Summary: Post TFP. Sherlock finds himself at the hands of a Russian crime lord, who is intent on causing more harm than to just his body with the news he is about to reveal to him. Disclosure: Scenes of torture and pain.
The clang of keys being forced and turned into a lock stirred Sherlock form his unconsciousness. He registered the harshness of the cold metal enclosing both of his wrists. Then came the pain. He first felt the throbbing in his cranium, where he had been repeatedly beaten by a wooden bat. Then there was the stinging down his naked torso. Multiple open wounds were scattered all over his back, which seeped his body with pain every time he breathed. His left eye was swollen and sore and he estimated he only had around thirty percent of his vision.
He lifted his head to look at the figure who had just entered. Through his good eye he observed a short, rounded and middle aged man dressed immaculately in a three piece suit. As much as he wanted to deduce him, he was in no state to do so. The cocktail of drugs he had been administered clouded his brain, and his obscured vision made it difficult to observe the finer details of the male. Sherlock became quickly frustrated by this, but didn't show it.
"Mr Holmes. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you." He spoke with a Russian accent.
The man came to stand before him, when Sherlock smelt the faint odours on his personnel. Smoke. From a cigarette? No. The smoke was purely tobacco. Must be a cigar. A Cameroon binder and a Dominican filler. That leaves one cigar. A Gurkha Black Dragon. The most expensive cigar on the planet. Then he inspected the pair of Italian leather brogues under his nose. This man was filthy rich. Dimitri Sokolov. Leader of the Ukranian Sex Ring.
"I would introduce myself, but I think you've already figured that out haven't you? My men here tell me you've been a slight, how do you English say, a pain in the arse?"
He walked over to a metal trolley covered in various torture instruments, all stained with Sherlock's blood.
"I do not like pains Mr Holmes." He picked up a barbed crop from the table and examined it under the harsh lighting. "What I do like to do is to eradicate them."
Dimitri walked over to Sherlock with the crop in hand and rested it against Sherlock's stubbled face and slashed cheek. Sherlock stared into a pair of dark beady eyes.
"I have a very successful business here Mr Holmes. My employees work very hard. Why do you feel the need to fix something that isn't broke. My business is none of your concern and my employees in particular are of no regard to you." He swept the crop up and down his face. Sherlock tried to not wince when the barbs aggravated his open wounds.
"Don't talk to me like an idiot. They are not your employees. They are slaves. Young girls who are trapped in a system and drugged until they can't speak or comprehend a single thought. Then sold to and raped by the man with the fattest wallet." Dimitri struck him hard under his jaw. Sherlock growled in pain and he could already taste the blood rising in his mouth.
"It's not rape when they don't say no, Mr Holmes. Besides I didn't come here to talk about my business with you. I have brought you something." His words were laced with venom. He dropped the cane to the floor and his hand moved into his inner suit pocket, Sherlock tensed in his restraints.
"Did you think I was going to pull a gun on you Mr Holmes? Oh don't be so naive, what I have in my pocket is way more explosive than a bullet." With that he retrieved what looked like a note. Sherlock struggled to focus on the object in Dimitri's hand. It appeared to be more of a photograph of some sort. It was too glossy to be just a standard piece of paper.
"I'm going to leave this here, Mr Holmes. You are the great deducer after all. I am dying to watch you figure this one out."
The card was dropped on the cracked cement floor in front of him. He could see now that the surface area was covered in a predominantly black background with a block of white and grey matter in the centre. He squinted hard to focus on the finer detail, which caused his head to throb even more. He soon realised the subject in the centre of the image represented something more substantial than splashes of white and black. It was an outline of a foetus; a sonogram. When his good eye focused on the name in the top left corner his stomach sank.
Molly Hooper.
"Looking at the expression on your face, I would say the great detective has figured it out. You really are a clever one."
"H-How did you get this?" Sherlock managed to strangle the words out.
"I have a lot of friends in a lot of places. It makes it easier when your enemies wear their hearts on their sleeves of course. A silly move on your part."
Sherlock then observed the date of the sonogram, dropped his head and closed his eyes. He didn't need to work the maths out, there were no deductions to be made here. His memory drifted back to that night with Molly. A few weeks after Sherrinford, he had stood at the threshold of his home for what felt like eternity. He had texted her earlier that day as soon as the last finishing touches had been fixed in his newly refurbished flat.
