* Hello, lovely readers! This is my first attempt at a fanfiction story so if it's terrible I do apologize. I appreciate all comments and reviews on both the story and writing style. Enjoy my idea of how Moriarty should make his comeback. :) *
The East Wind
John and Mary Watson watch as the small jet's landing wheels touch down on the pavement of the run way where only minutes before they had rested waiting to take the great consulting detective to his post in Eastern Europe. The couple inch closer together to stave off the chill kicked up by the plane's descent and await the reappearance of the coat clad man on board.
Beside them the well-dressed Mycroft Holmes exits the sleek black car meant to take him back to the council. His leather gloved hands grip the wooden handle of his umbrella tighter than necessary as he stares towards his younger brother's silhouette stepping quickly down the steps.
Sherlock Holmes's heart beat faster as the plane crept higher into the sky taking him further away from the people he cared for. He told himself this would be the last time he would allow the tears to fall freely on his sharp cheeks; four minutes into the flight that plan was drastically destroyed. The call from his brother dried his eyes temporarily as the knowledge he would be returning home swept through his mind, but the happiness of the small victory was swiftly replaced by dread.
"He's back," came Sherlock's half strangled whisper in the empty cabin.
His crystal eyes closely watched the ground as the plane lowered too slowly for his agitated mind. How is he back? I watched him pull the trigger, felt the pressure of his hand loosen in mine. How is he still alive?! The never ending stream of thoughts swirled through his consciousness, but there was one that stuck more viciously than the rest, taking root and suffocating him. Does he know about Molly?
He was out of his seat seconds after the wheels skidded to a halt, and made his usual dramatic appearance stepping out into the frosty air surrounded by a haze created by the landing. His silhouette though strong also showed the nervousness he carried, and as he leaped from the plane his mind swirled as the mist around him did.
The party waiting by the car welcomed back the man that bounded quickly over with warm smiles, but John quickly realized his friend's expression was not one of joy.
"Sherlock, what is it?" questioned the blonde man. "I know Moriarty is back, but you can stop him. There's no need to look so worried." His words, meant to reassure the black haired man, went virtually unheard as Sherlock stepped past them all before turning back with a wild look in his eyes.
"Molly, where's Molly? Have either of you spoken to her today? I need to know where she is." Panic stricken, Sherlock couldn't keep the tone out of his voice as he addressed the two before him. When their answers came up no he roughly turned to his older brother with a growl. "Mycroft, tell your people to find her now! And don't ask questions!"
His abrupt yell startled the small group. Their wide eyes were all trained on the raving man before them. Sherlock paced beside the car, hands on either side of his head, eyes shut tight, muttering out loud about how he must make sure she's safe and ensure Moriarty doesn't know about her. Mary stepped forward reaching out her hand to place lightly on his arm, but pulled back sharply when he spun on his heels to face them once again.
His eyes, softer but still frenzied, pleaded with them. "I am sorry but please help me." This kindness, not common in the man, was enough to pull his brother out of his stupor.
"I'll make some calls, ask around. Shouldn't be difficult to find the pathologist," Mycroft responded. Pulling is phone out of his coat pocket and scrutinizing his little brother with watchful eyes he attempted to reassure the distraught man, "I'm sure she's fine. Have a little patience, and you'll see."
Crystalline blue eyes brimming with fresh unshed tears followed the movements of the government man as he dialed a number and raised the phone to his ear. John moved into Sherlock's line of sight forcing him to look down at him instead of staring at his brother's back. The look of worry that decorated the soldier's face matched his friend's.
"What is it? What aren't you telling us? You've never shown this sort of worry for her, what's changed?"
Sherlock glanced away briefly before fixing his eyes back on John's. "There's something I haven't told you about us. Molly and I, I mean. We're..." He cut off suddenly eyes drawn and mind distracted by the blaring music emanating from the phone in Mary's pocket. The chorus to Stayin' Alive pierced through the now silent group startling one of them in particular. No, it can't be. Please let it just be a warning.
