Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.
For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.
Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.
Sidenote: Hey guys! *raises shield* I'm so, so sorry for the late update. I kind of got stuck. You see, the plot thickens. I won't try to explain why it has been almost 2 months since I last updated because I'll feel like I'll be just stalling you guys, but, just know that I had been travelling for a few weeks and spent a few other weeks reading and playing games and doing some research, so…well, I hope you like this chapter! It's the longest chapter yet and probably the craziest. I really, really need to know how you guys feel about this. Please? Pretty please? No need for elaborate feedback, just tell me if you think I'm in the right track! And thank you very much those who reviewed, I love you all. I really do. Thank you for reading! (and to those that might have thought I had abandoned this fic, do not fret! That won't happen. I'm inconsistent with updates, but I'll just stop writing this fic when it is indeed over.)
Music for a dead man
Chapter 8: Moves like Jagger
It was almost four in the morning when exhaustion won over Molly. That meant she had just about 3 hours of sleep before going to Bart's in an ungodly Monday. She honestly loathed Mondays. Feeling like just a couple minutes had passed, her phone started to ring and Molly set its alarm off. She got up lazily and decided to take a quick shower so she wouldn't cause an accident on her way to work. While under the steaming water of the shower, Molly couldn't help thinking about the previous night. What the hell had happened? Sherlock was actually talking and he never really talked about something private unless he was asked – and even so, most of the time he would just ignore it or give a sharp, dismissive answer. He was still his own self, of course, and Molly could feel he had changed just slightly but she had no freaking idea of what caused it. By the end of her shower, she decided it was pointless to think too hard about it – this was Sherlock after all.
Molly was now fully dressed and making a fast, effortless breakfast. She was too lazy even to chew right now; hell, in actual truth she was too sleepy to even feel hungry. She decided to just get herself a couple biscuits and a heavenly strong coffee. Molly wondered if that was because she was just tired due to sleep deprivation or if it was the flu catching up on her. Come to think about it, she wasn't feeling one hundred percent and her head felt a bit funny. She decided to go anyway: she knew she would feel uncomfortable around Sherlock – or you could say even more uncomfortable – because of last night. It wasn't a huge deal, she thought, but still it was quite an intimate moment, one that she doesn't remember having with anyone – not even close friends – in a while.
Dragging her feet to the door and yawning, she closed it behind her and went straight to her car.
"Harry, I'm going now."
"What? Where the hell are you going so early?", Harry said as she took a bite of her bread and a sip of her coffee.
"Job hunting", John said as he started for the door. He made a mental list of the hospitals he would go and try to get a job interview, deliberately crossing out St. Bart's. There was no way in hell he would work there, unless there was nowhere else to go.
"Oh, I see. Good luck, brother."
"Thank you."
There was a loud bang from the door and then John Watson was out.
Sherlock opened his eyes and woke up to a loud noise. Checking the time, he was surprised to see it was half past eleven. He had overslept. That was a first. The noise continued. Rubbing his eyes and looking around his room he realized the noise was actually his phone ringing. He yawned and answered.
"Holmes."
"Oh. Did I wake you up, brother? Your voice sounds groggy."
"Yes, you did. What do you want?" Sherlock said rolling his eyes.
"It's Moran."
Sherlock got up and was immediately much more alert.
"What'd happened?"
"A clue. Get in the car, will you?"
Sherlock walked to his window and sure enough, Mycroft was leaning casually on a black Mercedes, phone on his ear. Sherlock could barely contain his excitement. Finally, a clue!
"Meet you in five", Sherlock said before hanging up.
It was lunch time and Molly was getting herself a Caesar Salad. She wasn't very hungry but she was tired. She needed to get some sleep soon, and very soon. Molly wondered if taking a nap on an autopsy table would be too bizarre. It would cost her a warning for sure if she was caught but to hell with it. She was very good at her job and was quite the role model.
"Molly? May I sit with you?"
Molly looked up to see Mary, a colleague from Bart's. Molly talked to Mary only rarely because they didn't really work together. Mary was a nurse and thus worked with the "living division" while Molly, well, worked mostly with dead people so nurses weren't really needed. But as much as Molly could tell, Mary was a nice person.
"Sure."
The woman set her tray on the table and took a seat next to Molly.
"How are you holding up? You don't look very well…", the young woman said as she took in Molly's tired figure.
"Uh? What do you mean?"
"That detective, Holmes. He was a close friend of yours, right? And he died so tragically..."
