Blissfully unaware

                                    

                                          
"You always feel it [pain], Sherlock. But you don't have to fear it. Pain, heartbreak, loss, death... It's all good."
-Andrew Scott as Jim Moriarty, season 3 episode 3
                          
I hated having my brother for a roommate.
                          
"Sherlock!" My voice bellowed as the male hopped to my room, revealing me stood, arms folded. A facade of anger.
                          
"Oh, no. Don't do that." He rolled his eyes.
                          
"Excuse me?"
                          
"The fake anger. You really can't pull that off."
                          
I sighed. "Sherlo-"
                          
"Your hair." He interrupted. "Your hair is ruffled, slightly greasy however you took an abnormally long time in the shower this morning. Because you're lazy? No, because you washed your hair. It's clean, shouldn't have grease in it, should it?"
                          
"Sher-"
                          
"But it does, mild grease in streaks. You've been running your hands through it, distressed, exasperated. You arms, folded yet you're picking your nails, fumbling with your hands. You're not angry at all."
                          
"Are you quite finished?"
                          
Silence.
                          
"Sherlock, your bloody paperwork is mixed up in my stuff. Again." I spoke through gritted teeth. 
                          
"Ah of course, I'll be needing that." Whipping the paper from my hand and calling out to John, he skipped from my room, leaving me stood in anger.
                          
"And I want my laptop back!" I called out as the door swung shut, causing me to groan in annoyance.
I hated having my brother for a roommate.
                          
I longed for freedom, I held a firm belief that everyone needed an escape from Sherlock every once in a while, and mine was made better as I was welcomed to an empty house at the end of it. "Ah, peace and quiet." I breathed.
                          
Ring. 
                          
Ugh, the doorbell.
                          
Ring ring ring.
                          
"Alright alright." I swung the door open. Mrs Hudson stood with her usual confused look. I observed her, making deductions from the way she was dressed and her body language. "There was something in the post." I wasn't asking.
                          
"Yes, dear." She whimpered, handing me a small envelope. The first thing that pricked my interest was how damp the parcel was, the second was how it was addressed to someone named 'JM' and the third was that there was something peculiar shaped in the bottom."Thank you" I spoke distractedly, closing the door in the old woman's face before she could pester me.
                          
The thin knife sliced the top of the envelope clean off, the contents causing me to jump back, covering my face with my hand from shock. This was disgusting. At the same time I heard some commotion from downstairs, Mrs Hudson's complaints coming through the floorboards as I heard a hurry of feet on the stairs.
                          
I listened.
                          
Two people. Both male, one well dressed judging by the sound of his shoes. The other heavy on his feet. They wasted no time in knocking.
                          
"Sorry!" The larger one said. 
                          
The other held a blank expression. I looked him up and down, frustrated that I could not make a single deduction. I held the parcel in my hand, glancing at him with inquisitive eyes. "This is yours?" 
                          
He nodded. I looked him up and down. He worked for the smart one, right handed, strong, trained with a gun, fearful. "Yes. Sorry you received it." He swallowed, his pulse increasing.
                          
"Sebastian," the second spoke. "Go wait in the car, you're making a fool of yourself." His expression portrayed boredom. His posture one of confidence. The man, Sebastian, obliged- leaving in a flurry. "I apologise on his behalf." He spoke again, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.
                          
"This is yours." I repeated, not asking this time.
                          
"It is. Addressed to you by mistake, i'm afraid."
                          
"Sebastian did it." 
                          
"Oh?" His eyebrow raised, but he wasn't surprised. "And how do you know that."
                          
"The fear on his face, his body language."
                          
"Good deductions. I wasn't aware that Sherlock had a sister."
                          
I glanced at him. His body language. "Lie." I spoke without thinking.
                          
"Good. You're more intelligent than you look."
                          
Was that a compliment?
                          
"Make some tea." 
                          
"Was that an order?"
                          
"Did i stutter?" His response was immediate. He had planned my reaction.
                          
"Make it yourself. You seem fairly accustomed to this house." I said, throwing the parcel containing the fingers to him. He stared, walking around me in circles like a shark to its prey. I stood my ground. "Who are you?" I asked the predator.
                          
"A friend of your brother."
                          
"He don't have friends, I'm sure you're aware."
                          
"True." He credited, still circling me. "I work with him, then."
                          
I stared at him. He stared at me. We remained this way a good few minutes, my mind whirring. "I best be going." He whispered, holding eye contact. "Tell your brother that Jim Moriarty says hi." And with that, he left, his strides slow yet confident.
                          
~~~
                          
"Ah yes, I did it. You're all very welcome." Sherlock bellowed. He entered the room with his arms outstretched, his face a smile as he bragged to John and Molly who trailed behind. "I did it, Alice." He nudged me, trying to catch my interest.
                          
"You always do." I trained my voice to appear bored, glancing up at him with a lack of interest. "Your 'friend' popped over for a chat." I made eye contact with him now. He was frowning. Confused.
                          
"I don't have friends." 
                          
"That's what I told him." John sniggered quietly from the door. "Jim Moriarty, was his name." 
                          
Silence.
                          
I glanced up, my brother's face grave. Distant. Worried. "Stay away from him." He ordered.
                          
"I didn't choose to speak to him."
                          
"Stay. Away." He commanded. "Promise me."
                          
"Is his some older brother talk?" I questioned.
                          
"Yes. He's dangerous, you can't get mixed up with him. Promise me." 
Silence. I stared. Trying to deduce my brother was always fruitless, I always came up clean.
                          
"I promise." Eventually I spoke. My voice hardly a whisper. 
                          
We stared at each other a while.
                          
"Who is he?" I asked. 
                          
"Someone you're going to stay away from."
                          
He left. I sighed. I hated how vague he could be.
The ticking on the clock alerted me of the time, making up my mind to crawl into bed as my restless body eventually feel to sleep, blissfully unaware of the danger which waited right around the corner for me. Or rather, waited at my window for me.