Hello, this is the Queen speaking.
I do apologise for the lack of Sherlock, but to be completely honest he is sulking, so what do you expect from a 6 foot child.
This chapter will manly be Jim and Molly.
WARNING: There is slight abuse and violence from Jim.
Disclaimer: still not mine
...
By the time the car stopped the sun was just starting to light up the sky over the horizon. Molly glanced out of the window and saw an old looking house. The flowerbeds were brown and dead in the winter moonlight, with equally dead vines climbing high up and over the protruding front porch. Molly was dragged out of the car and hauled up the front steps. One of the goons opened the door and Molly was shoved in.
The main hall of the house was beautiful. Marble floors, high ceiling, grand staircase and gorgeous paintings adorned the walls. If she was in any other circumstance Molly would have been delighted to spend the rest of the early morning watching the new day's sunlight slowly creep across the floors and up the decorated walls. But with Jim peering over her shoulder she couldn't help but shiver; Suddenly, the natural splendor of the grand hall was lost to a leering and cold fortress, sneering at her.
"Daniels. Take our guest to her room. She needs to get ready for work."
"What?" Molly asked, completely at a loss of understanding.
"Get you ready for work. You're going to be needed at the morgue." Jim replied merrily.
"You planning to kill someone, sir?" One of the goons, Daniels, asked, tightening his grip on Molly's arm.
"Not quite yet. And the latest one they're not going to find for a while." Jim chuckled. "But I need to prove something to my little mouse. So, go and get ready Mouse."
Daniels tugged Molly's arm and began to pull her up the stairs. Her throat and wrists still soar from earlier helped Molly to decide it was best to save her energy. As he tugged her up the stairs Molly began to ponder what Jim had in store for her. What did he want to prove? Why was she needed at the morgue?...Why was he letting her go?
Daniels came to a stop out side of a large dark oak door. Turning the handle and pushing Molly He started to talk to her in what Molly assumed to be in an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry about all this. Really! I am! It's just, Mr Moriarty has been planning this for quite a while, and he has my wife. Honestly Dr. Hooper, if it were up to me none of this would be happening, and I'm so sorry about what is going to happen to you, it's just sick." He said with distaste. He looked up into her eyes and turned, closing the door and locking it behind him, leaving Molly to dress, and to wonder what he was talking about.
After a moment Molly turned around to look at the room she was in. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was grand and old. The dark wood, four poster bed matched the bedside tables, vanity and wardrobe. On the bed was a set of clothes. Black jeans, black socks and a tight looking, blood red long sleave shirt.
Molly sucked in a shaking breath and walked over to the bed, picking up the socks. She peeled them away from each other and put them on her already bare feet (her heels, half broken, having being left in the car). She took the pins out of her ruined hair and slipped out of her dress.
Finished changing, Molly sat on the bed and waited. Not long later, Jim strolled in an came to stand infront of her. Refusing to look up, Molly kept her gaze looked on the book shelf behind him. Jim chuckled before reaching down and gently taking Molly's chin between his fingers, lifting her face up to look into his.
"Look at me, Mouse." He demanded. Whe she still wouldn't meet his gaze his left hand rose and slapped her across the face. Stunned, Molly's eyes gutted up and locked onto Jim's. "I said Look!" He cooed down at her.
Tears started to well in her eyes and her lip started to tremble, her heart beating faster out of fear that he would kill her, or worse.
"Now, I want you to listen very carefully. Are you listening Mouse?" His voice was soft but the look in his eyes could kill a man. Molly quickly nodded her head. "Good. You are going to go to work, and go about your job as usual. When Sherlock comes in, as I know he will, you will act as if nothing has changed. If you are to give of any kind of verbal clue to him that I have you, I will kill everyone in that hospital faster than you can say 'Sherlock, you bloody idiot.' Do you understand?"
"Yes..." She whispered.
"Good girl. Your shoes are by the door." He let her chin slip out of his hand as he turned and walked towards the door. "Be ready to leave in an hour. Oh! And before I forget." He reached up towards the wardrobe and pulled down a woollen jumper. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart." He chuckled, and threw the jumper at her.