You know where to find me - SH.
He opened the door to her and he felt sick with nerves. He struggled to decipher the feeling he got when he saw her stood before him. For weeks on end she had plagued his every thought. He hadn't been able to focus on his mind palace since the incident. His own thoughts were too noisy for his own head. It had always been his intention to invite her over the moment the flat refurbishment was complete. He couldn't face going to her home and standing in that kitchen. He thought he had everything planned out. He knew every word he was going to say to her about Euros and how she manipulated him into thinking she was in danger. But the moment he opened his door to her his mind drew a blank. Just like at Sherrinford, he was no longer in control. Only this time it wasn't his sister calling the shots. It was his own emotions that were playing him.
Her dark brown eyes stared straight into his own. Molly was through with being a pawn in one of his games and Sherlock was done with playing them. Whilst so much remained unspoken between them, barely any words left their lips. There was a sudden crash of lips, a tangle of limbs, a mingle of soft sighs and tender touches. He wasn't sure who made the first move, he just knew that he didn't want this moment to end. What caught him off guard was how he felt afterwards. He hadn't expected to feel so content and dare he say so happy. He surprised them both that night when he asked her to stay. And as Molly slept in his arms, he pondered his emotions seriously for the first time in a long time.
He never understood love. Never knew how to embrace it, show it or translate it. It was not that he doubted his capacity to experience it. He just simply saw it as the biggest weakness a human being could possess. It left you vulnerable and exposed. Caring is not an advantage Sherlock. The words of his brother would replay in his head over and over again. Of all the emotions on the spectrum it was the one he always thought was beneath him.
After Euros and those minutes of pure and utter torture with Molly he found himself totally blindsided by it. Those three words that people spent their whole lives looking for and obsessing over. Three words he had never felt inclined to say or hear. In that moment with Molly, he felt something stronger than he had ever felt before. The second 'I love you' had not come from a place of manipulation or deceit. Those words had come from somewhere deep within that he never even knew existed. The feeling overcame him like a wave and invaded his thoughts and his tongue.
In that moment he knew he had been wrong all along. Mycroft had been wrong all along. Love was not the weakest emotion of the them all; it was the strongest. Even though he only experienced that feeling for the briefest of moments it completely overpowered him. That same feeling he felt at Sherrinford had crept over him again that night with Molly. He hadn't recognised it properly until they were lying in their afterglow. Breaths heavy and beads of perspiration trickling down their interlaced bodies.
"Your big brother gave the game away I'm afraid. He has been strangely protective over her recently, that I knew he was hiding something. Isn't it amazing what you can discover when people let their guard down. Child's play really, but then of course you understand that game. But the best news was discovering it isn't Mycroft's. No it is your spawn. I mean, I always thought you preferred a cock to a pussy but you always like to surprise people don't you." He returned to the table of instruments with his back to Sherlock and seemed to pick something up in his hands. He moved back to the spot he had occupied in front of Sherlock just moments ago, his hands behind his back.
"Oh, the baby is perfectly healthy by the way, I suppose you'd be happy to hear. Mother has been doing fine, although she's been suffering with some pretty terrible morning sickness. Yes, they are both relatively healthy and safe…" His words tailed off towards the end and Sherlock felt the bile rise in his stomach. The thought of Molly at the hands of this man made him lash against his restraints and he spat on Dimitri's pressed trousers, a combination of saliva and blood stained the fabric.
"Love has made you weak, Mr Holmes." Dimitri smirked at him. "I wouldn't worry too much though. It's not going to be a problem for you for much longer."
This was a new kind of torture. He would take one thousand lashings across his back than to endure this emotional torment. He felt utterly conflicted once more. If he had not let his guard down, exposed himself, then he would not have put Molly in danger. He felt so angry that he had put her in such a vulnerable position because he gave into his inhibitions.
Yet, through it all there was a voice screaming inside of him, she was his family. That collective word which had so many connotations. There was his family, the ones of blood relation consisting of his parents, Mycroft and now his sister Euros. The type you only wish to endure a handful of times a year, or just once at Christmas if Sherlock could have it his way. His family has never been conventional. Never was and never would be. He supposed he did care, maybe more out of duty than a need, but he cared nonetheless.
