Disclaimer: Sherlock is not written by me but by the great Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And this universe is made by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. (thank them for our precious pathologist)
only the plot of this story is mine.
a/n: this was written before s4 was aired.
the app is messing my spacing...
Lestrade was keeping his eyes to the man opposite the window, if the room wasn't deadly silent, he could've missed Mycroft's orders.
"Bring her."
Before Lestrade could look back he heard John shout.
"Are you out of your mind, Mycroft?" John was exasperated.
"No, he's right John. This is heavily guarded. He is," Sherlock motioned to the blond man inside the interrogation room. "harmless. Been searched multiple times and chained to the table. He can't hurt her."
John stared at Sherlock for a moment, repeating his words in his head, and finally, "Fine. But if he touch her, even a single hair, I'll never let you talk to her again," he said to Sherlock, "And to you, too," now to Mycroft.
Lestrade sighed. What could Moriarty's last minion- no, right hand man, want from Molly Hooper.
Not less than ten minutes, Molly was being ushered out a black car.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. She was uncharacteristically relaxed for someone being escorted by men in black suits to a hidden location.
"Molly." John hugged her. She obliged. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I'm extremely sorry to pull you out of your work, Miss Hooper." Mycroft said.
"It's fine Mr. Holmes, it's a slow day anyway." She looked around the building. "So, why am I here?"
They slowly walked back to the front of the interrogation room, explaining that they won't bring her harm.
Lestrade was still standing on guard outside the room. "Molly!" he greeted with a smile when he noticed their arrival.
"Greg." She smiled back.
The captive still out of Molly's view. Sherlock could see the nervousness now kicking in.
"We suspect that Moriarty has something to say to you one last time." Sherlock said.
She looked to the ground, vile rising from her stomach. He despise every part of him, for using her.
John was concerned, "Look, Molly, you don't have to do this, we have other means for him to talk."
He was worried and sincere.
"Stop it, John. We need her there. We've been here for four days, he haven't spoken anything except for 'Bring Molly Hooper.'" Sherlock was being a git again.
True to his words, Lestrade has bags under his eyes, even John looked exhausted. The Holmes brother were still looking posh as ever, though.
"Excuse my brother for his tactless nature, Miss Hooper. We made sure he can't harm you, He's tied down with no weapon," Mycroft said with an apologetic look.
She sighed inwardly, it's not like they are giving her any choice. She looked at John, "It's okay, John. You've searched him, yeah? And he'd been there for days so he's just as tired as you are." She gave a reassuring smile to John. "I'll be fine."
"Just for extra measure, keep proper distance. You don't have to do anything, he asked you himself. Lestrade will come with you inside." Mycroft tried to assure her too.
Lestrade nodded and moved beside the door. "Anytime you're ready."
Molly took a deep breath, stepped forward, but passed the door. She peeked at the two-way mirror.
"Sebastian," she whispered unknowingly, barely a sound but the men caught this.
"You know him?" John asked moving to her side.
She flinched, "Huh? Uh, yes..."
The two Holmes was staring at her, analyzing her relation with him.
With a shaky step, she paced nervously along the hallway, stopping from time to time, and even bumping at some guards.
After a few minutes of letting her think alone, she walked back to them.
She cleared her throat and moved swiftly towards the door. "I'm ready," She said to Lestrade with determination in her eyes.
Lestrade looked at Mycroft, worried about their favorite pathologist.
He too have doubts now, but examining her once again, and finding that she really is going through with it, nodded to the gray haired man.
He opened the door and Molly entered with him behind.
Everything was gray, lifeless and dull, a normal interrogation room. A heavy metal table in the middle, two chairs at either side, and a suspect, hands chained on the table.
Sebastian Moran looked up the door's direction.
Molly was examining him. Bruised and bleeding, beaten.
"Only her." he said with a gruffed voice.
Rough voice and thin, not been fed enough.
"No." was Lestrade's quick reply.
Stubbles and bags, not enough rest.
