A/N: Thank you everyone! for reviewing, favoriting, and following this story. You guys are great! Enjoy!
A cold, dark atmosphere, creeps through the house, intensifying the unholy sounds enclosing around him.
Why is he back? can't he see that I have a family now? I can't afford to play this twisted game any longer with him- Moriarty. Sherlock snaps awake, plagued by a sick fantasy too gruesome to even describe.
"Honey are you ok?" Molly gently rubs his back. His cold and clammy skin, gives her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her voice lowers to a concerned whisper. "Sherlock, why are you so cold?"
She gingerly lifts her hand up onto his forehead, to check for a fever. Leaving the detective, to wrestle with his own thoughts once again. Were the last 24 hour's just an illusion, brought on by 'feelings?' Sherlock stuttered, as that one word crossed his mind. Of course it didn't bother him as much as it used to; now that he had a family. But it still nagged at him. Deep down, he felt if he gave in too much to his 'feelings' somehow they would be crushed. Moriarty would finally be able uncover the layers to what he's been trying to hide all his life.
His thoughts are blurred out as he senses his wife's touch. He looks deep into her eyes, as a warm feeling comes over him. This was his life, to solve crimes, to be with the woman, and the family that he loves, and to deal with the occasional psychopath, that tries to ruin it all.
Over all, it isn't too boring of a life. The detective thinks to himself.
"I'm fine, lets just get some sleep." Sherlock gives Molly a weak smile, and the two of them drift off, intertwined in each-others arms.
...
"Mummy, I don't want to go to school," Hamish says, sliding his bottom lip into a pout, and collapsing into a ball on the floor.
"Honey, why don't you want to go?" Molly asks.
"Because, I don't need to go. I'm smarter than all the teachers, everyone of my classmates are idiots, and every time I say something smart, I get bullied for it. Please, don't make me go back," Hamish pleads.
"Hamish, what have I told you about calling people idiots? Just because your father does it, doesn't mean it's right to do. People can be stupid about some things, but they can be smart about other things. Just because you're smarter than your classmates, doesn't mean they're stupid.
Now, your father has a case. So I will stop by your school, on our way to work. Ok?"
Hamish joyfully embraces his mother and father...
"Why don't you two talk? while I make breakfast."
Molly leans in, and whispers in Sherlock's ear. "Don't take too long?" The pathologist kisses him gently on the lips, before leaving the room.
After Molly leaves, Sherlock slips on his robe, and tidies the bed, before gesturing to his son to sit down next to him.
"Now, what's this I hear about you not wanting to go to school?" The detective asks.
"The teachers never teach me anything, and they accuse me of cheating, when I get nearly perfect scores on tests, saying that I'm using my mind palace to cheat. And I'm constantly bullied."
Hamish soon finishes telling his father all the details...
"Son?" His voice grows softer. "Your uncle and I, had the same problems with school when we were your age. Living in a world of goldfish isn't easy. Now, we better head downstairs, your mother won't be pleased if we let the food get cold."
...
After breakfast, Molly and Sherlock get dressed, and drive their son to school...
After she drops her son off at school, Molly walks in the principals office... "Hamish is a brilliant boy, the smartest in this school. He has nearly perfect scores in all his classes. But my worry, and don't take this the wrong way, is that he's cheating. Every teacher, says that he keeps talking about going inside his mind palace, to find the answers. Everyone seems to think it's a cheating device."
"Do you know what it is?" The principal asks.
Molly can't help but giggle slightly, at the thought of the teachers thinking he's using a cheating device.
"Yes, we know exactly what it is, and it's not a cheating device. A mind palace is a memory technique, sort of a mental map. You plot a map with a location, it doesn't have to be a real place, then you deposit memories there... Theoretically you can never forget anything; you just have to find your way back to it. This location can be anything from a house to a street. But my son, built his into a palace." Molly finishes, and turns toward the principal.
"That is very interesting! I've never heard of a mind palace before," the principal says.
"One more thing before we go. Hamish has been complaining about being bullied. Is there anything you can do to help?" Molly asks.
"Well, being the best student in the school, some people are naturally going to be jealous of your son. However, I do tell all the students to report any disorderly behaviour to me, and I try my very best to get to the root of the problem. But unfortunately, few students actually do."
"You have my full guarantee, that if your son reports to me, I will do my very best to help in any way I can, Ms-"
"Holmes... Molly Holmes," she says, shaking her hand.
"As in Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yes, he's my Husband," Molly replies.
"It's so great to finally meet you! your husband has been such an inspiration to this school." The principal proudly shakes her hand.
"I know you two have a schedule to keep, but many students write a number of papers on him, and they're really enjoying reading your husbands blog, it's given them a new spark for science. Please, pass on our appreciation to your husband" the principal asks.
"Of course, I'll be glad to." Molly warmly smiles, and glances up at the clock on the wall.
"Oh, no! I'm nearly late for work, I have to be on time if I'm going to get that promotion." Thank you Ms. Files for your time," Molly says in a rushed tone.
The pathologist quickly leaves the principals office, and runs towards the waiting cab in front of the building. "Driver! to Bart's please, and step on it!"
