Notes: I'd seen a lot of Sherlock rescuing Molly fics and I wanted to subvert that scenario and have our girl Molly rescue Sherlock! And with the release of the Little Favour trailer, it seemed like a good time to post this. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. I just like playing in the sandbox. The title comes from the song "Night Terror" by Laura Marling.
Molly sighed as she hauled her bag over her shoulder and stared disdainfully at the rain. She was debating about caving and hailing a cab instead of walking two blocks to the Tube and then another four blocks once she got off the train, when suddenly a large, expensive, black car pulled up to the curb in front of her. She recognized it immediately and stepped forward, opening the door.
She slid into the backseat, next to Anthea and across from Mycroft. "We thought that you'd appreciate a ride back to your flat, Dr. Hooper," Mycroft said pleasantly.
"I get the feeling that isn't going to be my first stop though," she grumbled softly. "What do you want Mycroft?"
His expression went from pleasantly cordial to deadly serious in a split second. "It's Sherlock. I don't know where he is. I'm afraid he's been…taken. Kidnapped, if you will."
Molly immediately felt her stomach drop. She clutched the strap of her bag instinctively. "Kidnapped? One of Moriarty's men?" Mycroft nodded. She could hardly wrap her head around the thought. Sherlock was resourceful; surely he'd surface in a few days, no worse for wear. But obviously Mycroft knew that better than she did, but if he was worried… "Why are you telling me this, Mycroft?"
He sighed slightly and shifted. "Sherlock trusts you very much, Dr. Hooper. He told me before he left that you handled this situation with Moriarty incredibly well. You kept your head in a time of intense pressure. He told me to contact you if something went awry while he was abroad. He also stated that he'd much rather see your face than mine when dealing with anything." His grin was tight, forced, and gone almost before Molly could blink.
"I also thought that calling you in could be useful in the informative sense. You had contact with Moriarty before Sherlock knew his true identity; he may have inadvertently revealed some information that could help us find Sherlock."
Molly shook her head, her vision suddenly blurring with tears. This was too much information to take in. "Jim…Moriarty, he didn't tell me anything, I already told Sherlock that! He wasn't Moriarty with me, he was just Jim. Goofy Jim who'd fix my computer and pet my cat and watch TV with me! I don't understand what help I could possibly be to Sherlock now." She cut herself off before she lost control, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.
Mycroft just watched on calmly. "Sherlock trusts you wholly, Dr. Hooper. And he is a man who does not bestow trust lightly. I am confident that his trust is not misplaced. Anthea will take you to your flat, where you will need to pack a bag for at least a week. The two of you will then continue on to a private airstrip where I will meet you. Sherlock was last seen in France, we think it is as good of a place to start as any. Your vacation time at St. Bartholomew's has already been arranged."
Molly seemed to shrink into her seat. There was no arguing with Mycroft Holmes. "Of course." The car abruptly stopped and Mycroft grabbed his umbrella, moving to get out of the car.
"See you soon, Dr. Hooper."
With that, Mycroft exited the car and they immediately started in the direction of Molly's flat. She sat in silence; she had tried to strike up a conversation with Anthea before, but the other woman seemed constantly distracted. Molly always wondered if she was truly typing away at important documents and emails on her phone or if she was simply playing an engrossing game of Tetris. A few times in the ride to her flat, she tried to sneak a peek, but some sort of screen covered the phone and made it impossible to see.
She packed up a suitcase quickly and got back into the car. She was on her way to France with Mycroft and Anthea in a private jet a little less than an hour later.
They'd been there a week and had made little headway with Sherlock's disappearance. There hadn't been any sort of ransom demand, but Mycroft was fairly certain that he knew who had his little brother. Molly's main purpose was to look through files of Moriarty's associates and see if any of them rang a bell. She was getting more and more frustrated with the situation. She felt useless because she didn't know anything and with each day that passed, she felt like Sherlock was slipping further and further from them.
"We're fairly certain we have our man, Molly. He's been spotted in France recently, but not with Sherlock. His name is Charles Moseley. Does the name sound familiar?"
Molly shook her head, shutting another file and picking up the next one in the pile. "No, Mycroft. Just like the other seven leads that you've asked me about, Charles Moseley doesn't sound familiar. I don't know why I'm here. I'm not any use to Sherlock just going through these damned files!" She looked at the picture in the latest one – a man with a buzzed blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a very muscular build. His name was Sebastian Moran. "Wait!" she cried out, picking up the file suddenly and reading it quickly.
Mycroft looked up at her abruptly. Anthea even stopped typing on her mobile for a moment and looked over to her. "This man." Molly jabbed a finger at the picture in the file. "Do you know where he is?"
Mycroft nodded. "He's been spotted repeatedly in Spain for a consistent month now. Why?"
