The Adventure of A Curly Haired Girl

The Price of Freedom

Chapter 7: The Price of Freedom

"Wake up Sleeping Beauty." A singsong voice said in her ear.

It rang throughout her head as slowly felt herself come back to consciousness, the second time that day. Not far off she head the faint ticking of a clock, it's steady rhythm made her just want to fall back asleep.

"Only then can we really begin to play." 

Her mind was groggy, and her body was sore, but as the clock began to chime, signifying its time, she willed herself to wake.

Dong

She raised her head and rolled it, releasing the tension.

Dong.

She stretched out her legs and realized she had been sitting.

Dong.

Her hands were bond and her heart began to race.

Dong.

She opened her eyes and met Sherlock's.

The silence hung heavily in the air as brown eyes met blue. He was tied up as she was; his scarf was askew along with his curly black hair. Bruising below his eye shone purple with a promise for further coloring to come.

In between them was a sleek metal table; it was just low enough for Emily to see what was sprawled out. Three black menacing handguns glared back at her and her eyes met Sherlock's once again.

A silent communication crossed between them. Something that consisted of:

What do we do?

And

I don't know.

She closed her eyes again, everything spinning around her and she groaned.

She heard footsteps approaching behind her and she noticed Sherlock's eyes narrow in thought as he straightened his posture.

Emily's eyes widened as Moriarty came into her view and he smiled down upon her.

"Sorry for the affects," He said with a sickening sweet tone as he brushed one of her curls out of her face. "Must be fighting a nasty headache."

"What do you want Moriarty?" The ice in Sherlock's tone was sharp, but Moriarty seemed to enjoy his distaste.

"Why, I just wanted to gather us all together again, is that so wrong?" His eyes glinted humorlessly as he continued, " I thought we could celebrate our return from the dead."

"Not a lively party." Emily replied stonily.

A solemn expression overshadowed Moriarty's face. "Yes, I suppose not."

"No more riddles! What's the real reason why we're hear?"

"Ah, Sherlock. That reminds me of a conversation we had a few years ago." Moriarty said as he turned his attention back to the detective, his eyes dark.

A chill ran down Emily's back by the sudden change in his demeanor. "You said, 'I never liked riddles.' Do you remember what I told you?"

Sherlock remained mute for a moment, staring into the man's black eyes. "Learn to."

Moriarty smiled down at Sherlock like one would smile down at a child once he remembered his alphabet.

Emily stared at the guns sick to the stomach with the man before her. She did not know that Moriarty had turned his gaze upon her. He watched the young woman study the guns. His watchful gaze was not at all like Sherlock's, which consisted of curiosity and admiration. Moriarty's stare was filled with amusement, as if relishing in the thought of the entertainment she could provide him.