John Watson stared at the world's only consulting detective a look of annoyance and pity gracing his features. It had been a whole week and Sherlock Holmes was no closer to finding Molly, he'd ransacked the whole flat looking for his cigarettes but only managed to find an already used one. Sherlock was furiously running his fingers through his mop of hair grumbling under his breath; John took a hesitant step forward, coughing out loud to make his presence known.
Sherlock's head snapped up at the sound, "Ah John, just the man I wanted to see," he stood up and rubbed his fingers over his chin. "I need you to run to St. Barts and get Molly's coat." John opened his mouth to object, Sherlock bounded up to his blogger with wild hands explained, "Yes John, I know I've already run tests on it but there has to be something, anything,"
"Yeah sure, but listen I came here to-" he was cut off by his friend.
"Yes, yes I know. You came because Mary apologised for getting angry at me. Tell her that the apology was not necessary, she was right." Sherlock turned and faced the window, "It is all my fault."
"Sherlock that's not true," John tried to placate.
"John, don't patronize me," he snapped in response, stalking to his bedroom, his dressing gown floating behind him like a cape. John sighed and shook his head as he left 221b to make his way to St Bart's. The ride to the morgue in the cab was taxing, it was the height of rush hour in London and the roads were gridlocked. John sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he texted his wife. The birth of their daughter was imminent and he knew the stress of Molly's disappearance was draining Mary more than she would care to admit. He knew she felt helpless and so tried to keep her involved as much as possible.
Going to Barts, Sherlock wants to check the labcoat again – John
She replied seconds later, her phone, he deduced, was most probably in her hands,
Maybe he could check the colouring? Xx – Mary
He frowned, about to reply when another text arrived.
Stupid suggestion I know. Did he accept my apology? –Mary
No, he said you had every right to say what you did – John
How's he coping? – Mary
He's not, I just got to Bart's. I'll let you know how it goes – John
He didn't wait for her reply as he made his way through to the hospital basement. The morgue was quiet; the whole area in which Molly usually dwelled was closed off with police tape. John ducked underneath and headed further inside the lab flicking on the lights as he passed the wall. The lab coat was nowhere to be seen and sighed in frustration, pulling out his phone to ring Sherlock as he walked further into the morgue absentmindedly. He looked up for a moment, his thumb over the call symbol. "Oh my-" he barely managed to breath out as he stuffed his phone in his pocket and ran into the body viewing room.
The matted brown hair was unmistakeable, though John edged forwards hesitantly staring at the covered body in horror. A thick white sheet covered the victim's body and face yet he could tell that the body underneath was still fully clothed. He inched forwards, hoping and praying that it wasn't Molly. Taking a deep breath he pulled the sheet back, what he saw before him froze him in his movements.
"No, no no. Molly, no!" He cried out his face draining of blood, with shaking hands he placed his hand at the crook of her bruised face feeling for any sign of life near her jugular. The weakest throb was emitted from beneath his fingers and he sighed in relief. He stared at the fragile woman, his stomach turning at the sight of the multi-coloured bruises and scarring he could see on her body. And though she was fully clothed- probably for dramatics on Moriaty's part- he knew that the worst of it was beneath the clothing. "Molly, can you hear me?" he spoke delicately when he noticed the slight twitching for her forefinger and thumb. "Molly, its John, you're safe now,"
Her eyes didn't flutter open, but rather squeezed shut, tighter as if to block out the world. John felt helpless, yet continued to console the broken girl. After 10 minutes she had drifted back into unconsciousness and he managed to lift her limp form up from the metallic operating table to find help. Mike Stamford dropped all the files in his hand the moment he saw John carrying the pathologist in his arms down the corridor.
"Get help," John barked out and Mike turned on his heel to find someone, John kept walking until he reached the elevator. At that moment the doors opened and a bed was wheeled out, along with a doctor and two nurses. They coaxed Molly out of his arms and placed her on the mattress before wheeling her up to intensive care. It was then that John felt the first tear betray his strong façade; Mike placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded.
"She's safe now, John," he told him firmly. "Tell them she's safe," he added before walking back down the corridor to pick up the fallen files. He fumbled with the phone as he dialled the number.
