WARNING: Sorry, I get a little gruesomely detailed here … but I make up for it with some sexy times towards the end!
on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87
:)
Anticipation
Nothing.
No one had been able to find a single clue to tell them where the photo had been taken. It was in an abandoned factory or warehouse for sure, but other than that there were no visual clues as to what the factory had once been used for.
Sherlock had printed out the image of the message, as well as the images of Richard Brook from the CCTV footage and th he had created with Sherlock's emails and blog comments. He had pinned them all to the wall of the dining room, near the projector screen. While Sherlock studied these images and mulled in his Mind Palace, John and Mary took the time to continue to practice with Molly.
She was actually rather enjoying it. The focus she needed to perform each of the moves properly kept her from the fact that they had yet to find Brook, as well as the fact that potentially at any moment he could make his move; destroying anything and anyone that he wished. Knowing that she now had the ability to defend herself left her feeling a bit better.
John's voice broke through her thoughts, "He may be his twin brother, but he's not entirely like him. Moriarty would not have held out this long. It's a good thing Sherlock eradicated Sebastian Moran when he did. If he had been alive I am quite certain that Brook would have used him to his full potential."
The three of them had walked back in to the house, desperate for a nice cup of tea to take the chill out of their bones. The dreary weather had yet to improve. Sherlock was still standing where Molly had left him, in front of his wall of images. A pot of tea and cups were sitting on the table. Mycroft was standing at the other end of the room talking on his mobile. After pouring a cup of tea Molly walked over to Sherlock and picked up his hand which had been hanging down at his side. She curled it around the cup and without taking his gaze from the wall he took it with both hands, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip.
"Thank you Molly."
Her eyes widened slightly, a bit shocked that he could even acknowledge another's presence when he was so deeply involved in a case.
"Stop it Molly. You're thinking very loudly. I always know when you are there."
Smiling she walked away from him and poured herself a cuppa. Settling down in a chair she let out a satisfied sigh. Mary had already gone upstairs to check on baby Scarlet. John was resting his eyes in a chair across from Molly.
"Sherlock."
Mycroft's biting tone cut through the room. All eyes turned to him, Sherlock rotating on his heel.
"There has been a new development. I have just spoken with Detective Inspector Lestrade, clearly him choosing to stay in London has been a wise choice. There was a murder, a man. A body was found in one of the abandoned buildings that Brook was photographed entering. The body has been taken to St. Bart's morgue. Lestrade will be sending photos of the victim." His mobile pinged, "Ahh, here they are now."
Damn. I wish I could be there for the autopsy.
The images began to appear on the projector screen. Molly quickly gulped down the sip of tea she had just taken.
Never mind. I'm glad I am here.
The body had been brutally treated. He was naked, and yet anything that could be used to make the man recognizable had been removed. Carved crudely into the man's chest were the letters I O U.
"Do they know who the victim is?" Sherlock questioned.
"Lestrade told me that they are running a DNA sample now. That will take approximately –"
"Three hours." Molly cut in.
Sherlock turned to look at her, before stepping over to her, "Are you all right?"
She knows that he can deduce her answer before she even speaks it. But he is waiting for her to let him know.
"Yes. It's just Moriarty never did anything quite like this before, did he?"
Sherlock's eyes shifted slightly, "Well, he did blow up an old woman."
"What?"
Mycroft's voice cuts in once more, "This is not the time for whom did what, leave that for later. Sherlock study these photos, deduce what you can. Have Miss Hooper help you, since it is her speciality."
"Doctor Hooper." Sherlock spat at him.
"Boys behave."
The two men looked at John. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched slightly. Molly stood and walked over to the screen.
"Once we know the identity of the man that may tell us more. He could very well be not connected, just someone Brook simply chose to use. Perhaps he was an easy target."
Sherlock had his hands steepled, "Possibly. But nothing that these men do is done without a purpose. He killed this man because he is important. He must be another clue."
"His face has been completely demolished, his scalp removed. Why would Brook go to such great lengths to disguise this man's identity?"
Sherlock smirked slightly, "Always one for dramatics."
Molly narrowed her eyes at him before returning to the images. "This isn't dramatic. This is barbaric." She stepped closer to the screen, "I O U. I O U." She whispered this under her breath, "Why have they both used that message? What does it mean?"
Sherlock dismissed her question with a wave of his hand, deeming it not worthy of an answer. Turning back around she moved her gaze to the images once more.
Sometime later, after everyone had had lunch, Sherlock not eating a bite, Mycroft returned to the room.
"Lestrade has found out the man's name."
Sherlock's hand twitched; clearly annoyed by the fact that Lestrade is no longer directly communicating with him.
"Albert Fall."
Mycroft waited a moment, looking to see if this garners a reaction from anyone. It doesn't.
"He was a binman. No family connection to Moriarty and Brook."
"Albert Fall." Sherlock muttered this to him self, turning back to the photos, "Albert Fall."