Then he had his friends. Yes, friends. The ones who had no relation to him at all. The ones who stuck by him, despite there being no blood connection, when he was the biggest arsehole on the planet. The ones he treated like shit, who he used and manipulated. But they never left his side, despite it all. John, Mrs Hudson and even Mary.
Molly had once been apart of that latter group. She still was in a way but now the lines had changed. Ever since Sherrinford he had no idea where to place her. He looked at the sonogram resting on the floor. Molly Hooper. The woman who loved him unconditionally. The woman who always mattered the most. The woman who was now baring his child. He traced the outline of the foetus with his eyes.
He had left two days after their night together. There was no time for goodbyes. Mycroft appeared in his flat that morning with a brown A4 envelope and his signature steely expression. A sex trafficking ring had been uncovered in Eastern Europe. It had been hidden behind closed doors for years. A young girl who had been supposedly disposed of by the group, had been left under the floorboards of an abandoned factory basement where an 'auction' had taken place. She miraculously survived and divulged priceless information about the group, putting the Government at a brief distinct advantage, whilst the ring were completely unknowing of the Governments newly acquired intel.
At the head was Dimitri. The small, fat and evil man stood in front of him. He bought or kidnapped young pretty girls and sold them off to the highest bidder. The ones who didn't fetch a price were immediately discarded of. For years this man had remained elusive. Information was hard to come by. He kept his presence so well hidden that it was like chasing a ghost. Until now that is. Sherlock was the only solution to try and figure out as much as possible about this man, to give the Ukrainian Government the much needed evidence to bring this man to justice.
Yet, here Sherlock was. This man was more dangerous and far more clever than he thought. Hence why he was strapped in chains and not divulging intel back to Mycroft. For almost three months he had been out here chasing leads. For almost three months he spent every day thinking about Molly. How he wished he had the chance to say goodbye. He wondered what Mycroft had told her, when he found out she was expecting and that the baby was his little brother's. He wondered how much she knew, he didn't want her to jump to conclusions and to think he was lying half-dead in a crack den somewhere.
"Oh, how rude of me, I never congratulated you did I? Fatherhood is such a beautiful gift they say. Makes you richer than all the money in the world. But I know what I'd rather have." He smirked and then he leaned down and whispered into Sherlock's ear. "Who knows, if it's a girl maybe she could work for me one day."
Sherlock didn't have time to respond when he felt a sharp scratch in the back of his neck and his mind started to grow black. The last thought that passed through his head before he slipped into darkness was an image of Molly lying in her bed, cradling the soft curve of her stomach as tears silently streamed down her cheeks.
...
Sherlock heard the soft sound of an intermitting beep coming from his right hand side. His eyes started to open and he began to slowly register his surroundings, through his blurred vision and senses. Cheap cotton sheets. Neutral painted walls. An IV line inserted into his right arm. He internally let out a sigh. Hospital. In that moment he felt relief. He was clearly safe, but what happened to Dimitri? The last thing he remembered was the Bastard injecting what most likely was a strong dose of Rohypnol into the base of his neck. Then he remembered Molly.
"Why do I always have to be the one to get you out of trouble little brother? It is starting to become tiresome." Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable bored tone of his elder brother. He turned his vision to observe his sibling stood by his bedside. The pompous arsehole wouldn't dare let his backside touch one of those cheap hospital chairs.
"So our friend Dimitri was smarter than we thought. I know what you are thinking. What happened to him? Basically, we intercepted him the day we rescued you. I believe he was planning to move you to a different location. The security around where you were held had increased. There was a lot of motion. Trucks being loaded and vehicle inspections were all clear signs. Fortunately, one of the vehicles we had planted with a tracker was part of your convoy. It was all a walk in the park after that." Mycroft walked to the window and looked out into the night sky.
"The only annoying thing is that the bastards shot him dead. Always a problem when you involve the army, they get too trigger happy. It was slightly inconvenient, I was hoping you would have been able to attain some revenge. Nevertheless, I suppose well done Sherlock. We are currently in the process of shutting down the ring. You were right when you said they were five locations. Four of which have been apprehended. The fifth will be under our control by the end of the night."