"Oh." Of course it was about Sherlock. Stupid Molly, she couldn't just forget that that man was supposed to be dead. If it was Moran in Mary's place, he surely would have known at once that Sherlock was still alive.
"I, uh…I miss him. But he wasn't really a friend. I mean…I would be there for him anytime, but Sherlock wasn't really a man that had friends. The closest he had for a friend was his flat mate, Dr. John Watson."
"Watson? The army doctor that Dr. Stamford talks about every now and then?"
"That's him", Molly said a bit surprised.
"I see", was all that Mary replied before resuming eating her meal. Molly did the same and they sat in companionable silence. A few minutes later they were both finished with their meals and about to go back to their positions when Mary intervened.
"Oh, Molly. I'm leaving Bart's. I got a position as the head nurse at Charing Cross Hospital. It's my last week working here and I thought I would tell you. I'm inviting a few people from Bart's to hang out at The Giant Irish this Friday night. Do you want to go?"
"The Giant Irish?"
"It's a new disco pub here in London. Well, I say new because I've only been there once but I think it has been a year or so that they settled."
"Oh."
Now that was something to think about. Molly didn't really dance. Well, she did, mostly alone in her flat when she felt like it. Well, it would do no harm to have a little fun, right? Right.
"I'll be there", Molly answered with a smile.
"Good!", Mary smiled back. "See you later, then.", she said as she went back to her lab.
All right. Now, the nap, Molly thought as she proceeded to the autopsy room.
Sherlock was at Moran's house doorstep. He was observing, trying to catalogue and deduce all the tiny things he saw. He opened the door and climbed a flight of stairs. Another door. Sherlock opened it to reveal the living room…and a stuffed toy on the center of the coffee table. Aside from that, the flat seemed vacant. There was furniture but not many personal belongings.
Mycroft stood at the door, watching Sherlock and occasionally glancing at the cute stuffed toy. Sherlock was starting to get impatient. There wasn't much to work on. The only thing he deduced is that Moran was trying to hide something, or at least leading everyone to believe that he was with all the deliberately loose panels that on the floor. Well, it was to be expected. Now, the stuffed toy. Why the hell Moran had a stuffed toy?
"What the hell is this?", Sherlock asked.
"A Gremlin.", Mycroft replied with an amused tone. Of course Sherlock wouldn't recognize the tiny, cute creature that had ears like those of bats and body like those of undergrown Ewoks.
"The devious, mythological creature?"
"That's right."
"The Gremlin is a stuffed…what, walking bat? Weren't they supposed to be terrifying, disgusting, reptile like creatures that come straight from hell?"
Mycroft laughed.
"That's what people say, isn't it? I think that's his way to pose a threat by telling a joke. If you have watched the movie, you would recognize that stuffed toy as the baby form of a Gremlin."
Sherlock started pacing in circles – his mind was racing. Never had he imagined such a ridiculous scenario: a clue that had something to do with a stuffed Gremlin. He started to take mental notes and to cross them with the information he already had in his mind palace. He suddenly stopped pacing and looked at Mycroft with a grin on his face.
"Of course! They are known as the masters of sabotage, aren't they? Oh, now we have something. But what? What is it that he is planning?"
There was a heartbeat of silence and then Mycroft replied.
"Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it? I wouldn't have brought you here if I had any idea of what is on his mind."
"John Watson."
As he heard his name being called, John rose from his seat and a woman greeted him.
"Welcome, Dr. Watson. Please follow me."
John was led to the director's office of the Charing Cross Hospital. It was the third hospital today that he tried an interview.
"It's here. Good luck!"
"Thank you."
John knocked and the response came shortly with a "Come in".
The man before him was very tall and very fat, having the constitution of a bear. Despite his intimidating size and the huge mustache he had a very young look, which made his features a lot softer.
"Dr...John Watson, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please, have a seat.", the man gestured to a chair across the table as he himself settled on his own.
"My name is Gerald Smith. I'm the director of this hospital and the chief surgeon of the cardiology department. I've read your résumé and it is quite impressive. We definitely could use someone like you here. When can you start?"
John was a bit surprised. He half-expected a straight "no" or at least a "we'll call you". He then blinked and replied with a "right away, sir."
"Perfect! And it's Smith, or Dr. Smith if you prefer. Sir is a bit too much, I'm not much older than you anyways", he said with a laugh, and then continued, moving from his chair and walking to the door, saying "come with me, I'll show you your department."
