Murder: Don’t shoot! Muse is paranoid and thinks a serial killer is stalking them for three days
“I will siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin you.”
Sherlock bolted upright, holding tight to the knife Saintly had gotten him one Christmas as the long forgotten voice protruded through his dreams. He hadn’t seen anything about that man in years! Why was he suddenly thinking about him now? It was impossible for Moriarty to get to him from here, absolutely impossible because Sherlock was still way back in time, that Jim Moriarty didn’t even exist yet! Unless… Unless he found a way to get to the past as well…
“Ha-ha-ha-ha Stayin’ aliiiive!”
Throwing the covers from his body, he crossed to the window. That song, that song hadn’t been invented yet. Why was he hearing it? Cautiously peering out into the street, he tried looking for a sign, anything that the mad man might still be out there, still hunting him, wanting him truly dead. His piercing blue eyes stared out at the road below, there was no one out and about, but he swore he could hear that song! From where? Turning away, he started to move towards the door, placing a hand on the knob as he listened though the wood. There! The song was coming from out there.
He raised his knife, pulling the door open just as the song cut short. His heart pounded in his ears, threatening to come out of his throat as he peered into the Darkness. Where was he? He was somewhere, and Sherlock would NOT let him get to Saintly or Holmes or even Logan for that matter. Not here, not this time! Slowly closing the door, he eased back into the room, telling Saintly to go back to bed, telling her that everything was alright, he had just been dreaming. Lying down beside her, he let her sleep close to him, but abandoned all hope for getting anymore sleep that night.
His day was spent looking over his shoulder, listening, waiting, wondering where he was, when he was going to strike. Logan made snide comments, but he ignored them. Logan had Victor and Sherlock had Moriarty. Saintly seemed to be grown increasingly worried about him, and even Holmes was giving him odd looks. No one was there, but Sherlock was more than positive that something was there… waiting to strike.
Sleep was hard to come by, and when he finally did get to sleep, it didn’t last long.
“I owe you a fall.”
No! No, not this again. Sherlock thought violently, fighting the urge to get up and out of bed. Saintly was already worried about him, getting up again would force him to explain, and this time she would bring Holmes and Logan into it if he didn’t talk. It was best just to let it go, just to wait and see if anything came out of the dark to get him.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha Stayin aliiiiiiiiiive!”
Gripping the knife again, he remained tense, watching the shadows, waiting for something to spring out of them, waiting for the villain to show his face so Sherlock could send his knife right through him, right through his neck. As soon as morning came, he was up, getting dressed, and claiming he lost his shoe so he could search everywhere around the room. Nothing. No one… With an exasperated sigh, he turned towards the window, his face nearly paling more than usual.
“I. O. U”
On a street sign. His blood went cold as he stared at it, and it took him a good minute to even consider starting to move again. This couldn’t be happening again, this couldn’t be following him here of all places! Here he had a new life, a good life, an exciting life he wanted. That Excitement did NOT include a homicidal psychopath. Blinking a few times, he wondered if Holmes was having hauntings from his own Moriarty, but being that Logan wasn’t running through the streets looking for the man, it seemed unlikely. He dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his eyes, tired from little to no sleep the past two days. He had grown used to sleeping like a normal person, but apparently that won’t be happening.
This man was going to run him into his grave. Again.
The young detective perched himself on the roof top, looking over the edge, thinking deeply, waiting for something from. If he was going to show himself, here was the place to do it. This time, Sherlock was going to kill him personally, make sure he couldn’t get himself out of it. Logan and Holmes had gone out for the night, having a night to themselves, as they deserved, but Saintly refused to leave Sherlock, and she sat close to him, not saying a word as he paced from one side to the other, looking, waiting, ready to confront him face on.
“I’m going to get him… I’m going to get him.” He convinced himself, his gun ready, his sword at his side and Saintly close to him, ready to steady him if anything should happen.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha Stayin aliiiiive!”
He stopped again, looking around, hearing it, ready to spring on it. His eyes fell on Saintly. “Do you hear that? It’s there. It’s… The song! Do you hear it?”
Saintly shook her head, looking a bit worried as she stood up, walking over to him, and placing her arms around him. Sherlock was not one for losing his mind, and seeing him like this was killing her on the inside. Asking again, he tried to find where the song was coming from, but Saintly held him sternly, looking him directly in the eyes, trying to get through to him. “Sherlock, there is no song! There is no one here, Logan can’t smell anything, Holmes has gone through everything. No one is after you.”
“Someone is always after me!” He snapped, holding his head, trying to figure out where the sudden paranoia was coming from. He had been fine, he had been peaceful, but now… Now he was on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Too much good, now something bad had to happen, right? That’s how life was. “Always…”