Saving Moriarty

There's a line between being someone's wife and being Jim Moriarty's wife. It's been 14 years and I haven't thought about how much I missed my freedom. I gave up everything to become his. I'm Melanie Moriarty. Here's my story.

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6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

                My story stopped when Mrs. Hudson came into the flat followed by a delivery boy with our take away. Still stuck in a daze, John put his hand over mine. It was a nice gesture, meant to reassure. I hadn’t really heard what Sherlock’s question was but John responded by telling him that was enough for now.

                “I ordered you some soup. Without knowing the dosage of the drugs, I can’t say if you could hold down much solid food,” John said. Mary sat the bowl down on the coffee table in front of me.

                “Jim will know I came here,” I said, watching the steam rise from the bowl and dissipate into the cooler air around it. I shook my head just a little. Jim let me come here.

                “We can put you into protective custody. No one will be able to hurt you,” John said.

                I smiled softly at John. I wish it were that simple. “No, Jim would find me.” Jim always got what he wanted.

                “Even out of the country, he’d search until he found you. What is so special about you?” Sherlock asked. He still hadn’t moved from his black chair or taken his eyes off of me. He was analyzing.

                “That is the question, isn’t it?” I said. I picked up the bowl of soup, feeling it’s warmth against my hands. Every moment I was here made me even more nervous.  I should have gone straight to Jim.

                “You said Moriarty came back. Where had you met him before the incident with your brother’s gambling?” John asked.

                “I’ve known Jim since we were kids in primary school. He’s four years older than me. I was six the first time I met him. He… protected me from a bully.” Carl Powers. He and my brother were always getting into fights, so he targeted me too. He did it because I was smaller than him.

                “Did you know he was crazy then?” Mary asked, receiving a look from John. It was a reasonable question to ask.

                “Jim has always protected me. Since that first day with the bully.”

                “What he did to you isn’t protecting you. It’s abuse,” John said. Jim didn’t do it. And he didn’t want to hurt me. He wanted to remind me of what he was capable of and why I should feel lucky that he’d chosen me.

                “Tell me everything that occurred. I need every detail that you can possibly remember,” Sherlock said. He’d sat up straighter, more interested in the conversation.

                “Why would you need to know about that?” I asked. I held his stare. He knew that I only told him things that Jim allowed me to tell him.

                “Because if you want us to help you, I need all of the details from your life with Moriarty,” Sherlock replied.

                “Another time, perhaps,” I said, hearing a new set of footsteps come up the stairs. I recognized the man. He was one of Jim’s personal drivers. I stood up. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

                None of them spoke as I left. The driver didn’t say a word to me when he opened the back door for me. I half expected to see Jim waiting in the car. He’d smile a little and say “Hello, Melanie, my dear. Did you have a nice chat with Sherlock? Did you tell him everything that I told you to?” I would nod and say yes. He’d continue with, “That’s my good wife. Come home with me now, dear.” He’d gently take my hand and help me into the seat beside him. And we wouldn’t mention the things that occurred the night before.

                But he wasn’t. The car was empty.

                Alone in the elevator, I closed my eyes. I thought back to that Jim. The one with kindness in his eyes. The one who protected me from harm.

 

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“Are you alright?” He asked, crouching down to take a look at me. He reached out and rubbed my back.

Tears streamed down my face while I held my knee close to my chest. It was dotted with blood. I hiccupped through my crying.

“It’s okay, little girl. I won’t let them hurt you again,” he said. He kissed my head and stood up to face Carl and his two friends.

He wasn’t very big. Carl was big. Jim was slender with messy hair. But he stood up straight, clenching his fists. Carl laughed at him, and his friends joined in.

“You think you’re going to protect the little bitch? She’s good fun to play with,” Carl said and laughed again.

I covered my ears. I hated his laugh. It was loud and hurt my ears. This time it was cut short, followed by, “Fuck! You little dick!”

I looked up to see Carl holding his nose, blood dripping fast onto the ground. He snarled. A teacher yelled at us, asking what was going on. Carl and his two friends left with Carl still cursing.

“He’s gone now. And I won’t let home come back,” Jim said. He took an alcohol wipe out of his pocket and wiped off the cut. I winced. “Jim Moriarty,”

I knew who he was. I’d seen him in the hallways, the cafeteria, and the library. But he’d never spoke to me before. I watched him put a band aid on my cut.

“There, all better,” He smiled and brushed my hair back. “Now you have to lie. Tell them you fell. They can’t protect you. I can.”

And I believed him.

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                I longed to go back to those days. To before this was an obligation.

                Jim wasn’t in the flat either. There was no note from him with instructions. I felt thankful for this time alone. The silence calmed me.

                I went to shower, using my own products to scrub my skin raw. I could remember Sebastian’s smile while he ran his hands down my arms, telling me that I deserved it. I scrubbed my arms more, disgusted by his touch. I let out a sob.

                I stared at the floor of the shower, watching the water go down the drain. No. Do not break down. Do not let that horrible Sebastian have that power over you. I took deep breaths to slow my heart rate.

                I stood in front of the full length mirror. The few bruises that I had were in easily covered places. Jim never left visible bruises, like on my face. He preferred the drugs and the memory loss, where I could remember pain and torture, but there was no evidence. Sometimes it feels worse to not remember.

                The silk baby doll night dress came down to the top of my thighs. This was the expensive imported silk. Only the best for you, dear. The material felt good on my skin. After pulling the curtains closed, I settled under the covers in the bed. Sleep came easily to me.

                I only woke up for a few moments when I felt the bed give just a little. His cologne always subtle, but I knew it was him. His hand slid over my hip and across my middle, and then he gently pulled me against him.

                “Sleep, Melanie,” Jim whispered into my ear.

                And I did, comfortable in his arms.

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