It was then that Sherlock heard a soft sigh to his left hand side. Curled up in an armchair next to him was Molly Hooper. Her body covered in a soft blue blanket as she slept deeply. The sight of her made Sherlock feel dizzy. In that moment, he couldn't give a shit about the mission.
"I know, Mycroft. I know about the baby." Mycroft stayed looking unchanged out of the window.
"Yes, I figured as such. The front line response team discovered the sonogram when they undertook the raid on the compound."
"What did you tell her?" Sherlock never took his eyes off Molly.
"The truth. I considered a cover up, but giving the situation I felt like it was the right thing to do." Mycroft spoke softly. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock felt grateful towards his brother.
"She hasn't left your side since I told her you had returned. That was three days ago, by the way. John has been here a lot too, he left a couple of hours ago to return to his daughter."
Through the drugs he could still feel the dullness of the pain. His body would be scarred for the rest of his life. But he didn't care. All he could focus on was Molly. She was so close yet so far, and all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her. It was almost as if Mycroft could sense the change in atmosphere in the room and it clearly made him uncomfortable.
"I must be going myself, Sherlock. I will be back in the morning and hopefully we can make arrangements to get you out of this delightful place." He was almost out of the door when Sherlock called him back.
"Mycroft." He acknowledged Sherlock, with a sharp tilt of his head. "Thank you." He didn't respond, he twitched his nose slightly and left the room. Sherlock smirked to himself. As sincere as his gesture had been towards his brother, he always enjoyed how uncomfortable he got towards feelings of sentiment.
He focused back on Molly as soon as the door swung closed. He used all the strength he could muster to lean over and reach his hand out to brush her knee with his long fingers. She began to stir; he always knew she was a light sleeper. Her soft brown eyes flickered as she began to come around. She took one long blink and opened her eyes straight at Sherlock. He smiled back at her and she took one gulp and began to cry.
"Sherlock." She gasped out. She was in his arms before she'd finished pronouncing his name. He could feel the warmth of her tears against his cheek. She carefully cradled him, so as not to cause him any further pain. She was always so considerate. He pushed her back, so he could study her face. She looked tired, there were dark shadows under her eyes and her skin looked dull. He instantly felt responsible for causing the hurt and stress she had experienced over the past few weeks. She leaned back and positioned herself so that she was sat on her bum with her legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Her left arm rested lightly on his thigh.
"I thought you were gone. I thought that you were-"
"It takes more than an overweight, filthy rich pedophile to get rid of me Molly Hooper. You of all people should know that." She smiled at him then, despite his cockiness. It was his way of letting her know he was okay. There was a brief silence that interluded them after that, but her hand found his and squeezed it tightly.
"How are you?" Sherlock broke the silence.
"I'm okay. I've not slept well since I found out about your mission and I've had around eight hours sleep in the past three days. I'm just so glad you're safe and you're home." His eyes moved from hers down to her stomach, which was hidden by a soft pastel blue jumper. Molly must have noticed his gaze move down her body as the hand she had placed on his thigh came to rest on her small bump.
"I was informed you have had some bad bouts of morning sickness?" He tested the waters. All these things which still remained unspoken between them, he wasn't sure how to approach it. He understood the delicacy and seriousness of the situation. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her, or say the wrong thing in typical Sherlock style.
"Yes, it has been pretty turbulent the past few weeks, but I think I'm over the worst of it now." From the way she answered, he assumed Mycroft had told her about the sonogram. He felt her fingers fidget against his own as she answered his question.
"But you and the baby, you are both okay?" Her eyes filled with tears again, and she nodded her confirmation.
"Good." He decided to go for broke and brought his left hand up to where hers rested on her stomach. He watched as her eyes widened in shock. He knew she was not used to this Sherlock. She was still adjusting to him acting on his feelings and emotions, rather than logic and reason. He was too. It still felt foreign to him, in a way. But he wanted to do this right. He didn't want to raise his child with logic and reason. He wanted to raise it with love and devotion. Even if he was still figuring out what those emotions are. His hand on her stomach was his first of many acts as a parent. This was his way of telling Molly that he cared and he was there for her.