Sherlock hadn't come to bed that night. Molly had slept fitfully, a pile of blankets heaped upon her since she didn't have the warmth of his body near her. He and Mycroft were in the dining room where she had left them the night before; neither appeared to have slept. She sat herself down at the table, breakfast had been laid out. Helping herself to a soft roll she nibbled it idly as she poured herself a cup of coffee and one for Sherlock. Black, two sugars. She brought it over to him, the Holmes brother's conversation coming to an end. Mycroft stood with a huff walked out of the room. Sherlock took the coffee from her.
"Thank you."
"Any new developments?"
"Frustratingly, no."
Molly returned to her breakfast, as Mycroft walked back into the room followed by John and Mary. Mycroft sat in front of his lap top, John and Mary taking a seat near Molly. No one spoke, not wanting to interfere with the great minds of the Holmes' train of thought.
As the days continued to pass Sherlock grew more and more agitated. He began pacing the room. He wasn't speaking to anyone, but his lips were always moving, muttering silently. He would occasionally run his hands through his curls, mussing them. Molly hadn't spoken a word either, knowing that he was desperately trying to put the pieces of the puzzle of this mad, twisted game together in his mind. But she had had enough; she could only handle watching him abuse his body for so long. He hadn't slept for six whole days, nor had he eaten for the passed four. His usually pale skin was even paler, bringing out the purple marks under his eyes.
I can't take this anymore. If I don't do something now he may just spontaneously combust! Either that or I will!
Jumping to her feet she grabbed Sherlock's hand just as he passed her. With a rather harsh tug she led him towards the door.
"Molly! What the hell are you doing?!"
His tone was bitter, annoyed, aggravated, all of the above. She chose to ignore it completely, continuing to tug him down the hall to the stairs. He was stronger than her, he could have easily pulled himself out of her grip, but he didn't. Perhaps somewhere deep down inside of himself he knew that whatever her intentions were, were only going to help him.
They reached their bedroom. She closed the door behind him and locked it, at last releasing his hand. For a moment they both stood there eyeing each other.
"What. Are. You. Doing?" He spoke each word slowly.
This plan of yours better work, Molly!
She stepped towards him, tilting her face upwards, "Distracting you." She answered.
His eyes widened, "What? No. NO! Not now! I can't now. I need to focus!"
She pressed her fingers to his lips, "Sherlock, you aren't focusing at all. You can't focus. You're exhausted. You need to sleep and to eat an actual meal. You can't keep doing this to yourself! You're nearly forty years old, continue on like this and you'll kill yourself. It was fine when you were younger, but not now. You need to quiet your mind. You told me once before that when you're with me everything shuts down, that all you can focus on and think of is me. I think you need to do that."
He shook his head and stepped backwards, but she could already see that his eyes were starting to dilate. He may fight it, but she knew that she had him hooked.
I may not be much of a seductress, but I know exactly how to arouse you.
"You need a release Sherlock. I've never seen you so wound up before." She stepped forward, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, standing on her tip toes so that her lips were hovering directly over his, "Make love to me Sherlock. You always feel better after you do. I need you. We all need you. But I need you more."
"Damnit woman!" He growled as he pulled her flush up against him, crashing his lips to hers.
They kissed hungrily for a time, removing each other's clothing. When they were both entirely naked he nudged her towards the bed. She dropped backwards onto the mattress, his body quickly covering hers. His lips were hot and wet as they left kisses all over her skin.
"That's it Sherlock. Close your mind, quiet it. Think of only us. Of you and of me." She murmured softly to him.
Fuck, what is it about his mouth on me that feels so good?
His movements became desperate, frantic. No time for foreplay or drawn out pleasure. He needed her, she needed him. Both thankful that their room was in the farthest corner of the house, (did he choose it on purpose?), neither one of them held back their noises. He had never heard her be so vocal.
This is what you've done to me Sherlock. This is how you make me feel.
He collapsed on top of her, both panting desperately. He moved over ever so slightly, so that his body wasn't crushing hers. She kissed him slowly, almost lazily. He nuzzled her with his nose before moving downwards to bury his face in her neck. She held on to him, moving her fingers through his soft curls.
"Thank you." She felt, more than heard him murmur this in to her skin. He picked up his head and looked down at her, "I don't know how I've survived this long without you."
Well, that's a confession I never expected from him.
Molly raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening, "Half-living?" She suggested. He chuckled, then hummed with pleasure as she hitched a leg over his hip, rubbing herself up against him.
They made love again, this time slowly. There was no rush here, no instant need of release. They allowed themselves the time to explore each other's bodies, discovering what sort of touches elicited noises. Afterwards, curled into each other, Molly was stroking her fingers along the outline of his face.
"Sleep now Sherlock, rest."
She could see that his eyes were growing heavy, but that he was trying to fight it.
"You'll feel so much better tomorrow, if you do."
His arm that was wrapped around her waist, nudged her, telling her that he wanted her up higher. She did as he asked, her breasts coming to rest just above his rib cage. She pressed feather light kisses along his neck. With a satisfied sigh he at last let his eyes drop completely closed. She smiled, before closing her own eyes. One last thought drifting through her mind as sleep overtook her.
I don't know which one of us needs the other more.
