This fic is yet another one of my AUs of an AU (the other being The Final Sacrifice). This is an AU end of my fic, The Family Business, in which Sherlock Holmes has a daughter, Elspeth. This fic picks up after the events of chapter 46, so any events following that do not occur in this AU. I highly recommend reading The Family Business first in order to understand certain events.

Though the focus of this fic will be the relationship between Jim Moriarty and Elspeth Holmes, it's a slow, gradual development with lots of character development and barriers to get past for both characters; other characters will be introduced as the fic goes on, and I intend on taking this through to my reimagining of series 3. I will take the time to build a realistic, genuine connection between Jim and Ellie, and the themes of this fic will not be taken lightly; if you can put your trust in me not to mess this up, I hopefully will not disappoint you. If you want to ask any questions or see pictures of Ellie (or how I envision her) check out my tumblr – the link is on my profile.

Please read and review, let me know what you think! I love hearing from my reviewers! Please bear with me in regards to updates though as Uni has begun and they won't be as frequent as we would all like. But if you can give me the time, I'll make the updates as awesome as I can!

1.

The name Elspeth Holmes became rather infamous in the first month after Sherlock's death.

Following his suicide, there were rumours – fuelled mostly by the newspapers – that he was a fake, that Jim Moriarty was an actor hired by the detective and most of the crimes he'd 'solved' were staged to make him famous. Kitty Riley wrote most of the articles. She stopped abruptly when her flat was broken into and her possessions were completely destroyed. The police had yet to find Elspeth.

Weeks had passed since she broke into Kitty's flat, and Elspeth put the time to good use, bringing down Moriarty's criminal network. Elspeth Holmes may have been tiny, but not to be underestimated. That was the biggest mistake. She didn't pay any attention to the laws of society or her conscience, as long as it meant that every single one of the bastards that helped kill her father was taken down or put in prison.

John Watson had no idea, of course. Elspeth had left 221B just a day after Sherlock died with a rucksack on her shoulders and determination in her eyes.

Her nose was bleeding. Elspeth noticed it in the way one noticed the colour of another person's eyes; it was routine, dull. Insignificant. Wiping the blood away with the back of her sleeve, she barely winced when she nudged her nose, pain shooting through it as a response. When she wasn't angry – she was always so angry – Elspeth was numb. At least she felt something then. Most of the time, Elspeth used her anger to hurt others so then she wouldn't be the only one in pain. She had been so horrible to John before she left.

Silently, Elspeth picked up the phone that had fallen on the ground during the fight. Her opponent – a man not much older than herself, dark haired and light eyed – was handcuffed to the railing, groaning. He had a large cut on his forehead.

"You crazy bitch," he moaned, his voice hoarse. Elspeth looked up from the phone, her dry lips twitching into the slightest of smiles.

"Careful," she said. Her voice was lower than normal, her tone hard. "You'll hurt my feelings."

"You broke my arm," the man spat at her incredulously.

"Sprained it," Elspeth corrected distractedly, her fingers flying across the keypad of the phone. She texted Lestrade the address of the warehouse, as well as the injuries the man had sustained, then threw the phone far out of reach. "I know how to sprain people."

"It's true what they say, ain't it?" the man asked her. His voice trembled. Elspeth turned to him then, her head tilted to the side and her eyebrows raised with mock interest. "You – you're trying to stop him . . . Moriarty."

Elspeth gazed at him for a long time, not blinking. Her eyes – not quite brown, not quite green, but somewhere right in the middle – were detached, blank, like she wasn't really in the room. It was chilling just how empty she was.

"Not trying," she finally said. "Succeeding."

With a final, insincere smirk, she held the key up and dropped it on the ground so it was inches out of his reach, just to taunt him. Elspeth didn't look back as she strode out of the empty warehouse. Her footsteps echoed with every step she took.