John stood from his chair at once and followed the man. They got out of the office and when they were half-way through the corridor Dr. Smith stopped on his tracks and turned to John abruptly.
"Oh, I almost forgot. We haven't had a general practitioner with your expertise for a while and since this is a teaching hospital we have a lot of kids, still learning, so... you wouldn't mind supervising them once in a while, would you?"
"No, not at all."
"Good!", the man replied with a wide smile, "all right then, let's get you settled."
GROZNY, CHECHEN, 22:12
"So…Dumarov, isn't it? Sergei Dumarov? You're planning a very ambitious undertaking. Come to think of it, I recall Moriarty saying something about that a while ago. Said it was one of the reasons he got that Adler woman to make Holmes crack those codes of the flight of the dead. Anyways…this is going to take a good two weeks at the very least. Do you have everything you need already?"
"Yes, mister – I mean, Colonel Moran, sir."
"All right then. Before the sun rises I hope you are all on your feet. Otherwise I'll do you the favor of getting rid of the sleepy bags. No need for all that men if they can't stay awake, right?", Moran said with a vicious grin.
Molly opened the door to her flat to see a very concentrated Sherlock working on his laptop. He glanced at Molly for a second but said nothing. Honestly, Molly didn't care at all, she just wanted to sleep until morning. Of the next week.
She proceeded to shower and then to get her anything easily edible. Sherlock was still typing on his laptop with a pensive look.
"Penny for your thoughts", Molly said as she made herself comfortable on her armchair with a steaming bowl of soup in her hands.
Sherlock eyed her incredulously before retorting, clearly upset.
"My thoughts are hardly so cheap. A penny would never be enough to buy them off, Molly. But…then again, money isn't really what drives me to do the only thing that is worth doing in this world – which is using my brain, though how can so many people still deny themselves such a pleasure, I cannot understand."
Molly just blinked, staring at him. Only Sherlock wouldn't understand what that meant. She snorted and Sherlock squinted his eyes at that.
"No, Sherlock, I mean…you haven't said a word since I got back and you seem so concentrated on something that it sparked my curiosity. I wish I knew what exactly you are so immersed in."
Sherlock's eyes widened a bit as he seemed to finally realize what she meant.
"Oh. It's Moran. He deliberately left a clue before leaving to God-knows-where."
"A clue? What is it?"
"A Gremlin."
Molly just stared. He had to be joking, right?
"Wha – aaa – t?" she said, chuckling.
"Here", Sherlock turned his laptop around so she could see the photograph that was taken at Moran's place.
"Oh. You actually meant it. What does it mean, though?"
"Still working on it."
"Oh. Ok. Tell me if I can be of any help."
"Well, look who's back", said Harry as she saw John walking into the flat. "How did it go?", she pressed.
"I made it. Got a position at Charing Cross' Hospital", he said with a smile.
Harry couldn't contain her happiness. It's been a while since John last worked as a doctor because he had been very caught up in Sherlock's job. John would go wherever he would when they were on a case. And sometimes even when they weren't, it seems. Harry sometimes wondered if her brother was gay, even after he vehemently denied it when she asked him once some time ago.
"Oh my GOD, that's amazing! Congratulations, brother!" she got up from the sofa and hugged him tightly, doing little happy jumps on the way.
"Thank you, Harry", John replied with a big smile, clearly pleased.
"Well then, we should celebrate! We're going somewhere nice and eat good food, just you and me, for a change. And it's on me!"
"What the...?", said a man that read something on his screen.
"What? What is it?", another man inquired.
"I'm reading some activity in that frequency we got at Moran's. Most likely a remote control device, it seems", the man replied, typing frantically.
"What kind of device? Can you trace it?"
"Yeah…I don't know…it's, it's... I'm almost there, hang on…MAC address…yeah, that's it! Wait. WHAT?"
"For crying out loud, just tell me already what it is!"
"It's…one of ours?", the man said with incredulity, "How – "
"What?", the other replied, very confused.
"It's a surveillance camera. One of our cameras. But it was hacked, and someone is using it!"
"WHAT?", the other man cried, his face turning from as white as a sheet to very scarlet in record time.
"ATTENTION, EVERYONE! WE HAVE A SECURITY BREACH! REPEAT, WE HAVE A GODDAMN SECURITY BREACH!" he warned his co-workers and then, turning back to the man on the computer, said "You! Do your best to tackle him down. We can't afford any chance of him breaking into the fucking CROWN NATIONAL SECURITY SYSTEM!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Who does this bloody piece of shit thinks he is? OH, HE WILL HAVE IT!", the man said more to himself than to anyone, though everyone could hear him and feared he would have a stroke anytime soon.
