Chapter 6: The Worst That Could Happen

Molly groaned, blinking blearily. It was cold and bright, wherever she was, and her wrists and ankles hurt. She was trying to wet her dry, fuzzy mouth when it all suddenly came back to her; Moriarty wasn't dead. There was a man in her room and... that was the last thing she remembered. She tried to move her arms, but they were bound tightly to a chair, as were her legs. Well, that explained the pain.

"Really? You actually thought I wouldn't secure you? Tut, tut, mouse, you're growing more careless by the second."

Her blood froze; she knew that voice. Molly looked around wildly but couldn't see him. He must have been standing behind her, but somehow, that information only made her more uneasy. She took a breath to steady herself (which didn't work very well) and looked around her, her eyes adjusting to the light and dark of the place. She was in some sort of locked room with a bare concrete floor. She was still in her pajamas and barefoot, which would explain why she was so cold. But she had no idea where she was. She swallowed hard.

Jim smirked. "A little skittish, aren't we, mouse," he whispered, leaning in so he breathed on her neck before kissing it, biting the skin before withdrawing into the shadows again. "I expected a valiant rescue from your beau. Disappointing, really."

She gasped then shuddered in revulsion; this was the last thing she wanted. She wanted to ask how Sherlock's rescue was disappointing, but couldn't...there was still tape over her mouth.

Jim reached around, ripping the tape off in one fluid motion. "You can talk you know," he purred, Irish brogue thick on his voice. She winced, both at the pain and at the sound of that voice. "What do you want with me?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

"Oh, I'm sure you already know that, pet"

Her eyes went wide with fear and her heart started pounding; she could think of several things, and none of them were good. "Leave him alone," she hissed. This was some way to get back at Sherlock, she knew that much.

"And why should I? He broke his end of our little bargain. That means I get to hurt what he loves most."

She thought fast...she had to downplay their relationship, to make it seem like less than it was. "He...he doesn't love me most. I'm...I'm not...important. I don't-don't count," she said, the words stinging, even if they were a lie.

Jim started to hum in her ear, very softly before singing: "Te lucis ante terminum..." (1)

Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. "Stop it..." she whispered.

"My love is like a red, red rose..." (2)

She felt sick. "Stop it..." she said. He was using their words, their songs. It made her feel...vile. It was almost as bad as if he had touched her. Then she had a thought. He knew their song and her pet name, meaning her flat was bugged. She went white; he knew. He knew everything, how they lived, how they slept...how they loved...

"All clicking now, isn't it? Not such a pure flower anymore, you naughty girl."

The breath went out of her in a rush. "Why...I...you must have had my flat bugged before this...why?" she asked faintly. She had to know.

"Bored."

She shuddered. It was absolutely uncanny how alike he and Sherlock could be...down to the phrases they used. She shook her head; no no no, don't ever compare Sherlock to this... madman. Sherlock could feel. She wasn't sure about Moriarty.

"And then I was sooooooo pleased when he came back to you, toying with you as he always has. You really should choose your partners more carefully, mouse."

"He's not toying with me," she said, voice defiant.

"How can you be sure," Jim hissed in her ear, hands idly stroking her arms. "You think that rock guarantees anything?"

She felt her skin crawl underneath his touch and tried in vain to move away. "The ring is just a symbol. The words are not," she said.

"Words can lie, love. Your time with me should have taught you that, little rose."

"Not when he means them," she spat. She knew he was trying to make her doubt Sherlock, but she wouldn't. She had seen far too much of that man, had been through too much, had picked up too many pieces to even think that he would lie to her like that.

"Sentiment, that's all it is, down to his singing his first profession of love. Awful soon after telling you he loved another man, wasn't it?"

She tried to block the words out, but the smallest tendril of doubt grew. It...was awfully quick for him to get over John. She tried to quell that as best she could, and was silent. She wouldn't, couldn't believe Moriarty. He was trying to get inside her head, to break her from the inside out, and she'd be damned if she'd let him.

"You think it too, just too good to be true, followed up with sex and showers and sweet nothings and more music. 'Will you go, lassi go-'"

She rocked her head back, trying to hit him. Damn him. DAMN him for saying these things. And damn her for beginning to doubt.

"'And we'll all go together'" Jim continued, dancing out of her way. "Rose has thorns, I like it."