Pulling her hood up and stuffing her bloody hands into her pockets, Elspeth strolled down the street at a normal pace, joining a rather drunken group of students as they stumbled past her. None of them noticed her tag along. Her bag bumped against her hip while she walked. She used the students as cover for a few streets, then broke away and turned the corner, finding a large empty wall that she knew a lot of people would walk past. Checking no one was around, Elspeth opened her bag and took out the first spray can.

She had reeked her revenge on Kitty Riley but ruining people's belongings didn't convince people that Sherlock wasn't a fraud, so Elspeth would spend her evenings spray painting – walls, benches, pavements . . . if the surface was big enough, Elspeth would deface it. She wasn't alone. A lot of Sherlock's homeless network were willing to help her as well.

The messages were all the same. I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES. MORIARTY WAS REAL. Even if people didn't agree, at least they paid attention to it. That was all Elspeth could ask for.

"What are you doing?" an unfamiliar voice – male, with a smoking habit – demanded, and Elspeth barely had enough time to turn around before something hit her in the face.

"Ah!" Oh god, she felt like they were on fire, like they were going to melt out of their sockets. Dropping the can, Elspeth squeezed her eyes shut and dug the heels of her hands into them as she stumbled backwards blindly, hitting the wall. "What did you do, you son of a bitch?" she wailed. She couldn't see – she couldn't breathe –

A sharp slap across her face made Elspeth stumble again, tripping over her own feet and tumbling to the floor. Her head pounded against the pavement. She groaned.

Through her blurred vision, Elspeth could see the figure of a man crouch by her. He reached into his pocket, soaking a rag with something before pressing it to her mouth, the fabric rough and scratchy against her skin. She struggled for a few seconds, trying to scream. The sounds were muffled, her mind became fuzzy, her limps weakened with every move she made. Finally, Elspeth allowed her eyes to slide shut and succumbed to the darkness.

She must've been unconscious for a few hours because when Elspeth opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was the light of sunrise streaming in through the window.

Groaning, Elspeth squeezed her stinging eyes shut for a moment, trying to get rid of the burning sensation, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She opened her eyes again and waited for her blurry vision to clear so she could take in her surroundings.

It was an office. Elspeth was sprawled out across a leather sofa pushed against the wall. She pushed herself up slowly because every movement sent her head spinning, then looked around closely. It was fairly bare; a desk stood in front of the windows, an office chair on one side and two chairs on the other. There were a couple of shelves with books on them – Elspeth was too far to read the spines – and a filing cabinet. There was even a small table with cups and a kettle lined up on it. It was a boring, nondescript office that lacked any personal touch at all. It made it nearly impossible to work out who it belonged to.

Remembering the previous night's events, Elspeth reached out. She touched her nose gingerly first, wiping away the dried blood that had gathered underneath, and then her cheek. It was still warm and tender. She didn't flinch. There was a small bump forming on her head from where it had hit the table as well.

Elspeth swung her legs off the sofa, lowering her head into her hands. She cursed under her breath. "Goddammit," she hissed angrily. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

She had spent weeks moving about, never staying in one hotel for more than week, so she wouldn't get caught. Elspeth scowled and her head sunk onto her knees, her hands clutching her hair. She was such a goddamn idiot.

There was a click as the door was unlocked, Elspeth sitting up immediately. She looked across the office and into the dark eyes she thought she would never have to see again.

Jim Moriarty had disappeared. Sherlock had told her and John that he made Moriarty up because he wanted to be a hero. One night, when Elspeth had a member of his organisation pinned up against the wall with a broken nose, she was told that Moriarty was dead. No one had heard anything from him for ages.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Moriarty teased, strolling forwards. A man followed him in, shutting the door behind them and leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest, watching Elspeth like a hawk. She barely noticed, unable to tear her eyes from Moriarty. Elspeth felt like she might be sick, or faint, or worse, cry. He turned his back on her for a moment to boil the kettle and when he faced Elspeth, she was conscious to not show her fear. She hid behind a mask as she had done for weeks. "I hear you've been very busy, Ellie."