Striding towards the shocked woman in the red coat, he grabbed the phone from her steady hands, and pressed the accept call button before it could go to voice mail. On the other line he could hear the distant muffled sounds of a woman screaming. No Molly please it can't be.
"Hello, Sherlock! Did you miss me?" came the sadistic voice on the other end of the line stopping Sherlock dead in his tracks. "I believe I have something of yours," Moriarty said before moving the mouth piece of the phone closer to the sounds of the struggling woman. Sherlock heard her thrashing about; her movements created a grating sound as though she were tied down to a metal legged chair. "You really did have me fooled, you know. Who would have thought little mousy Molly Hooper would be the key to breaking you?"
As the twisted psychopath spoke the detective's face turned paler his gut twisting knowing somehow the vile spider had found his greatest weakness and now planned to exploit it. Watching him turn towards the car, sheer terror on his face, John asked who it was, if it was him, and what he wanted. Slowly pulling the phone away from his head Sherlock turned the speaker on allowing the others to hear the sickening voice coming through it. Upon reaching the car he set the phone on the hood and placed his hands on either side bracing himself for what he was about to hear.
Moriarty continued with his wicked banter, "I never would have guessed it would be her. After all I did date her to see how close she was to you, and quickly dismissed the thought of her ever counting in your eyes when you humiliated her in front of me. I guess now I know that was because you wanted her for yourself." His maniacal laughter filtered through accompanied by the tsk tsk noise he made in disapproval. "Didn't you ever learn sentiment makes you weak?"
"What do you want?" The question came from Sherlock through clenched teeth.
"Ha what do I want? I want you, silly. I want you to burn!" Moriarty screamed the word sounding like the roaring of a panther before it strikes at its prey. "I told you I owe you a fall, Sherlock, and since you managed to escape me the first time I'll have to deliver it another way," he taunted.
"Let her go, and I'll do anything you ask of me," pleaded Sherlock, but before he could say more he was violently cut off by more shouting.
"Let her go?! Why would I do that?! I want to burn the heart out of you, Sherlock Holmes, and she is going to be the match."
There were shuffling sounds and then the madman replied once more, "Do you have anything to say to our wittle Sherlock, Molly?" The sharp sound of duct tape being ripped away from flesh followed the question.
"Sherlock, don't do anything he says; I'll be fine." Her voice sounded small but determined delivering the words. "Remember to feed Bartholomew the cat," she added on as an afterthought. A crack of flesh meeting flesh resounded over the line as an open hand connected with Molly's cheek.
"That's not what I told you to say!" exclaimed the now furious psychopath. "Sorry about that; she's been a feisty one today, tried to stab Sebastian and myself with one of her scalpels when she saw us."
"Don't touch her!" Sherlock couldn't stop the anger pouring off him at the sound of that man hurting his Molly. He growled out a warning, "I swear I'm going to kill you."
"Oh, don't sound so cross, Sherly. Besides, that was nothing compared to what I have in store for her," Moriarty responded calmly. A hint of sadism coursed under his words as if he was smiling as he thought of all the things he would do to the woman.
"We must be going though; wouldn't want to miss our ride. But one more thing," as he said that the sliding of a gun barrel reached Sherlock's ears. He began screaming the name of the woman he desperately needed to see safe, but it didn't drown out the resounding cry of the gunshot that rang out. Her screams were heard briefly before being once again muffled. "Tick tock, Sherlock."
The line went dead. Sherlock shouted her name over and over pounding his fists against the hood staring at the black screen. John stood speechless, mouth agape; Mary silently gasped into her hand; Mycroft observed his brother's erratic behavior feeling completely useless. Soon the distraught detective gave up his wailing on the infernal machine below him and turned to the others. His eyes screamed frantic energy.
"We need to get to Barts immediately," he said before racing to the back door of the car.
All three of the onlookers followed close behind, diving into the car from all sides and directing the driver to step on it. Mycroft resumed his calls with haste requesting assistance at once while John asked, "Why Barts? How do you know that's where she was?"
"Because her cat's name is Toby not Bartholomew," Sherlock stated before slipping into his mind palace to search for answers to questions not yet asked. I will find you, Molly. I will save you. I promise.