"There was only one time that Jim ever answered the phone with me. It was right before I was about to break up with him…right after he met Sherlock for the first time. He must have been…slipping or something around me, because he usually would step away when he took calls, but this time he didn't. I don't remember what they spoke about, but when he hung up he told me that he'd been speaking to Sebastian. He said…he said he was his right hand man and that he handled some special projects." She looked up fiercely to Mycroft. "If he doesn't have Sherlock, he knows who does."
Mycroft looked over to Anthea and nodded slightly. She returned the gesture and started typing furiously again. "You're certain it was Sebastian? Our intel said that he was just one of Moriarty's snipers. Trusted, but not a big player."
Molly faltered for a moment, but then nodded. "Yes. Definitely. He said Sebastian was his right hand man, because I remember wondering why a man from I.T. needed an assistant."
"Sir, we have the supposed location of Moran right now. We can be on our way to Spain in twenty minutes," Anthea spoke up, pausing in her typing briefly.
Mycroft nodded. "Alright. Anthea, tell my men to file a flight plan and ready the plane. It appears we are going to Spain."
After that, everything moved quickly. They were on the plane exactly twenty-four minutes later and Molly sat nervously in her seat as Mycroft and Anthea typed away furiously at their laptops that they'd brought on board. As they were making their final descent into Spain, Mycroft suddenly turned his attention to her. "We have Moran's location locked. He shows no signs of expecting us, which is good. My men will go in ahead and then you and I will follow."
"Me?" Molly couldn't help but question, her voice high and nervous.
Mycroft nodded. "Yes, Dr. Hooper. The men that I have in position are soldiers, but they are not trained medical professionals. I expect that when we find Sherlock, he may require some medical attention which you will be able to provide. Are you up to the challenge?"
She almost agreed immediately – of course she'd do anything for Sherlock. But she stopped and thought about what Mycroft was actually saying. They had no idea what state Sherlock would be in when they found him…if they found him. But who else would take care of him if she didn't agree? She bit her lip and nodded firmly. "Of course, Mycroft."
Mycroft's lip curled up slightly in a pale imitation of a smile. "Good. Although I must admit that I am baffled at how my little brother inspires loyalty in people like you and John Watson."
Molly smiled weakly and turned to look out the window at the ground, getting closer and closer as the plane descended. When she took the job at St. Bart's six years ago, she never would have imagined that she would be flying in a private plane to Spain in order to play spy and save Sherlock Holmes. She was fairly certain that she wouldn't have it any other way though.
They sped off to a little nondescript house in the country, about 40 minutes away from the air field where they had landed. Mycroft had handed her a well-stocked first aid kit and she clung to it as they sat in the car and he monitored the situation from his laptop. Molly couldn't bear to look at the screen.
She heard Mycroft breathe a sigh of relief. "They found him. He's alive. They're immobilizing Moran now and sweeping one last time to make sure that it is safe for us to enter." Only a few minutes later, Mycroft suddenly nodded to her and stepped out of the car. Still clinging to the first aid kit, she followed.
There was no sign of Moran but there was a dark van near the house, with some of Mycroft's men swarming around it. There were men still prowling the premises, but she hardly paid any attention to them. Her entire focus was on the house in front of them. Mycroft stopped at the door to confer with one of the men, with Molly standing behind him, attempting to see around them.
"Where is he?" Mycroft asked.
"Room down the hall, to the left. He's still tied up, we didn't want to move him until Dr. Hooper said it was all right," the man answered and Molly's grip tightened on the case in an attempt to control her instinct to bowl past the two men and find Sherlock.
Luckily, Mycroft seemed to notice and nodded to the other man and stepped inside the house, heading for the room with Molly nearly tripping over herself to follow him. Molly gasped as they entered the room and she caught her first glimpse of Sherlock.
She ran past Mycroft and dropped the first aid kit to the floor, sinking to her knees, and attempted to take stock of his injuries. He was nearly naked, only wearing underwear. His ankles were tied to the legs of the chair and his wrists were tied to the armrests. It was obvious that at least four of his fingers were broken, his left eye was swollen shut, and his body was littered with shallow cuts and bruises. "Oh god, Sherlock. Sherlock, can you hear me? You're safe."
He moaned and his head, which had fallen forward, suddenly shot up and he looked around wildly, before fixing his good eye on her. "Molly," he murmured, sounding relieved and worried all at once. "Are you real?"
"Of course she's real, Sherlock," Mycroft scoffed from behind her.
Sherlock coughed and he tried his best to glare at his older brother. "This must be real. I'd never dream of Mycroft," he said, his tone attempting to be menacing but failing miserably. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Of course, little brother," Mycroft replied softly, with far more emotion than Molly had ever heard from him before. But then he quickly returned to his normal tone of voice. "You were right to trust Dr. Hooper. She was the one who figured out who was holding you. And now she'll patch you up as best she can."