Elspeth's composure cracked slightly. She smirked. "Yeah."

Moriarty's eyebrows rose with interest. He'd scoffed at the rumours when they began but when his employees started to get arrested, he realised that Elspeth really was trying to stop him.

"I'm impressed," Moriarty told her. Elspeth gazed back at him passively. She had changed a lot over the month; her eyes held a strange sort of blankness, like they were glazed over, and her lips were constantly pressed into a hard line. Sherlock's death had aged her. Elspeth was still pretty, but in a sharp way, the shadows under her eyes deep and her lips pale. "Not even Sherlock could bring down as many people as you have."

Elspeth's lips twitched when Moriarty said Sherlock's name, her head turning to the side slightly. It was like she was supressing the urge to scream or cry. It was the first proper emotion she had shown since she'd laid eyes on Moriarty.

"Though," he said. "You can't be allowed to continue." He shook his head. "You just can't."

Elspeth stiffened when Moriarty sat down on the sofa next to her, recoiling slightly even though there was a large gap between them. He propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of them and stretched one of his arms across the back of the sofa casually, turning to look at Elspeth.

"So." Moriarty dragged the word out for a few seconds. "What are we going to do with you?"

"He's got a gun in his pocket," Elspeth said dryly, nodding at the man by the door. "I'm sure he could shoot me from there if he tried hard enough."

"Seb doesn't have to try, he's a marksman. You've met him before."

Her eyes resting on Sebastian, Elspeth felt her brow crease slightly when she frowned at him. Then she realised; he must've been the one to shoot her in the shoulder. She'd had surgery to have the bullet removed. The scar was hideous.

Sometimes, when stripping down to get changed or jump in the shower, Elspeth would pause and look at the scar, remembering how Moriarty had toyed with her. Her friends thought it was kind of awesome that Elspeth had a gunshot wound, but Elspeth knew she'd probably never wear a tank top again.

"Maybe this time he'll actually kill me," Elspeth deadpanned, her eyes meeting Moriarty's. Sebastian didn't bother hiding his grin.

"Kill you?" Moriarty repeated. He frowned and shook his head, tutting. "Don't be silly, I don't want to kill you."

"What are you going to do to me then?"

Moriarty tilted his head to the side, thoughtful. He knew exactly what he was going to do but it was so much fun to make Elspeth squirm.

"Well," he said, dragging the sound out. "I can't let you go, we both know that." Moriarty pressed his lips together, pouting while Elspeth watched him with a neutral expression. Suddenly, Moriarty slapped his hand against the sofa. "Tiger, wasn't I just talking about getting a live-in?"

A live-in ordinary person. He had mentioned it to Sherlock. Elspeth was never told about the conversation.

"Yeah," Sebastian said, leaning against the door and holding his phone in one hand. The other rested by his side. His gun was tucked into his belt.

Moriarty turned his chilling grin on Elspeth. "Say hello to my new lodger," he announced.

"You're not serious," Elspeth said indignantly. Her calm exterior had faded, replaced with confusion and fear, even though she tried to hide the latter. She shook her head with disbelief and pressed her lips together. Moriarty gave her a disapproving frown.

"Oh darling, I never joke about these sort of things. Seb'll escort you home, I'll get take away. Do you like Chinese?"

Elspeth continued to shake her head, unable to comprehend what had just happened, but she didn't get a chance to protest before Sebastian grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet, dragging her back across the room. She stumbled and tripped, no longer consumed with her anger. Elspeth was scared. She was terrified.

"Let me go," Elspeth pleaded when Sebastian pulled her towards the car waiting outside for them. He opened the back door. "Please, let me go," she tried again. Sebastian's grip loosened momentarily as he pushed her towards the open door and Elspeth took the opportunity to rip her arm away, whirling away to run. She didn't care if he shot her; anything was better than being forced to live with Jim Moriarty.

She barely ran two steps before Sebastian's strong hands grabbed her from behind, pinning her to the car, stopping her from struggling.