"John?" Hearing the voice of his wife he smiled and wiped the lone tear, Mike was right, she was safe now. He explained what had occurred and she arrived twenty minutes later, holding her hand firmly in his. He rang Lestrade next, telling him that the search was off. Mary rang Mrs Hudson who cried on the phone. Sherlock didn't answer the call the first, second, nor third time John had ran and he was becoming agitated. The man had his phone with him at all hours of the day, so why wasn't he answering. Noticing her husband's agitation she squeezed his hand and led him to the chairs outside Molly's ward.
Sherlock was holding the phone to his ear with a vice like grip as soon as he heard the man's taunting voice. John had just left to go Bart's when his mobile rang, the screen flashing, no name on the caller id. "Hello honey,"
Sherlock tensed visibly, his jaw locking, "where is she? What have you done to her?" Sherlock growled.
"Who? Molly?" He didn't wait for Sherlock's reply, "she's lying on a metal table somewhere, and she'll be fine, though she'll probably be scarred for life." James Moriarty chuckled at his private joke. "Oh Sherlock, you should have seen her defend you, defend herself, but that was nothing compared to her screaming and writhing in pain beneath-"
"Stop it! Stop this now! Tell me where she is!" Sherlock shouted ferociously. Moriarty paid him no mind.
"Where was I? Ah yes, writhing in pain beneath me, watching as she slowly began to lose hope in you Sherlock Holmes." His hands were shaking by now and he wanted to throw the phone at the wall, but Moriarty laughed manically. "What's wrong Sherlock?"
"You, you're what's wrong!"
Moriarty giggled, "that's old news," he sang, "my my, is Sherlock Holmes feeling guilty? Does Sir Boast-a-lot actually have, dare I say it, feelings for the mousy pathologist?"
"She's not mousy!"
"Yeah, whatever, listen this chat has been oh so enlightening and stimulating my dear but I'm honestly rather bored, and I believe that Molly has been found. I rather look forward to continuing our game, may the best man win." Before Sherlock could argue, Moriarty ended the phone call and Sherlock brought the phone away from his ear and stared at it.
It rang again and he hastily picked it up, "Sherlock, I've called you 9 times in the last twenty minutes, where the hell are you!" John's tense voice reprimanded as Sherlock headed out the door and bounded down the stairs, "Doesn't matter, I found her Sherlock, she's in intensive care, she's," John's voice broke and Sherlock heard Mary offer her husband a few tender words.
Sherlock was already in the cab, on the way to Bart's when John managed to speak again, "She was heavily beaten; we're waiting for the doctors to do an internal examination to see the damage." He took another deep breath as Sherlock stared out the window deep in thought, fear rising in him. "It's all our fault, we should have found her sooner. She was just lying there on the examination table, underneath the white sheet like another one of the corpses. I thought she was dead, she looked dead."
"It's not your fault John, its mine," Sherlock told him solemnly as he paid the driver and exited the cab. He ended the call at that moment and stood outside Bart's, staring at the foreboding building. He walked through the crowded hallways, dodging the running nurses and the frantic visitors. He arrived by the ward 5 minutes later, just in time to see the Doctor make his way to Mary, John and Lestrade.
"Are you Miss Hooper's family?" He asked, eying the three of them. Mary, as quick as ever stood up and smiled at the doctor.
"She's my sister," Mary stated, "is she going to be okay?" Sherlock slinked closer to his friends and listened to the doctor.
"She's got many fractured and broken ribs; her right arm has been severely scarred and she also has severe internal bleeding but we are currently getting that under control. She is currently in a medically induced coma due to her malnourishment and exhaustion. We will have to wait until she has woken to come to a conclusion in regards to her mental state but I can say she will be in severe shock, maybe even PTSD." The doctor watched as the faces of his patient's friends dropped, on all, including the tall man who had appeared out of nowhere, there was pain and guilt. He hated bearing bad news, but it was a part of his job. "She should be out of ICU in a few hours and may receive visitors though she will be unconscious," He added hoping to ease the pain.
"Please move her to a private room or ward," Sherlock's deep baritone voice cut through the foreboding silence. John whirled around in shock and stared at his best friend.
"I'll make sure that happens," The doctor agreed and nodded to them before leaving.