Now was the time to deal with Moriarty, and I was in a state of sheer confusion.

I really couldn't comprehend how he had known that I would lash out at him. That, and I was ever so slightly, well, intimidated.

It wasn't the fact that I had knocked him out and fractured his nose, it was that after I had read that text, I swore I could feel eyes burning into my back. It was probably just paranoia, but I couldn't shake the suspicion.

This Moran guy, whether he was actually watching me through the nearest window or not, gave me an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I shook my head. What was happening to me? Why was I intimidated by Moran, or even Moriarty?

For god's sake, I was Bella Warren. As the smoke cleared in my head, I saw it clearly. I had no reason to fear either of these men. I had gambled my life many times, and caused the deaths, some unfortunate, some not, of more people than I could count on all my fingers and toes. Of course, I wasn't directly involved in actually killing 99% of those people, but hey, it still counted right? 

It was then that I decided I wasn't going to deal with Moriarty, or his little, insignificant henchman. They weren't worth my precious time. I had better things to be doing.

So, I did something that surprised even me. 

Hitting the 'send' button on Jim's phone, I waited as patiently as I could for him to answer his phone. It seemed to take an eternity, although it was most likely less than 30 seconds before he finally answered.

"What do you want?" Sherlock's deep voice was full to the brim of annoyance, and I couldn't help myself but smile. He thought I was James, and evidently had no desire to deal with anybody at the moment, much less the person he thought I was.

"You're not busy, are you Sherlock?" I mimicked my best Irish accent, which, if I do say so myself, was pretty good.

The answer came back quickly and sharply, and I nearly pulled the phone away from my ear. Luckily, the volume wasn't up very high, so it didn't faze me that much. "Who is this? Tell me now," he demanded.

"I asked you a question. Now, if you would so kindly oblige and answer it, that would be lovely. After that, I might consider answering yours."

I began to pace the room, before bending down to inspect Jim's nose. There was a bit of a silence, his and the man I was leaning over's breathing the only audible sounds.

Yes, I had fractured it, but not as badly as I thought. This damage wouldn't last too long, which for some reason, made a cool wave of relief wash over me.

"No, I'm not busy. Why? What do you want?"

I stood up from my crouched position over his still unconscious body. It was then that I realised that Moriarty was a ticking time bomb, and he could regain consciousness at any moment.

"Come back here. As fast as possible. And bring another person if convenient. If inconvenient, do it anyway. Do you understand me?" I didn't bother with the accent that time. I simply enunciated every word with razor-sharp precision. I knew that he would know who I was, and where I was, which I was glad for. I waited, on edge, for his answer.

I really wasn't in the mood to threaten him. To say it simply, I was just exhausted. First I had to deal with Ludwig, then forcibly kick Sherlock out of my apartment, then narrowly avoid being killed by a man I had only encountered twice. This day was turning out to be like a bad action movie where you can completely predict the ending when you're only ten minutes into it.

I cleared my throat, hoping to encourage him to accept already. "'I'll be there in ten minutes or less. John!" he called, and the line went dead.

--

I spent the next 5 or so minutes contemplating who this 'John' was, sitting in my favorite armchair again. For some reason, the name seemed very familiar when put with the name 'Sherlock'. I was about to go into my mind palace to try to find where I had heard them together before, but then I heard a groan.

It was relatively quiet, but I snapped my head up to look over at Moriarty, who I could definitely tell was beginning to stir.

Crap.

I burst from my chair, and ran into my kitchen, looking for something, anything, that could knock him out again.

Empty carton of eggs. No. Economy size bag of pretzels. No. A dish towel. No. 

I rejected about 20 more things, hearing more and more noise coming from Jim, who was slowly waking up. 

It was then that my eyes landed on a frying pan. I grabbed it and raced back to my living room. He was stretching his arms, squinting up, trying to make sense of where he was. 

A smile crept across his face when he caught sight of me.

"Hello Bel-"

His sentence was cut off as I swiftly stepped over him and whacked him on the head with the pan.

"Frying pans, who knew, right?" I muttered to myself, as I heard the front door swing open, and two pairs of feet begin to come up the stairs.

After the two men had reached the top of the stairs, both of  them were obviously shocked by what they saw in my living room, although Sherlock hid his surprise much better than John. 

"What-" The blonde one, who I identified as John, started to say, but I stopped him, holding out my hands.