"Look," he said to her. "Believe it or not, I don't like this anymore than you do but, trust me, it's best to just go along with whatever he says."

Elspeth gazed back up at Sebastian for a few seconds, then went limp in his hands and allowed him to guide her into the backseat of the car. She didn't try to run again. Not in the few seconds she had before he got into the driver's seat, not when he unlocked the car doors after pulling up in the car park, not even when he turned his back on her so he could unlock the front door of the penthouse. Of course Jim Moriarty would own a freakin' penthouse, she thought with a scoff.

It was nice. Large, spacious . . . two plush, soft looking sofas were set out in front of the flat screen TV, the living room separated from the shiny kitchen by a counter. Sebastian pointed down the corridor, telling her it led to the bedrooms and the bathroom she and Moriarty were going to have to share. That made Elspeth shudder. She sincerely hoped the rooms had locks.

"Come here," Sebastian ordered from the kitchen, holding a roll of bandages in one hand. Elspeth glared back at him suspiciously. "Your hand is going to be really sore if you don't let me do this," he warned. Glancing down, Elspeth realised her knuckles were covered in dry blood; she must've grazed them during her fight. Slowly, uncertainly, she walked forwards and let Sebastian take her wrist, holding it in a firm but gentle grip as he started to dab at her knuckles with antiseptic.

"Soak a flannel in cold water and put it over your eyes. It'll help with any stinging," Sebastian told her. It only took him a minute to wrap her hand. "Try not to aggravate that either."

"How would I aggravate it?" Elspeth asked sourly, pulling away. Sebastian smirked. He was rather nice looking, Elspeth realised.

"Oh you know, flex your fingers, punch Jim in the face." He was trying to make her smile but it didn't work. Sebastian sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he muttered, walking past her. The door clicked shut a few seconds later and Elspeth was left standing in the kitchen, completely and utterly alone.

Breathe, Elspeth reminded herself. Just . . . keep breathing.

Curious, she began to explore the kitchen. There was a lot of cooking equipment, far more knives and pans than they'd had at 221B, and the cupboards were full of food. When Elspeth opened the fridge and microwave, there weren't any body parts hidden inside. For some reason it made her sad.

Wandering down the corridor with a bottle of water in one hand, Elspeth opened the first door she walked past. It was Moriarty's room. The bed was unmade and on the table beside it were a couple of dog eared books stacked into a neat pile, an alarm clock perched on top of it. The room was otherwise quite tidy, Elspeth noticed as she crossed it, picking up the first book on the pile. It was a detective novel. Scoffing, Elspeth threw it back down.

Unable to stay there for too long – it felt strangely intimate, being in Moriarty's bedroom – Elspeth shut the door behind her and opened the next one, guessing it was the spare bedroom.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

The room was the same size as Moriarty's, the walls clean and white, but that wasn't what surprised Elspeth. There were bags and boxes piled up on the bed. From the doorway, Elspeth could see one of her sketchbooks poking out from a box.

Staggering forwards, Elspeth went through the contents of the nearest box – her sketchbooks, all of her books, and various other possessions were packed away. She unzipped the duffle bag next to it, tipping it over so that all of her clothes fell on the floor in a pile by her feet. Everything was there, all the clothes that were tucked away into her wardrobe in 221B. Her t-shirts, the pair of jeans that were so paint stained that they were beyond repair, even that stupid sparkly skirt she'd brought on a whim and only wore once.

When Elspeth left, she'd left most of the stuff behind. Now, somehow, Moriarty had brought it all to his penthouse for her . . . her mind was so overwhelmed that she didn't grasp the implications of his actions.

Slowly, mechanically, Elspeth started to pack her things away. She put her clothes in the wardrobe, slinging her favourite jumper on the bed like she always had at home, and left all her pairs of shoes lined up so she could see them. She arranged her books and sketchbooks on the shelves, left all her paints out on the dressing table, and stuffed the bags and boxes under her bed. When she was done, she sat down on the bed.