She lifted his hand with the one on her stomach and lifted up her jumper and placed it on the soft curve of her belly. Skin connected with skin and in that moment Sherlock knew this was the closest he would get to his child for the next six months. Underneath his palm was a small bundle of nerves and synapses but most of all a life. A life that he and Molly had made, not intentionally, but it was theirs nevertheless.
"Sherlock, I want to ask you something. Well, it's more of a promise. I know you aren't very good at keeping them, but please just hear me out." He blinked and nodded once, encouraging her to continue.
"When I found out you had been captured I felt like my whole world came crashing down. I was an emotional wreck. I had only known about the baby for a couple of weeks and not having you here, well it almost destroyed me. Mycroft, he did what he could. I know he felt invested and responsible because I am carrying his niece or nephew. He sent people round with freshly prepared meals every day, so I didn't have to cook because I didn't have the energy too. I just wanted to stay in bed and imagine you walking through the door. I stayed at Baker Street some nights in your bed just so I could feel close to you. I hope you don't mind. Mrs Hudson and John helped me through the morning sickness, when I couldn't pick myself up of the bathroom floor. I feel so grateful for the help I received, but it wasn't you." Her voice broke and his hand stayed reassuringly on her stomach, drawing light circles with his fingers.
"I needed you so much, and you weren't there. I know you didn't know about the baby. That doesn't matter now, it's in the past. What I need is to know that you are going to be here for this. For us. I can't bare the thought of you disappearing off again into the unknown. I know right now I probably sound selfish and I know how much you love your work. I know you didn't ask for this, this wasn't planned. I know that it must be hard for you to accept something you can't control. I'm also not asking you to love me, I just need you to know that right now this thing, this baby, it has to come first."
There it was. Her heart laid out to bare on the table for him to observe once more, but this time she radiated strength and confidence.
"Molly, for the first time in my life I don't want to be selfish. I want to prove to you that I am more than capable of being a father. I have no intentions of galavanting around the world any time soon. I can't promise that my skills won't be desperately needed in the future. Unfortunately, you fell for a man with a unique and desired ability. But I promise you that right now you and this baby, for the foreseeable future, are my first and only priority." His hand splayed across her stomach, his fingers stretched to encompass the surface of the bump in his large palm.
"In regards to my emotions, I am still trying to figure out what these feelings I'm experiencing are. The only way to describe what I'm feeling right now is such a strong sense of belonging. Being with you now and knowing that I don't want you to leave. Equally, I don't want to leave you. I don't want to see you in pain and I want to make you happy. When I was still chained in that cell in the middle of fuck knows where and I saw that sonogram. He took advantage and he threatened you. Not directly but it was a threat all the same. It made me feel so sick and powerless, I couldn't handle the thought of you in danger. The worst was facing the fact I couldn't be there to protect you." Her hands came up to his face and caressed his stubbled jaw.
"I'm okay, we're okay Sherlock, just severely exhausted. I would never force you to put a label on what you are feeling. What's important is that you have these feelings and you share them with me. I would never ask for more than that. Just don't bottle them up inside." She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "You also don't need to prove anything to me Sherlock. I just want you to be here. And maybe to be less of an arsehole, because I can't guarantee my mood swings are going to be pretty over the next six months."
Sherlock let out a soft laugh and Molly moved to lie down next to him. Her fingers carefully caressed the scars on his bare stomach, her head rested in the crook of his neck. They remained in a comfortable silence for a while.
"Can you tell me about her, in the morning?" Molly whispered into his neck. He knew she would ask him about his sister eventually and about Sherrinford. He never got the chance to talk to her about it on that fated night.
"I promise. Only after you've had a solid eight hours of sleep and smuggle me in a proper breakfast from the cafe."
He felt Molly's lips curve up and accepted it as her agreement. She was clearly too exhausted to respond and it wasn't long before her breathing evened out against his neck as she slipped back into a peaceful slumber. He laid there enjoying the warmth, which radiated from her body. He realised it wasn't just a literal warmth he was feeling from where she was pressed to his side. Her presence seemed to blanket him in a metaphorical sense and it made him feel deliriously happy. For the first time in months his mind felt at peace. He closed his eyes and set to work in his mind palace. After three months of neglect it was in major need of a dusting. There was one task he was determined to complete first; to create a whole new section for Molly and their baby. From now on, everything else could wait.
P.S. Love conquers all.
Thank you for reading.