She began trying her bonds, praying that there was some weakness to them. She strained and stretched and fought them until she broke the skin on her wrists. No good, they held too tightly. She was growing tired; the drug was still lingering in her system. She panted softly, glaring at the darkness, trying to see him.

"You know, I'm rather enjoying myself, a slightly used pet at my disposal," Jim whispered, lips sucking the shell of her ear. She shuddered, his breath and his mouth hot on her ear. She recoiled. "I am not your pet," she snarled. Again, she moved her head quickly to the side to see if she could hit him. Wonder of wonders, he must have stayed close to her to gloat, because she felt her skull collide with something. It hurt her, but she smiled grimly, knowing it would hurt him as well.

He snarled, backhanding her. "As long as you're here, I think you'll find you are, Rose," he growled. Her head rocked back, the ring on his hand tearing open the skin of her lip and forcing her teeth against the inside of her mouth, cutting her cheek. She spat out the blood at him, hoping that she hit him. A small amount of defiance, even as the pain sizzled.

"You stain this suit, you lose a finger. Tear it, and Sherlock loses one," he hissed.

She froze; the last thing she wanted to do was get Sherlock hurt. So, his ultimatum about his precious suit given, she glared. If looks could kill, Moriarty would be dead a hundred thousand times over from the one that Molly was giving him.

Jim smirked, sauntering forward to stand fully in the light for the first time. "I see you understand me now. Good." He crossed to her, sitting in her lap, and trailing one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Don't you love me anymore?" he pouted, looking up at her, using his Jim from IT voice. "You were so pliable in bed, so malleable." He leaned in and stole a kiss, lapping the blood from her lip. "You always did taste so wonderful."

Her blood ran cold. Of course he had to bring that up; they had made love once. Once. They had gone out for dinner and drinks and she'd had too much. She woke up the next morning sore and naked next to him, the night before rushing back to her; a tangle of tongues, hands roaming, her screaming his name to the heavens, her hands clutched in the sheets as he pleasured her. She felt so horrible about that night that she ended it. "I never loved you," she said, again, feeling her skin crawl with revulsion as he touched her. However, goose bumps formed on her bare arms; the room was cold and he was warm, after all, and her pajamas weren't made for cold bare rooms.

"Hmmm, I think you're lying, and you know what I do to liars," he growled, biting his way down her neck.

"I'm not lying..." she gasped as he moved his mouth down her neck. She shuddered.

"Yet your body betrays you."

"So turn the thermostat up; it's cold in here. People shiver when it's cold," she said, trying to move away from him, a futile gesture. He had her pinned.

"But I'm warm, dearest," he chuckled. "Afraid of cheating?"

"I detest you," she spat.

He smiled against her neck before biting and sucking a bruise, his hands letting her hair down and running through it. When he was satisfied, he came back up and kissed her deeply, nose wrinkling. "You don't taste right, Rose. Suppose it's time to reclaim what's mine..."

He kissed her and it took everything she had not to bit him. But then he said those words...'time to reclaim what's mine,' and her eyes widened and her face drained of all color. "No..." she breathed. No no no no no...Not that.

"Oh, yes," he whispered into her mouth, fingers roughly tearing at the buttons on her shirt, not caring for the fabric as he plundered her mouth. She whimpered as he kissed her; one of dominance, of possession. She could hear the buttons skitter off into corners and her breasts were bare to him now. She felt tears well up in her eyes and roll down her face as she thrashed. If this was going to happen, then, by God, she wasn't going to make it easy. He snarled against her lips, nicking them with his canine teeth. "Behave, Rose, or you're fiancée will suffer."

"Are you really so sure about that?"

She gasped, turning her head; she knew that voice. She loved that voice. "Sherlock...!" she breathed. She was elated, and terrified at the same time. He had them both in the same room now...and who knew how Moriarty's mind worked. The criminal stopped kissing the girl but his hands continued working, fully baring her chest. "Well, well, Sherlock-"

"Let. Her. Go."

Moriarty smirked. "Oh, defending the honor of your lady-love? How...pathetic. Never thought I'd see the day where you went all noble. But look at her now, your precious rose. Her skin is soft, I'll give you that," he said. He bent his head to the crook of her neck and shoulder, keeping his eyes on Sherlock as he inhaled Molly's scent, pressing a lingering kiss and a quick, vicious bite there. "And she smells...and tastes...lovely. Although, why you'd want her is beyond me," he said, his hands still wandering their way over her skin.