Everything from her room at 221B had been packed away, taken from her home and brought to Moriarty's penthouse. All before she'd arrived. That meant –

"He had this planned," Elspeth said to herself, realisation dawning on her. She squeezed her eyes shut and swore loudly then. Moriarty had planned this. The thought made her shudder, feel sick, want to cry.

Kicking her boots off, Elspeth laid down on the bed and curled up, hugging the jumper. It smelled like 221B. She cried then. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she curled up even more, bringing her knees up to her chest so she was absolutely tiny, her whole body trembling while she sobbed loudly. She didn't know when Moriarty would come back or if he would hear her crying, but she couldn't give a damn at that point. She cried for hours, and when she finally fell asleep, she slept with tears on her cheeks.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Sebastian rolled his eyes at his boss, closing the door behind him and carrying the take away through to the kitchen. The last he had seen of the girl was earlier that day, when he'd left her trembling in the middle of the apartment. He'd told Moriarty about their brief conversation. Moriarty found it hilarious.

When he didn't receive a response, Moriarty frowned. "Rude," he muttered to himself. "Seb, where is she?"

"Probably hiding in her room," Sebastian said, shrugging. He picked up a spring roll and bit into it. "Wouldn't blame her if she was."

"Why would she hide from little old me?" Moriarty scoffed. "Ellie," he sung, striding down the corridor. He stopped at her room, surprised to see the door wide open. If it had been shut, he would've left her alone, but an open door was an invitation. Moriarty took a step into the room, then paused again. Elspeth was asleep.

She had curled up into a ball on top of the sheets, with her arms wrapped around a jumper that she held to her chest, and even though Elspeth was sleeping, she looked far from peaceful. Moriarty could see the tears that lingered on her cheeks, watching her frown and tighten her arms around the jumper while she dreamed, a soft whimper escaping her lips. She was having a nightmare.

"Should we wake her?" Moriarty asked Sebastian when he joined him in Elspeth's room. Sebastian watched her momentarily, then shook his head.

"Let her sleep. We'll leave some food by the microwave for her to warm up if she wants it."

Sebastian left the room immediately but Moriarty lingered for a moment longer, his eyes on Elspeth. Her face scrunched up, her fists clenching, and he briefly wondered what she was dreaming about. At that moment, Elspeth was so unaware and vulnerable.

Moriarty only left the bedroom when Sebastian appeared in the doorway again, threatening to eat all the spring rolls if Moriarty didn't hurry up. He shut the door when he left.

"Why are you being so nice?" Moriarty asked Sebastian suspiciously. The first time the two men had met, Sebastian had someone pinned against the wall by their throat, threatening to kill them and do things that probably weren't even anatomically possible with the corpse, using a lot of colourful language and leaving very little to the imagination.

Sebastian shrugged. "I feel sorry for her, I guess."

"Why?"

"Dunno," Sebastian said with another shrug. "Just do."

Elspeth's eyes snapped open suddenly, disorientated and fighting the panic attack threatening to blossom. She hadn't had just one nightmare, but a combination of several. Sherlock falling, Moriarty goading and laughing, John and Mrs Hudson turning their backs on her, all those men and women she'd turned into the police chasing her down a dark alley, hands grabbing her and pulling her and groping her . . .

She shuddered. Throwing the jumper that was tangled around her off, Elspeth ran her hands through her hair and pushed it out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ears. She fought back the tears in her eyes and tried to steady her rapid breathing. Elspeth had the momentary idea of calling out to Sherlock before remembering. That was the worst part. Remembering.

Her stomach felt uncomfortably empty. Elspeth thought back to that morning; hadn't Moriarty promised a take away? It was highly unlikely he would've left her any, but she reasoned that there had to be something in that giant kitchen she could snack on.

Elspeth opened the door slowly, gingerly. Peering out, she looked down the corridor for any obvious signs that the living room or kitchen was already occupied. All the lights were off. There was no sound.