"You can watch us at the other side, what's the harm?"
"It's okay," she faced Lestrade. "I'll be fine."
He didn't budge. Then there was a knock on the door. He looked at Molly for a few seconds and sighed, "We're just outside."
She nodded.
He pulled open the door and looked back at her one last time to check if she was really fine. And finally left.
She was still standing near the door, the dirty floor fascinating her. The silence stretched out.
"You're loved." He said finally.
"Thank you." She said while twisting her jumper.
"I was, too." He said looking straight at her, his voice flat.
Her hands stopped moving, head still down but she didn't reply for a few moments.
The boys grew concern, thinking she was crying.
She slowly shook her head, lifting it, bringing her eyes to Sebastian's. "You still are."
He started chuckling.
She flinched and stepped backwards until she hit the door. "You're free!" She screamed under his growing manic laughter.
He abruptly stopped and stood, his chair knocked down.
John and Lestrade ran to the door only to find out it's locked from inside.
"Sherlock!" John shouted.
Understanding John's tone, he ran to the door too, double checking it, "Goddam Mycroft! The key!"
They can hear shouting from inside.
Mycroft had asked for the key, but the man who was supposed to have it didn't.
Lestrade tackled the door a few times to no avail. They ran back to the window.
It wasn't only Sebastian shouting.
"You're a lying traitor!" Sebastian tugged the chain, ready to attack Molly but the table is bolted on the ground.
"I was never on his side!" Molly shouted, she was a feet away from the table, from Sebastian.
They didn't know when but they finally saw that the chair on Molly's side was moved and lodge under the knob.
"You killed him!"
"He committed suicide! Sherlock's a witness!"
"You planned it!"
"He planned it! He made a mistake! He died!"
"You made that mistake!"
It was Molly's turn to chuckle, that dissolve to silence.
Leaving the men outside confused.
The two inside was still standing at either side of the table, contemplating what to say next.
"You're so considerate." He broke the silence again.
"That's why no one notices me," she smiled a little.
"Always under their nose, acting like their puppet," Sebastian's face crumpled.
"A puppet, huh?" she asked tilting her head, "But no string attached?"
He laughed genuinely. How long has it been, he asked himself. "No. Not you, Mary."
She stepped closer seeing his guard down. "You could've run." She said with a tinge of sadness.
"I'm too far out." he says looking down at his hands, stretching them.
"No, you're not. You could've change your name and leave it all behind." She says taking a step again.
"This is the only thing I know, he was the only one I can rely on." He was avoiding her eyes.
"I'm very considerate," she shrugged, "I'm very inconspicuous," she reached a hand to his cheek, making him look at her, "I could've hide you."
He rested his face on her palm, looking like a kicked puppy, in a low voice he said, "He trusted you. You betrayed him, for what? For that gay detective?"
Molly glared at her, slapped him gently, "That's right. I always fall for gay men. I despise you homos, that's why Jim's brain flew!"
He's face reddened with anger and embarrasment, "Poor little Mary. So desperate for affection." He looked to the Four men's direction, "Be warned, Mousy Molly here is killing gay men."
She gasped and crossed her arms, flabbergasted at his pettiness. She stared him down until they broke in to giggles that quickly became hysterical laughter.
Slowly coming back to that silence. Sebastian rested his hands on the table, Molly putting hers inside her lab gowns pocket.
He look fondly at her. "He trusted you. Really."
"I killed him. You should've killed me."
He smiled sadly. "I'm the proverbial moth, attracted by the power of fire. Blinded. Taking for granted the air I was flying in, realizing late that it was the one deciding the fire's life."
"I had you first." she whispered.
"I'd always been yours." he whispered back.
Molly pulled a gun out of her pocket. "Finishing what I started." She laid it on the table.
He grabbed it, sat down, looked at Molly, "I love you." Put the gun inside his mouth and pulled the trigger.
With a loud crash, the door broke down.
"Jim used my only gun." She said in the newly painted room.