rating may change as chapters are added (most likely for violence)
"Look, when you said help-" Molly begins in strained tones before Sherlock shushes her, swinging the flashlight's beam straight into her face. She winces and squeezes her eyes shut against the glare, concentrating on how red the insides of her eyelids look instead of the fact that there could be three snipers crouched in the rafters of the moonlit warehouse, waiting for the prime moment to gun them down.
"Do you really want us to get killed by one of Moriarty's men or are you going to shut up?" Sherlock is exasperated by Molly's constant fretting, but his focus returns quickly to the hunt. For two months he had been cooped up in Molly Hooper's apartment, collecting bits of newspapers and photos from late night internet searches and items from the underground networks that ran through London, chock full of information—all went up on Molly's living room wall tied together with bits of red string. Gradually the Spider's web began to emerge. It was massive and sprawling but so delicately intertwined; oh, Moriarty had been a clever one.
Now, finally, the search had begun. The game was on.
God knows why he had taken Molly. Sherlock himself couldn't really remember clearly how she got here but he'd been regretting it since they set foot in this deserted district on the outskirts of the city. He had known Molly to be the shy, quiet type, timid and probably easily scared. His assumptions had been wrong. Over the course of the past two months he had learned that it was very hard to frighten Molly Hooper, but when you did, she became flustered and went into a state of constant and inane babble.
He had tried to leave her in the cab on the ride over, but she had refused to leave his side, which was the most unwise moves she could have made. Now here they were, Molly clinging ever so slightly to the back of his coat, Sherlock peeking the flashlight into various niches, and whenever there is movement so slight or a whisper of the creaking building, both stand absolutely stock still, hardly daring to breathe, until Sherlock gives the all-clear. Molly is certain that at any moment hot shards of metal will rip through her and she would fall to the floor, her death announced by the echoes of gunfire.
Sherlock is less concerned about that.
They plow on through the debris. Some of the roof has fallen in and the night sky is visible overheard. Neither enjoys it, though, as Molly is afraid of what she might see if she looks, and Sherlock just doesn't care.
After about two hours and a shin jammed against a stray I-beam on Sherlock's part, both are a little bit more than annoyed with the whole affair. Sherlock indignantly heads out of the door to the warehouse, grumbling, Molly trailing not far behind.
"But I have to be right. All the evidence points here. The connections are all in place and all the background information points to this, specifically. They were renowned for secret meetings and this being the best place to host one, I can't help but…oh. Oh."
Molly does not like the sound of that oh.
Sherlock backs up and stands very close to her, the flashlight's beam skimming over the forest that borders the abandoned building.
"Molly, we have to leave now." His voice is falsely calm and barely loud enough for her to catch even with him so close that she can feel his breath on her ear. "Just back away. Towards the entrance we came through. Nice and slow."
She spares a glance from the forest to Sherlock and sees him staring down into her face with what initially she takes for determination but his eyes betray him. Icy blue and wide with fear. What scares her even more is the way he's not looking her in the eyes. His gaze rests with a horrified look on her forehead.
And that's when she glances upward and sees the curious red dot hovering in space between his eyebrows.