Molly was uncomfortable. She was crammed in the back of a large wardrobe. Sherlock hung on a coat hook by the ropes binding his wrists; he balanced his feet on an old shoe-shine kit, alleviating the strain on his wrists and shoulders. John was bound and gagged, rather like a calf, and Molly did find herself almost giggling at that. He looked silly on his back, hands and ankles tied together. Molly, having been deemed the least harmless, was set in the cupboard on her backside; ankles bound together, wrists behind her back.
"Well. This is the most ridiculous predicament I've been in thus far." Sherlock muttered.
"I would have thought the incident in Wapping was worse," Molly said, wriggling her fingers. She shimmied, frowning at the neckline of her gown. Of course they'd be sleuthing at a formal event. Of course she'd have to worn the dress Mary said she should wear because Sherlock liked the color. Of course that bloody dress had to be strapless and long. She couldn't very well run in this!
"Footsteps." Sherlock said, trying to shake the blindfold from his eyes.
"They're leaving," Molly answered, still twisting her wrists back and forth. "Oh! Maybe…" she murmured, sliding the circle of her arms under her bum, she shimmied until they were hooked under her knees. "Oh buggar this," she grumbled. Sherlock succeeded in getting the blindfold off just in time to see Molly topple onto her side, sitting on her tied wrists. She let a string of curses loose as she felt the fabric of her dress and corset straining on her side, pinching.
"Language, Molly,"
"Shut up, Sherlock," John and Molly both said, John somewhat muffled by the rag stuffed in his mouth. She wriggled around, grunting until she finally succeeded in getting her arms back behind her.
"Well that won't work," she grumbled.
"Molly can you hear a guard out there?"
"If there were," Molly shimmied along the floor on her bum to see under the door. "They'd have told us to shut up by now." She peered through the crack on the floor. "No, nobody's there."
"There's one on the outer door though," John said, having spit out the gag. "You couldn't see him Sherlock."
"Hm."
Molly got to her feet with no degree of sophistication whatsoever. Hobbling over to the bench where John had been set, she managed to kneel down, inching forward, peering at the back panel.
"Looking for Narnia?" John asked
"You laugh; these old wardrobes have false backs."
"And lead us directly into a wall, brilliant, Molly, do remind me to tell Lestrade to phone you the next time we're in search of a fawn carrying groceries," Sherlock grumbled.
"These old wardrobes have false panels, because they're placed in front of hidden doors you idiot," Molly snapped.
"Oh please,"
"Really?" John seemed interested at least.
"Didn't you wonder why the bottom of the wardrobe outside doesn't match the inside?
"We stepped over, not up to get in." John realized.
"Nobody keeps a wardrobe with a false bottom unless they're hiding something," Sherlock finished.
"There are hooks, but no coats. There's a bench for putting shoes on, but no shoes. And I can feel a draft back here," Molly said from the bench.
"In that dress, I'm sure," Sherlock replied icily.
"I wore it for you!" she answered tartly, and Sherlock blinked, almost doing a double take.
"Me?"
"Yes you, you moron," Molly huffed. "See if I try and look nice for you again," She glared at him before sitting back on her knees. "I can't do anything with my hands behind my back, John, can you reach my hair comb?"
"Think so, move closer." She bent over his hands, and he managed to grasp the edge of the fancy comb from her hair and drop it into her hand. Molly gritted her teeth as she jimmied the sharp end of the comb between her wrists and the zip ties. She struggled for a few moments, sawing carefully at it before she felt the plastic give away and she held up her bare wrists, triumphant. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. She fiddled with the ties at her ankles until she managed to break them as well. Getting to her feet, she went to the back panel,
"Uh, Molly,"
"Hm."
"How about getting us out?" John asked.
"I will in a minute,"
"They could come back in a minute!"
"Most definitely," Molly said. She stood up on the bench, running her hand along the top of the wardrobe.
"Your time spent with Sherlock has done you no favors."
The outer door beyond the wardrobe creaked and all three within froze.
"I heard a thump-" said one of the guards. Molly sat back down on the floor, arms behind her back, hiding her legs under her long hem. "You go ahead, I'm gonna check on them."
The doors to the wardrobe opened, beyond the guard Molly could see the outer door was shut.
"Hey!" the guard exclaimed, seeing the broken zip ties on the floor. Molly lunged, grabbing for the man's legs, tripping him. He fell with a 'thud' onto his back, head knocking against the open door. For a moment, no one moved. Poking her head out of the wardrobe, Molly looked around, and then dragged the guard inside, taking the handcuffs on his belt.
"He should be out for a while," she said, checking his pulse.
"Why'd you shut the door, we can get out the front way," John said.
"I can't sneak in this dress, and I am not running around in my slip and pants."
"Pity," Sherlock muttered.
"What?"
"What?"
"Still tied up Molly," John said, and she reached for the ties.
"Make sure he can't get loose, just in case he comes to," she murmured, looking around the wardrobe. "If you wanted to conceal a switch, where would you hide it?"
"That's assuming there is a switch, or even a passage beyond," Sherlock replied.