Even so, Elspeth edged along slowly, ready to run back to the bedroom if she had to. She let out a small sigh of relief when she saw that both rooms were empty.

Wandering through to the kitchen, Elspeth was surprised to see a plate of food on the counter by the microwave, waiting for her. As Sebastian had suggested, the two men had left her a portion of everything in case she wanted it. Elspeth didn't know that, of course, and stuck the plate into the microwave to warm the food up. She was quick to open the door before the loud beeping could travel through the apartment and wake Moriarty up.

If someone had told Elspeth Holmes that she would one day end up sitting on Moriarty's kitchen floor, eating left over Chinese food in the middle of the night, she would've suggested that they get their heads checked.

Then again, if someone had told Elspeth that her father would die and she would leave home to bring down every single person involved in the organisation that killed him, she would've told them where to go. Maybe not so politely though. This time last year, Elspeth wouldn't have recognised the person she had become; hard, cold, wrathful. The thought put her off her food and she slowly lowered the fork onto the half empty plate, wondering what on earth she was doing. She was eating left over Chinese food in Jim Moriarty's kitchen when she could be ringing the police, telling where they were –

But she didn't know where they were. She'd panicked so much about being taken to his place that she hadn't been paying attention.

Elspeth scowled, running a hand down her face. "Idiot," she hissed to herself.

She didn't bother trying to open the door. Elspeth could tell it was locked; Moriarty wasn't stupid enough to leave it otherwise, especially while he was asleep. Elspeth picked her fork up again.

"Whatcha doing?" Moriarty asked. The sound of his voice made Elspeth jump, her eyes wider than those of a deer in the headlight, and it didn't go unnoticed by him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Elspeth muttered. She didn't look up.

Moriarty smirked, leaning against the counter with one ankle crossed over the other. Elspeth refused to look up even though she could feel his eyes watching every move she made.

"There's sofas, you know," he said casually. "And a dining table. You don't have to sit on the floor."

Elspeth snorted. "Since when were you so considerate?"

"I've always been considerate." Moriarty sounded almost offended. Elspeth met his eyes reluctantly, her gaze wary and guarded, but Moriarty's expression was so ridiculous that she had to look away again before it made her smile. "I left food for you, gave you your own room, I even brought all your stuff here for you." Moriarty's grin turned sly. "I like the sparkly skirt. Very sexy."

Even in the dark Elspeth's blush was obvious. She didn't say anything.

Moriarty watched her as she ate. He wasn't like Sherlock, he didn't analyse every move someone made, but there was something fascinating about Elspeth. She acted like he wasn't there – Moriarty caught her sneaking sideways glances at him though – and ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. Elspeth honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd had a decent meal.

When she finished, Elspeth stared down at her empty plate for a second. At home she would've just left it on the side but Moriarty's apartment was so clean . . .

A pale hand in front of her made her blink. A second later, Elspeth handed Moriarty the plate, watching as he opened the dishwasher. It was odd seeing him behave so domestically. Then again, as much as Elspeth hated to acknowledge it, Moriarty was human. She continued to watch him as he started to make himself a coffee.

Elspeth frowned. "What time is it?"

"Six," Moriarty said. That was when Elspeth realised he was fully dressed and behind her, light was streaming in from behind the blinds. She'd been asleep all night. That was the longest Elspeth had slept all month. "Sofa's pretty comfy, you know," he added.

Elspeth didn't reply. Without warning, a small sob came from the back of her throat and she curled her knees up to her chest, burying her face into them as she cried silently.

Moriarty glanced over at her, halfway through pouring his coffee, and frowned. He hadn't been expecting that.

"Fine, don't use the sofa," he muttered under his breath. He was confused. Sipping his piping hot coffee, Moriarty paused and watched Elspeth for a few seconds, but she was so uninteresting that he just walked past her and turned on the TV to block out the sounds of her pathetic whining. He still had a little time before he had to leave. Elspeth didn't know what she was expecting. Jim Moriarty was hardly the type to sit down and comfort her.