The door closed and locked behind him, leaving Molly alone to cry into the soft Christmas jumper, finally able to hide her face from the cruel reality of what was really happening to her.
...
After receiving the call from Mycroft, Sherlock was into his coat and out of the house in seconds, catching a cab to Bart's and rushing down to the morgue where his brother was already waiting.
They walked in to together, Sherlock listening to Mycroft only vaguely. Looking up Sherlock sees Molly standing behind a body, her hair open around her shoulders and wearing a rather atrocious Christmas jumper. He wasn't quite sure what but something was off about her. Must have been what I said at Baker's street. He concluded to himself.
"The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here - your home from home." Mycroft concurred, waiting for Sherlock to identify her so he could get on with better business.
"You didn't need to come in, Molly." Sherlock said, attempting to ease the tension.
"That's okay. Everyone else was busy with...Christmas." The tension is still there, why? I said sorry. Molly looked down and gestured to the body. "The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult." She said, pulling the sheet down to revel her face.
"That's her, isn't it?" Mycroft asked, starting to get inpatient.
"Show me the rest of her" Sherlock demanded. Grimacing, Molly walked along the side of the table, pulling the sheet back further as she went. Sherlock looked down the body, comparing the measurements of Irene to that of the body. "That's her." He stated and turned away. Thoughts where already flying around his head, and he had to struggle to contain them all, sorting quickly through his Mind Palace, placing each thought and theory in the right category. His head was so busy, he barley heard the conversation going on behind him. Barley.
"Thank you, Miss Hooper."
"Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from...not her face?"
Sherlock pushed the door open, and a few moments later was followed by Mycroft. A cigarette and some talk of Irene later, Sherlock left Mycroft to his government issues and started to head home to Baker's Street. He tried to keep his mind focused on Irene and her death, but no matter how hard he tried to delete the thoughts, his mind kept ringing back to Dr Molly Hopper.
He didn't know why or how, but the little pathologist had taken center stage in his mind, as if all the doors and winding corridors in the Palace weren't enough to keep her from being the main focus. Sherlock's head reeled. Something is wrong with Molly. I can smell it. But it can't just be what I said at the Christmas party. I know I 've said much worse things in the past, and she has always been merrily bringing me coffee mear hours after. So what could possibly be different this time...
...
Sitting back in the car with Jim, Molly huddled in the corner and stared out of the window. He hardly even noticed. And that women. She shivered. I bet he didn't even realise anything was wrong at all.
"Molly Mouse, sweetheart, tell Daddy all about work. How where the dead? Corpsely? Dead silent? Oh! And how was dear old Sherl? Have anything interesting to say at all?" Jim teased.
"Please stop..."
"He didn't even notice did he. He just kept on working away, not taking time for little old Molly. But that's not unlike him, is it. When has he ever noticed you?"
"Stop. Please..."
"For a man who notices everything he sure can be blind in that department. Or.. Can he? What about that women on your slab?"
"Please Jim..."
"Just to think! He was more interested in a corpse then he was in you. That must feel awful, to know you'll always be second best..."
"Stop it."
"Even to the dead..."
"STOP IT!" Molly yelled, reeling her hand back to slap him, but he was faster. He caught her wrist mid flight and twisted it back. Molly yelped in pain.
"Please Molly. No violence from you."
In one quick jerk of his arm, Molly was pulled across the back seats and flew straight into his lap. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. Jim shoved his nose into her hair and inhaled sharply.
"I thought we agreed you would be good for Daddy. Don't be a disobedient little girl now Molly Mouse. Otherwise I won't be able to control myself, and then you can't hold me accountable for what I do to you."
She tried to wriggle free from his grasp but his hold on her only tightened. "Stop now, Molly, or I will have to put you over my knee."
Molly stilled and cried silently as Jim ran his fingers through her hair and over her body, holding her against him in a one-sided embrace. Quietly, and completely to herself, Molly muttered "Please find me Sherlock! Please..." under her breath, praying to God that he would know. And praying to God that he came before Jim had a chance to hurt her to badly.
...
Well, Jim is being bad, Molly is being sad, John is being mad, and Sherlock is being very confused. But what in the name of sanity has Jim got planned?
Thanks for reading and reviewing.