The week went by without any major events. John was working full time, actually he chose to be working more than he would get paid for, but it was alright as this was his way to focus on something and keep his mind away from sad thoughts. So far, so good. Molly felt strangely excited that it was Friday already so she would go to The Giant Irish and hopefully have some fun. Sherlock was still stuck with the Gremlin, he needed more data and thus was growing more and more impatient and unbearable by each day that passed. Molly was relieved to be away from Sherlock for any length of time to actually have some fun, which too felt strange to her.
It was about eight in the evening and Molly was fixing her hair while deliberating on what to dress. It's a disco…but then again it's also a pub and the people she will meet there are not exactly close acquaintances. Oh well…a dress will do, she thought, and tried on a plain black dress.
"Hm. I guess I look ok, then. Hmm…all right, off I go", and then she walked out of her room.
Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, looking for unsolved murders and other interesting cases on the internet. Nothing was really catching his attention, until Molly waltzed in the living room. He was expecting pajamas or casual clothing, not…that. She looks…beautiful. NO, not beautiful…different. Different would be more accurate, he thought. Where the hell is Molly going?
"Where are you going?", he asked with a surprised face. Molly didn't really have much of a social life, that much was clear.
"I'm going to The Giant Irish. A colleague from Bart's is leaving to work at Charing Cross' Hospital so she invited a few people to this disco pub."
"Oh. Dull.", and then he resumed his attention to his laptop. Molly said nothing, just grabbed her purse and was about to fetch the car keys when she remembered she would drink tonight and, thus, it would be better to just leave it there and get a cab. Of course, none of this was missed by Sherlock.
"Well, I'm off. Later, Sherlock."
"Hm.", was all he replied.
Getting out of the cab, Molly took a second to regard the pub from outside. It seemed all right, not really fussy and properly lit. She stepped inside and saw from the corner of her eye someone coming in her direction.
"Oh, Molly! Glad you came!", greeted Mary.
"Oh, no, I'm glad you invited me."
"Nah, it's nothing. Here, come sit with us."
"Um, sure", Molly replied as she let herself being dragged through the crowd to a corner that had two tables put together and there, was Mike Stamford and another guy she recognized from Bart's but didn't really learn his name.
"Oh, Molly!"
"Hello, Mike.", greeted Molly back. She regarded the man people and carried on, trying to remember his name, "And, uh…Jacob, right?"
"That's me."
He raised his hand and Molly shook hands with him, giving the man an apologetic look.
"Sorry, I'm terrible with names, but…guess I got it right this time."
"It's ok, I've been in Bart's for only two weeks."
"Oh, that explains it.", she replied, taking a seat across from Mary and next to Mike.
"So! Guess everybody's here then! What do you want to drink? May I get us all beer for a start?", asked Mary.
"Sure", Mike said.
"Fine for me", replied Molly.
"I'll get those", Jacob offered. "Be back in a second."
"Oh, thank you, Jacob.", Mary said, and he replied with a "Sure, no problem.". She then turned to Molly as she saw Mike slightly distracted, typing something on his phone, and said "He seems nice, doesn't he?"
"Yeah, absolutely", Molly replied with a smile.
Jacob was back with the beer bottles in record time. "There you go.", he said as he put them on the table. "Now… a toast, right? To Mary Morstan, the best nurse in Bart's and who is unfortunately leaving us. Cheers!", he proposed.
"And to friendship, that won't end with my leaving. Cheers!", Mary added.
"Cheers!" the four said in unison as they took a gulp of their bottles.
"Um, would you excuse me for a minute? I'll be right back.", Jacob said as he was retreating from his seat.
"Are you sure it's here?" asked a man to his partner.
"Of course I do. The Giant Irish, it's what we all heard, right? It's here.", the other replied as he entered the pub, with his partner by his side, scanning the place for the person they were after.
"There, see? Dr. Hooper with her friends. And that's him.", the man said again, with eyes fixed on Molly's table.
"Are you positive?"
They both watched as Jacob raised from his chair and proceeded to the men's toilette.
"Yes I am. Let's greet him, shall we?"
Jacob entered the toilette and fetched his phone. It was a small restroom and he was alone. When he had just started typing, two men entered the restroom and greeted him.
"Evening, Mr. Frasier. Are we interrupting?"