...
Sherlock and John follow Lestrade up the stairs, into an old attic...
"The victims name is Herbert Greyson. His wife Linda, said that one moment he was sipping his tea, the next moment he was acting violently crazy, and threatened to throw the kettle at her. After which, she said he started to rave like a madman before jumping through the window."
"Did you ask her if he had a violent history?" John asks.
"She said two years ago that they had a fight. When she found two small needle marks on his arm, she got angry, and accused him of doing drugs. He denied it, and they got into a fight and he pushed her into the bathtub. Thankfully she only suffered minor bruising. She said that his violent behaviour only worsened over time, so she had to divorce him."
"If you're suspecting drugs, you're wrong, all the test came up negative." Lestrade says, in a boastful way.
"A man goes from drinking his tea, to threatening his wife, and raves like a madman before jumping out a window to his death. The needle marks on his arm are obviously from a syringe, but all the drug test come up negative. "Oo, this is getting rather fun." Sherlock clasps his hands into his thinking position. "Are there any more witnesses other than the ex wife?"
"No. She said it was early in the day, and all her neighbors had late shifts."
"All right, where's the tea cup?" Sherlock asks.
"In evidence. Why do you ask?"
"This is just a hunch inspector, but I need your team to run a series of test to determine how long the tea has been stagnating in the cup. If we know that, we can determine how long the body's been here. There's a possibility that the drugs he may or may not have taken, have already been flushed from his system. I need that analysis if I'm going to certain."
"That's brilliant!"
"Not now John," Sherlock says dryly. "The ex wife is still a suspect, the case isn't solved just yet."
"Um, right, where precisely was he standing, when he was threatening her?" John asks.
"What, how is that relevant?" Lestrade asks.
"Of course John, excellent insight!" Sherlock says proudly.
"If we find out the exact location where he was standing. The case will be solved. Get a hold of the ex wife, and text me when you have the details..."
The two of them walk out of the house, leaving the rest of the police force puzzled, and slide into the cab parked by the curb. "Where to sir?"
"Baker Street," Sherlock replies.
...
Hamish is walking home, when he sees a car to his left, following closely beside. Acting on instinct, he quickens his pace into a run, but it does little to help. Two men in black suits suddenly jump out of the moving vehicle. Hamish tries to outrun them, but he's soon tackled, and a chloroformed drenched cloth, is placed over his mouth...
The last thing he remembers before blacking out, are the rough hands of his captors around his body, transporting him into the car.
"Riiiiisssseeee and sssshhhhhiiiinnnnneeee!"
Hamish begins to wonder, if he's been kidnapped by a three-year old.
As the unnaturally high-pitched voice gets closer, someone quickly rips off his blindfold, startling him. Hamish grips the sides of the furnished chair he's tied to, and blinks his eyes a few times, adjusting to the brightness of the room, that is stinging his eyes.
A strange figure standing in front of him, begins to come into focus. Hamish slowly shifts his eyes from his dark leather shoes, slowly scanning his grey suit, and finally rests on the soul-less eyes of the deranged figure, smiling psychotically in front of his face.
A strange shutter, courses through his veins. Do I know this man? How come I feel such a loathing inside for a stranger I've never even met. Just looking into his eyes, I can feel I'm in the presence of someone sinister and evil. What is this man's name?
"Jim Moriarty. Hi." He finishes the last word in a sing-song voice, and begins to walk circles around the boy.
"This truly is special, it's not everyday that you get a visit from the famous, Hamish W. Holmes. I hope you've had a comfortable stay?" Moriarty taunts.
This man is a delusional psychopath! he knows that I'm tied to a chair, and yet he has the gall to ask me if I've been comfortable. What does this maniac want with me?
"Well go on, speak up, it's rude to ignore people." Moriarty says.
"You're crazy! of course I'm not comfortable, seeing that I'm tied to this infernal chair. Listening to you blabber on about rubbish, is giving me a headache."
"Very good!" Moriarty claps. "If you said that with just a hint more of utter disgust, you would sound exactly like your father."
"How do you know my father?" Hamish huffs.
"We're the very best of friends, I'm disappointed he didn't tell you about me. We do everything together. Play dress up, cops and robbers, simon says, but he doesn't follow the rules. A little pictionary, which your father is surprisingly slow at. Oh, and my personal favorite, ring around the rosy."
Moriarty looks into the distance. "Ashes ashes, we both fall down."
"I don't believe you, you're not his best friend, he already has a best friend. He's an army doctor from Afghanistan," Hamish retorts.
In a split second, Moriarty's playful expression changes. "You're not getting my point!"
Moriarty blasts in his face, causing Hamish to fearfully shove backward into his seat. As the ropes around his ankles to burn his skin, he remembers the wise words of his uncle. A soldier is strong, and brave; he doesn't show fear in the face of the enemy, and he fights with all his heart to survive.
Heeeey guys! *says in a high-pitched voice* I hope you enjoyed this chapter, drop me a line or two, in the reviews. I would love to hear what you think about this chapter:) speaking of chapters, chapter 4 will be out next week. Feel free to review;)
What did you guys think of Moriarty?