Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter Eight: The Devil Himself

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE DEVIL HIMSELF

"I'm going for a walk." said Amelia, pocketing her phone. A scowl creased her face as she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She walked a fair distance away, and stopped halfway down the hall, leaning against the door of a locked laboratory.

Room 386.

-JM

Silently, Amelia searched for the room, keeping her head low as she passed several doctors and officials in uniform. Once, she nearly got stopped by a security guard but she quickly made up a lie about how her aunt was in the intensive care unit and how she couldn't stand sitting by her dying aunt's bedside. She sobbed a few crocodile tears and then the sympathetic guard let her go, murmuring his condolences.

People were far too easy to fool.

Amelia stopped in front of room 386, and pushed open the door, posture immediately straightening as her gaze fell upon the dark haired man sitting atop a lab bench, nonchalantly tossing an apple in the air and catching it with ease. He didn't turn to face her, but his smile grew. "Hello, Amy dear." he sang lightly in his Irish accent, still not looking at Amelia, but acknowledging her presence. "Did you miss me?"

"I can't say that I did, James." she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering as he hopped off the bench and began to circle her; a lion stalking his prey. Amelia wanted to shift under his predatory gaze, but she'd held her head high, looking down her nose at him.

James Moriarty grinned slyly, lightly tapping her on the nose with a single finger. "You're lying," He sang. "I can tell when you're lying, and you're lying right now."

"I wouldn't advise using the same word three times within two sentences. Makes you seem rather childish." Amelia brushed him off, taking on a condescending tone.

"You've gotten cheeky, Amelia dear." James' fingers lightly danced over Amelia's bare arms, eliciting shivers. Years later and his touch still affected her, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. James pushed a strand of her wispy dark hair behind her ear, watching the blush slowly creep up onto her cheeks. "Perhaps that is for the better. You are living with the great Sherlock Holmes, after all. You two going to get married and live a lovely domestic life together?" He laughed, grinning manically.

"You've been watching me then, I presume."

"Darling," he started in an almost loving tone, and if it weren't for the way his dark eyes glinted like shards of obsidian framed by long spider silk-like lashes. "I have eyes, ears, and guns everywhere." His voice dropped to a mocking whisper as if he were telling a secret that Amelia should never, not ever, speak aloud.

Amelia rolled her eyes dramatically, not wanting to show her nervousness. "I'm very well aware of that, James." she said snidely, pushing him away. "Why are you here? Why now?"

"Thought I'd pop by and pay my favourite Watson a visit."

"You may be able to tell when I'm lying, but it works the other way too."

"Okay, fine." James' lips were pursed as he gave a large, grandiose shrug. "I came to see Sherlock, and unless you play along," He suddenly took on a dark tone, their playful bantering a distant memory. "I'm afraid I might just have to kill somebody."

"You wouldn't dare." seethed Amelia.

"Oh, I most certainly would, and you know that." James said, smiling once again. "Are you ready to play, Ms Watson?"

"Piss off, James" was what Amelia wanted to say but she suddenly found her words catching in her throat. She nodded, running her tongue over her cracked lips.