The thought made her sob again. What Elspeth needed the most was comfort.

She regretted leaving 221B, she hated herself for saying all those horrid things to John, she wished she'd never started bringing down Moriarty's network . . . Elspeth didn't even know if she'd made a significant impact; all Elspeth had done was got into a few fights, sent Lestrade and Mycroft a few texts. They'd probably be of more use because both of them had the facilities for a proper interrogation, unlike Elspeth. She was just a teenager that everyone underestimated.

But no matter how many people she beat up, or had Lestrade arrest, or Mycroft interrogated, it was never going to bring Sherlock back. And that just made her cry even harder.

Moriarty frowned unhappily when he lowered the volume slightly, listening to Elspeth sob and sniffle. She was so pathetic. What had happened to that girl – the one who argued and yelled and stood up to him? That was the Elspeth he liked.

Finishing his coffee – first thing in the morning was the only time Jim Moriarty drank coffee because it gave him the caffeine boost he needed to get through the day – he rose to his feet and strolled through to the kitchen, glancing down at Elspeth once more. She wasn't crying so much, which was a huge relief. Moriarty had no idea how to deal with a crying girl.

"Are you just going to sit there all day?" Moriarty asked her, his voice light, teasing. Elspeth gritted her teeth.

"What else do you expect me to do?"

That made Moriarty smirk. "Anything you want," he said. Elspeth lifted her head a little. "Except leave, obviously. You can't do that."

"So I'm just a prisoner," Elspeth said dryly. She looked at Moriarty. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were pink, and there were remnants of tears still clinging to her long eyelashes. Moriarty found himself supressing the sudden urge to just reach out and brush them away for her. She was so angry and bitter, and Moriarty swore that he had never seen anything so beautiful.

"Duh," he said, as if it was so obvious. Elspeth glowered at him.

"You're sick."

"And you're adorable," Moriarty told her.

"I didn't mean it as a compliment."

Moriarty's smirk grew but Elspeth didn't smile back, just continued to glare up at him. Still smirking, he took a few steps forwards and offered his hand out to her.

Elspeth stared at it for a second. He was trying to help her up, she knew, but the last thing that Elspeth wanted to do was touch him. But her legs felt so unsteady that Elspeth was certain she'd fall over if she didn't have assistance, so she reluctantly put her hand in Moriarty's. He was deceptively strong, lifting her to her feet with little effort. His hand was warm. Elspeth dropped it immediately.

"Seb'll be checking in on you later," Moriarty told her, strolling past Elspeth and towards the front door. "Don't do anything stupid now, will you? I would hate to have to punish you when things are going so beautifully."

"I'd like to see you try," Elspeth muttered under her breath. Moriarty smiled to himself.

"I'll miss you."

Elspeth's response was short and rude, and Moriarty couldn't help but laugh at it as he shut the door. She was very still as he left, listening to the sound of his footsteps fade away, and when they were completely gone, Elspeth let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. That hadn't been as awful as she expected.

"I'm going nuts," Elspeth moaned, running a hand down her face. She must be if she considered that encounter being halfway close to alright.

Sighing, she turned around, drummed her fingers against the counter and frowned. Elspeth glanced towards the TV and grimaced. She considered a shower but the thought of someone – either Moriarty or Sebastian – walking in while she was naked and wet was rather off putting.

"Guess it's back to my room then," Elspeth muttered to herself. Not that she minded, of course. Elspeth wandered back down the corridor, her head still spinning from her conversation with Moriarty. The man had terrorised her, plagued her nightmares, practically ruined her life – and Elspeth had just engaged in a semi-civil conversation, minus her swearing at him before he left, of course. Elspeth didn't know whether to feel proud or concerned for her mental health.

Shutting her bedroom door behind her, Elspeth laid down on her bed with a sudden exhaustion weighing her down. If Elspeth dreamed that afternoon, she didn't remember when she woke up.