"I don't have any time to waste, so let's start with a simple introduction and then get to the point," I ordered. "Hello, I'm Bella Warren, I'm 5 foot 7 inches, and my favorite colour is blue." 

Sherlock and John both stared at me blankly, not understanding that I was trying to lighten the mood so that they would be more convinced to help me. I wanted them to like me, at least until Moriarty was well out of my flat.

"Go on, Sherlock, you next. Name, height, fun fact about you." I urged them to continue, trying to be as nice as I could. "Didn't you go to primary school?"

"You know my name."

"You are a shoo-in for the participation award." I filled my voice with sarcasm, which, thankfully, made John crack a smile.

Still half-smiling, John skipped over Sherlock and made his introduction. "John Watson, rather not say my height, and I'm a retired army doctor that lives with this grouch." He gestured to Sherlock, who just glared at him, further proving John's point. He stepped forward and shook my hand. "Pleasure to meet you. . .can I call you Bella?"

I liked this John. He respected me without question, and politely asked if he could call me by my first name. It was nice, considering courtesy wasn't a big theme in the business I worked in, unless it was forced. I smiled at him, a genuine smile. "Yes. You can."

He nodded. "Pleasure to meet you, Bella."

"Oh, can we get on with it already? I haven't got all day." Sherlock made no attempt to hide how irritated he was.

"If you insist," I replied. 

"I do."

"Yes, Sherlock, I know. Anyway," I continued, ignoring Sherlock's rudeness. I turned around to look at Moriarty, who was thankfully unconscious and had no traces of any expression on his face. "I need this man," I pointed at his body, "out of my living space. You two are strong enough to lift him, I assume. All I'm asking you to do is to carry him outside, and place him somewhere away from my flat."

"That's it?" Sherlock asked, while John replied at the same time, their responses overlapping each other.

"You want us to carry a dangerous criminal mastermind, who looks like he could be dead, out of your apartment? Are you nuts?"

--

As it turned out, I was nuts. With a few threats (that I wasn't actually going to follow through with) supplementing them, they reluctantly agreed to take Moriarty out and dump him in the park that was in the middle of the circle of flats that I lived in, which was deserted pretty much all the time.  

With Jim's body safely on a very squeaky swing in desperate need of oil, Sherlock and John left, but not without us exchanging phone numbers beforehand. It wasn't like either of them had an interest in me, but they insisted that I now owed them a favor, which I agreed to. 

I didn't want to seem self-absorbed, but I was surprised they had never heard of me. I was, dare I say it, famous in the criminal industry. 

They had ended up reminding me of where I knew them from, but it wasn't as if they plainly told me their occupation. No, they triggered my memory by accident. As they were getting back in a taxi, Sherlock muttered to John, still looking at his mobile, "Lestrade has another case for us. Murder."

John had replied as he closed the door, but I didn't catch it.

So that's who they were. A detective and his. . .er. . .sidekick. Sidekick made John sound like a lesser being, which he wasn't, so that word didn't really fit him. 

Sighing, I turned to reenter my flat, and as I closed the door behind me, I glimpsed a black figure running towards the playground. I didn't think much of it, considering I was fatigued beyond belief. 

I ascended the stairs and flopped down in my armchair, falling asleep almost instantly.

--

Around a month passed by, nothing out of the ordinary happening.

I remember it was a particularly cold morning, and I had plans to meet Lucy at the same place I had talked to her the day I met Moriarty.

In fact, by that point, I had nearly forgotten about him. He seemed like a distant memory, because I hadn't seen any traces of him since the choking incident.

I kept my pace fast as I walked along the grey sidewalk, blending in with the other people that surrounded me. I was just another face in the crowd, just another brick in the wall.

I made a sharp turn into the doors of the cafe, the bell tinkling loudly as I entered. I scanned the room, seeing many faces, but none of them were Lucy.

So I took a seat at an empty table near the back, and pulled out my phone, planning on texting her, scolding her for being late.

Usually I was the late one, so it was strange. But I knew she couldn't resist, I was positive she'd show up. 

My back was facing the door, and I heard the bell ring again, and I listened intently as the footsteps came over to where I sat.

I didn't bother looking up from my phone. I expected her to take her seat, so we could get on with it. But instead, the footsteps stopped abruptly behind me.

I paused my typing, waiting for her to move. Okay, she wasn't just going to sit down, so I decided to tease her a bit. "You never do back down from a challenge, do you?" I asked her, resuming my typing.

"No," Jim replied, casually taking a seat across from me, "I don't."