Sherlock's focus turned to her again and Molly had to force herself to focus on his injuries, to treat him like a patient. "I'll set your fingers first. They might have to re-break them at the hospital to set them correctly, but it'll be a start." She had already gone to work, untying his wrists when she glanced up his arm and noticed the fresh track marks. "Oh Sherlock…" she whispered.
She could hear Sherlock swallow above her and she sensed somehow that Mycroft had just noticed what she had. "Moran got me high. Only three times but…I can feel the need. Not full withdrawal but…" he trailed off as Molly finished untying him from the chair.
"Don't move yet," she commanded, as she set to work to stabilize his fingers. He grunted and gritted his teeth with pain, but managed not to cry out. She finished and then looked up to him, her hand automatically coming up to cup his less bruised cheek. "What else can I do, Sherlock?"
He leaned into her touch almost desperately. "Nothing. Nothing, Molly. Just get me to whatever hospital Mycroft has set up." She nodded and stood quickly, as he attempted to stand. Mycroft was at her elbow, holding out a dressing gown to his little brother.
"Not one of yours, I'm afraid, but it will preserve your modesty for now, Sherlock," he said dryly. Molly looked at him curiously, amazed that he could still tease Sherlock even at a time like this. But her heart softened towards the elder Holmes when she saw the worry, clear as day, in his eyes – and it only increased when Sherlock didn't fire off a witty reply, but instead let Molly help him into the dressing gown. "I've arranged for a private room in a nearby facility. The best doctors from Madrid are being brought in as we speak."
Sherlock nodded and leaned heavily against Molly, despite the gasp of pain it evoked in him. "Just get me out of here," he muttered, as they made their way to the door.
Molly refused to leave his side once they got to the hospital. The doctors were there to greet them in their private room and immediately started taking Sherlock's vitals and went to setting his fingers properly. Even though sometimes she felt in the way, she refused to leave and from the way that Sherlock's gaze kept on darting over to her, she knew that he didn't want her to.
After a bit, they left them alone, with Sherlock hooked up to an I.V. for fluids and Molly disinfecting some of the deeper cuts on his torso. She bit her bottom lip in concentration, trying to think of Sherlock as just another patient (a living breathing one, which was unusual for her) and trying to forget about how close they were to not finding him. "I don't understand," she whispered, keeping her focus on his wounds. "What sort of information was he trying to get out of you? Why would he do all this?"
Sherlock put a hand over one of hers and didn't speak until she looked up at him. "He didn't want information. He just wanted to hurt me. He and Moriarty were lovers. He just wanted me to pay for what happened to Moriarty."
"But that wasn't your fault!" Molly protested, as if it would do any good.
Sherlock just shrugged and Molly turned her focus back to his wounds. "How…how are you feeling, Sherlock?"
He seemed to be studying her carefully, but she wouldn't quite meet his gaze. "Molly, you can speak frankly with me. I am not suffering the full effects of withdrawal and I don't think that I will, it wasn't a long enough period. But I do…crave it. I want more. I'd had the cravings under control before but…" he trailed off. Molly finally looked up at him and he sighed softly. "He knew it was the best way to break me. He would get me high and then withhold it from me until my skin was itching and I was desperate for more. Then he'd wait a little longer. And even now…" His teeth clenched and Molly set aside the cotton pads and disinfectant, reaching out to cover his hands.
"I'm sorry that we didn't find you sooner, Sherlock."
He chuckled dryly and turned over his hands and gripped hers, as best as he could with his bandaged fingers. "I'm surprised you found me at all. Moriarty kept Moran very hidden – I had no idea that he was so close to the top until I woke up with him in front of me." He paused, but she could tell that he still wanted to stay something, so she kept quiet. "You saved me, Molly Hooper. Again. It's getting to be quite a habit."
She smiled softly and leaned forward to kiss his cheek, the one opposite his swollen eye. She lingered for a moment, wanting to etch the moment into her memory. She didn't have a Mind Palace like he did, but she wanted to remember this for the rest of her life. Sherlock, warm and alive, in front of her and thanking her for saving his life. "Will you stay with me, Molly?" he asked quietly, breaking the spell.
She drew back and smiled. "I don't think that the bed is big enough."
He scoffed and looked down. "You're incredibly tiny and although I'm tall, I'm slim. We'll be fine." His fingers fumbled with the remote, but he eventually got the bed to recline slightly and he scooted over to make room for her. He winced as he began to button up the soft cotton shirt that the hospital had provided. She toed off her shoes and carefully made her way onto the bed, taking care not to jostle him.
Molly curled against him and Sherlock wrapped an arm around her, the one not attached to the I.V. She bit her lip as one of her hands reached out and she gently placed it on his chest, right above his heart. "Promise me you won't get kidnapped again, Sherlock," she whispered.
He chuckled softly, his hand rubbing her back in slow circles. "I will try my best to avoid it."
She looked up at him and stretched to gently brush her lips against his. "Good," she murmured.