"Under the bench?" John asked, he felt along the lip of it, and then shook his head. "No."
"The wood of this wardrobe, what's it made of?" Molly asked.
"I'm still tied up," Sherlock ignored her question.
"Looks like mahogany,"
"Hm, mid century?"
"Going by the carvings on the doors? Yeah."
"Still. Tied."
"Shh. Thinking," Molly waved at him. Sherlock looked from her to John, who wasn't even trying to hide his smile.
"Losing circulation in my hands Molly,"
"Hm."
"Won't be able to play the violin, Molly,"
"Concentrating."
"Won't be able to feed Toby, Molly."
"You don't feed him anyway." Sherlock blew at the curls hanging in his eyes. Time for a different tactic. He affixed a pleasant smile on his face.
"That dress is very pretty on you-"
"Don't even start that," she held up a hand. Sherlock huffed. John leaned back against the wall, grinning. Flattery wouldn't work. Sympathy wouldn't work. He watched Molly study the walls and bench seat, an idea finally clicking in his head.
"Please." He muttered. She straightened.
"What was that?" she looked back at him, and John raised his eyebrows.
"Please untie me." Molly smiled and climbed onto the bench, reaching the hook where his wrists were bound. This one was not polished black like the others; it looked worn down, as if someone had used it frequently. But who uses a hook in an empty wardrobe?
"Oh! Brilliant!" she pulled hard on his wrists
"Ow!" the hook pulled from the wall and the panel behind the bench clicked, popping away from the wall. Sherlock tumbled to his knees with a grunt, rubbing his wrists.
"How'd you know that was there?" he asked.
"The outside doesn't match the inside," she said cheerfully. John shook his head.
"You and your Doctor Who references."
"Actually my dad was a carpenter. I used to hang around with him on his jobs." She said, sliding the back panel open. Behind was indeed a narrow passage.
"Where's this lead?" John asked as they all bent to peer through the opening.
"Looks like an old service shaft, most probably for generators." Sherlock said. He hitched up his trousers, stepped onto the bench and through the opening, turning to assist Molly.
"Last time I listen to your wife when it comes to fashion," Molly said to John as she tried to step onto the bench in the restricting skirt. The gown that seemed so elegant at the start of the evening (hugging her knees and flaring out beneath) now seemed the most ridiculous style she'd ever heard of. She picked up handfuls of the gown so she could climb up and out.
"Don't make promises nobody wants you to keep," Sherlock said as John climbed through.
"What?"
"What?"
The passage was cold and damp, but otherwise still sound, if abandoned for some time. It lead them down under the great house and out into an alley.
"Where are we?"
"At least six blocks down from the house, oh, this is ideal!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"I accept compliments," Molly said, quite proudly. She shivered in the cold January air and Sherlock shed his Belstaff, placing it over her shoulders.
"For what?" he asked, pulling out his mobile and texting Greg the go-ahead to make the arrest.
"For getting us out, obviously."
"I believe I was the one who revealed Kelvin's smuggling operation!"
"Yes, and got us put in the wardrobe," Molly said. "We'd still be in there if it weren't for me!"
"Please," Sherlock snorted. "I would have found a way out…eventually."
"Not without getting shot," she countered. "My way got us out quietly and effectively, with time to spare to call the police." She beamed up at Sherlock. John, for his part, rocked back on his heels, grinning. Molly walked with a swing in her step reserved especially for when she outsmarted her husband.
"Oh just admit it," John shrugged.
They jogged up to the house just as Greg and the police were arresting Kelvin and his henchmen, guests stood outside, shivering and waiting to give their accounts of the evening.
"Well done," Lestrade said to Sherlock. "Been waiting to get this one for a while,"
"Hm," Sherlock was tapping out a text. One of the police handed Molly her wrap that was found inside the house, but she opted to keep the Belstaff.
"Why didn't you check in, by the way? Something go wrong? We were waiting on our end to hear from you."
"We got tied up," Sherlock answered.
"Well yeah, I figured, we found the passage in the wardrobe, how'd you figure that one out?"
"I didn't, Molly did," Sherlock said, and John noted there was some amount of pride in the consulting detective's voice.
"Good thing you did, the outer door was wired; if you tried the knob it would've blown the place up!" Greg said. The three stared back at him, shocked. John's phone rang, breaking the silence.
"Hello? Hi Mary, how are you?" he motioned to the phone against his ear, walking away from them. Sherlock saw his opportunity and bent, kissing Molly's cheek. She smiled, knowing it was his way of saying he was proud of her. He was already digging his phone back out of his pocket, tapping out a text.
"Are you hungry?"
"Famished," she replied. "Shall I make something when we get home?"
"Don't bother, we'll stop for something on the way."
"Fish and chips?"
"If you like."
"I do like," she said stoutly as she climbed into the cab. "I saved the day after all-"
"Helped-"
"-avoided certain destruction-"
"-Found a different door-"
"-and managed to look absolutely ravishing while doing so."
"You always look that way."
"What?
"What?" Sherlock only beamed at her before settling his arm over her shoulders, giving the address to the cabbie.
