His ransom - Moriarty x Reader

Back to London

      My phone rang. Who the hell could call me at 3AM?! Who the hell could call me?  No one ever did. With a sigh, I grabbed my phone on the bedside table, rolled on my back and whispered :

"- Allô?

- Y/n? Is that you?

- Wait, who's this? 

- ... Your brother. Sherlock. Your french accent got thick, I  wasn't sure it was you.

- You would have if you hadn't sent me away in an another country when I was fucking 14 and then stopped giving any sign of life. What do you want now?

- Listen, you have all rights to hate me. I promise I'll explain everything soon. But please listen to me."

      His voice was weird. He sounded worried. No, actually, he was terrified.

"- You're on drugs. You did it again, didn't you?

- It helps me think! " he almost shouted

"- Do not yell at me again or I'll hang up. What's the matter Sherlock?

- You must stay away from London. Do not come back. I know you're an adult now and can do whatever you want but please, stay. Away. For your own safety.

- My safety? Please, no one knows about my existence! And what could possibly happen?

- He will get you to hurt me, y/n. I want you to have a normal, long life, away from all this insane criminality. 

- Who? Who would get me? Sherlock?

- Bye, y/n."

      That was it. It had been 5 years since the last time I had talked to my brother, and now the only thing he could tell me was to stay away from him. I was pissed, but I didn't hate him as he thought I did. I mean, I used to, but not anymore. I was bored. And for some reason, I didn't want to live a "normal, long life". That was boring. Why would my brothers have all the fun ruling England and solving crimes while I stayed alone in this ridiculous French town? This call was more than I needed. I'd fly to London as soon as possible and  ask for explanations.

      When I woke up a few hours later, I opened my laptop and started looking for flights. I found one. Tomorrow, 7AM. Now the question was, how would I find Sherlock in London? And then I remembered. Big brother was famous now. It only took a few seconds to find his adress, pictures of his flat and of John Watson. He seemed nice. Nicer than the asshole I call my brother.

*Time skip to the next day at the airport*

I was really excited. I hadn't left France since Sherlock had sent me there "for my own good". I didn't know if I'd slap him or hug him. I heard a voice announcing my flight and waited in the line to get in the plane. Finally, my life was getting better. Some actions, new people, new places! I took place in my seat and fell asleep almost immediatly after we had left the ground

"-Miss? Hmm, please, we are about to land.

-Hmmmmm, already?"

      Oh, how I'd missed London. This was the place where I was meant to be. I got out of the airport and asked a cab to take me to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock, here I come. 

      I enjoyed the trip. It was nice seeing this good old city, after all these years. Surprisingly, it still felt like home. When I finally arrived at my brother's adress, I jumped out of the car and decided I could never face this without coffee. I used to be a tea person, like everyone in England, but France had changed me. I sat at the café and waited for my order.