Sherlock took a slow breath, blocking out the fear on Molly's face before grabbing Jim and throwing him across the room, into the wall. "You seem to forget that I spent several years killing people, Jim."

Moriarty got up, shaking himself. "Well, well, well, Sherlock, I haven't forgotten that, not at all. Although, perhaps, there is something you've forgotten? How quickly you change your mind. You say you love that Army doctor, and then you shack up with little miss mouse here. Why is that?" he said, cocking his head to the side in that reptilian manner of his.

"It is none of your business what I do, Moriarty," Sherlock hissed, flying forward to pin the man to the wall, John's old gun underneath Jim's chin. "No blanks this time."

"Oooh, look at you, big man with your gun. But it is my business. Don't want you hurting my Mouse now, do I? I do so miss her after all...you know how tight she is...all those lovely noises she makes. And I had her first," he leered up at Sherlock.

Sherlock's face was almost touching Jim's. "Yes, I am the big man and I'm tired of your games. Your guards were child's play. I will admit to a definite satisfaction in watching the light drain from Moran's eyes a few months back. And it matters who she truly cares about, not who got there first."

The criminal hissed "But that takes all the fun out of the game. And Seb knew the risks. Bad form for not telling the rules, you know."

"You want rules?" Sherlock's arm cut off Jim's air supply, crushing against his windpipe. "I kill you now, ending this for good, and then I leave with Molly, safe and sound, you forever dead to me and to the world."

Jim's face went red, then purple from the lack of air, his lips turning blue. Sherlock cocked the gun and stuck it into Jim's mouth. "Farewell."

There was just enough consciousness left in him to laugh. This was...ironic. 'See you in Hell, Holmes. I look forward to that handshake,' was the last thought that James Moriarty had before the trigger was pulled. Blood, bits of skull and brain matter flew everywhere, spattering the walls. Sherlock stepped back, ears ringing as the empty corpse collapsed to the floor. He wiped off his face as best he could, getting most of the blood off before turning to Molly. He rushed to her side. "Are you hurt?"

Her eyes were wide. She had just watched him kill a man. She realized that Sherlock was asking her a question. "Ah...I...other than my face, I'm...I'm fine..." she said.

He saw the cut, cursing softly. He took out a knife and started working at the bindings on her wrists.

All of a sudden, there was a soft -shlick- sound and an awful wet squelch; then Molly felt pain, bright, searing pain, shards and slivers and webs of it, all coming from a point low in her gut. She looked down; there was about six inches of bright steel, now dulled with her blood, protruding from her abdomen. "Sherlock..." she whispered, hardly able to draw a breath.

He gasped, swearing every curse word he knew, practically ripping the rest of her bindings off. "No, nononononononNO!" He pulled out his phone, calling 999 before turning back to it. "How to stop it? MOLLY, how do I stop the bleeding? DO NOT CLOSE YOUR EYES!"

Things were fading in and out. "Pressure. Pressure on the wound," she said. "Don't take the knife out, makes it bleed more." Her eyes fluttered and she fought...had to stay awake. But things were getting colder. She numbly identified shock. He heard the siren as he pressed his hands to the wound. "Oh Jesus, no, please, stay here love, stay with me."

She nodded weakly. "Try..." she said. Each word was an effort. Everything hurt. The pain came in waves, ebbing and flowing. He kissed her gently, a few tears escaping his eyes before the medics crashed through the door.

There were sudden lights and noise and then...she heard soft pneumatic hisses and -thips-. Sherlock sprang in front of her and then there were soft thuds as whatever projectiles had been fired hit him. "Shr'lck..." she said, still having enough consciousness to worry, to raise her arms to reach out to him, even as the EMT's were dragging her away and telling her to put her arms down or else she'd agitate the wound. She ignored them, starting to struggle. Using all that was left of her strength, she took a breath and screamed his name. "SHERLOCK!"

He heard her, but just barely, the world swimming as his vision blurred, vaguely aware of the pain as he hit the floor. His back burned, and he could just barely feel hands on him before he blacked out completely, his last thought of Molly and whether or not she was alive.

(1)- Vespera, appeared in previous chapters, Latin Chant

(2)- A Red, Red Rose- Robert Burns