil me rotten. But no matter what you do, it won't change anything. It won't make me fall for you."

"Won't it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No, it won't." My voice rose slightly. "Men like you deserve to rot in Hell. Wait, Hell is too good for you. You don't deserve to die; you deserve to suffer in jail, like all the other criminals!"

"Now, Rachel—"

"I'm not going to be at your side like some lovesick puppy! I will not be one of your minions like Baldy over there." My eyes glanced briefly to the guard lurking in the room, ready to intervene should something happen. Before, even though I had never attacked Jim, he had still brought a guard with him for precaution. I wished he hadn't today. "I won't give in! I will fight until I die!" My body quaked.

"Rachel, calm down." Jim was slowly backing towards the door. My eyes lit up. Was Jim Moriarty afraid for once? Was he actually scared? He wasn't instilling fear in other people for once in his life?

I felt like I had gained some power. I wanted more.

Feeling brave, I took a step towards Jim. "I don't have to listen to you. I will never listen to you. I may be in your care right now, but do not think for one second that that means I will roll over and be your lapdog!"

With a burst of energy, I lunged. Baldy was right there to intercept me, grabbing me around my middle. I let out high pitched screeching noises, kicking Baldy in the legs. He grunted but wouldn't let me go. The fear I had briefly seen in Jim's eyes disappeared.

"You, Jim Moriarty, are the Devil!" I snarled, quickly losing against Baldy.

Jim smiled wryly, brushing himself off. "Well, since you've voiced where you stand—perhaps it's time I sent you to work."

I ceased fighting and looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. Then you'll wish you cooperated."

~*~

I pulled back out of the memory, bringing myself back to reality. I wasn't in that unknown, abandoned room with Baldy and Moriarty. I was alone, with my mostly-eaten sandwich and a salad that was calling my name.

Sure enough, I had found out what kind of work Moriarty had signed me up for when I'd made my stand. Strapping bombs to innocent civilians. I'd managed to slip to all of the victims that I wasn't happy about doing it, that if I could save them, I would. At least I hadn't set up the puzzles for Sherlock like Moriarty had involving a few dead bodies. That kind of dirty work I would have never done. I could see corpses on shows like CSI, because I knew those weren't real. There was a huge difference between an actor and a real corpse, a big difference.

I nearly fell out of my chair when my phone vibrated in my pocket. This time I was sure I hadn't dreamt it. Finally, news about the case.

I opened the text.

Children found alright. At Scotland Yard. Everything can be explained when you get here. –JW

Though I wasn't a mother, anyone would be happy that the children were found alive, especially after being kidnapped by an insane man like Moriarty.

Looks like I've got to get a move on. I called the waiter for my check.

I hastily got up and proceeded to call a taxi. It was times like this when I wished I owned a car so I could drive over. I wouldn't even know where Scotland Yard is! Okay, so maybe it was better that I kept catching taxis.

After two failed attempts, I was successful on the third. I clambered in.

"Back again, are you, miss?" the driver chortled. I threw him a smile. "You're a busy girl! Where to next?"

"Scotland Yard."