Despite the polite greeting, Jacob could smell danger. He slowly put the phone back in his pocket and replied as calmly as he could manage.
"Not really, sir. I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"No, you don't. Actually you don't really need to. Just come with us.", said the other man, who hasn't spoken until now.
"Oh. I respectfully decline, gentlemen. You see, I'm with friends here and we're trying to have some fun."
"Oh, friends? Hardly. Come on, Jacob. Let's do this the easy way.", the first man, who was leading the operation, replied as he retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.
Jacob froze and his heart started racing. He glanced in the direction of the door and back to the men before him. His expression showed he was dead set on something.
"Son, don't", the man in charge raised his palm, "don't try to run. We have backup. You won't be able to get away, so you better just let us take you from here."
Jacob locked his jaws and swallowed hard. His nostrils were flaring. It was infuriating, but it was true: he knew he was cornered and had no way out. Defeated, he hung his head down and offered his wrists.
"Good.", the man continued, trapping Jacob's wrists in the handcuffs and leading him out, "Shall we go now?"
It was almost nine in the evening now and the DJ was setting up the music.
"Oh, the disco is starting up! Where is Jacob? He sure is taking his time", Mary said.
"I saw him entering the toilette, but it sure was a while ago. Is he all right?", Molly replied.
"The toilette? I'll go and take a look, then", Mike offered, raising from his seat and going in the direction of the restroom. A few moments later he returned, alone.
"He's…he's not there. And doesn't seem to be anywhere in here", he said, looking around the place.
"Oh", Mary replied, a bit disappointed. "He…he's gone? But…gone where? He didn't tell us anything, did he?".
"Why don't you try to call him?", asked Molly.
"You know what, good idea.", Mary started calling him on her mobile.
There were a few moments of silence and then, a frown.
"Out of range, it says", Mary stated with a very disappointed tone.
The music was now playing. The DJ turned it down for a moment so he could speak on the microphone.
"All right ladies and gents, good evening and welcome to The Giant Irish. The name's DJ Maurice and I will hopefully entertain you tonight with my music. From 10 o'clock on it's girl's night out. If you have any suggestions, talk to me, ok? All right! Let's shake this thing!", and then some generic beat started playing.
Mike took in Mary's sad demeanor and, trying to cheer her up, invited her to dance, pulling her by the hand.
"Oh, don't be so sad, Mary. I'm sure there'll be a good explanation to this. Come, let's dance. You too, Molly!"
"Oh. Sure, why not?", Molly replied and followed them to the dance floor.
"So...Mr. Frasier. Care to explain what does this mean?", Mycroft asked Jacob, turning on a a laptop that had a fullscreen image of a knight mounted on a white horse and slaying a dragon with a spear.
"That's St. George, sir. Thought the government would know of such an elementary figure, but, apparently, I was wrong."
Mycroft chuckled.
"Right. Spare me from your ironic remarks. I want to know what St. George means to Moran, or meant to Moriarty. Clearly it's some sort of code.
"I don't know what it means."
"Sure you don't.", Mycroft replied with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "This is going to take a while, isn't it?"
Jacob said nothing.
"Listen here, Jacob, I have one of the best information extractors in the whole world. You will give us what we want, whether you want to tell us or not. So…what's it going to be?"
Jacob was livid. "Bite me", he said, which then was followed by a sharp pain through all his body before he blacked out.
Sherlock was awoken from his thoughts by his mobile. It was a message from Mycroft, followed by a picture.
We intercepted this picture from a man of name Jacob Frasier. He was caught trying to send a text message to, most likely, Moran, regarding Dr. Hooper. Investigation is still in process. – MH
Sherlock felt his heartbeats picking up speed. Perhaps Molly was right to be so afraid of him after all. Where was she again? The Giant Irish, she said. Now, the picture. Saint George. And that man…doesn't ring a bell. Mycroft will hopefully have more info soon. So what do we have? We have a Gremlin and we have St. George, Moran disappeared and it has been a week that nothing interesting has happened anywhere. St. George…what about St. George? Something, but what? Molly…she was very nearly in real danger tonight. I ended up involving her in my own problems…NO, focus! St. George…Sherlock's mind was racing. He was pacing the floor of the living room in circles, deep in thought.
"Ugh, this is not working. I have to talk to Molly. Maybe she could be of help. Hah. Help. Who am I kidding? I don't need help. Well…better tell her to come back."
Sherlock was now talking to himself, while calling Molly on his mobile. Ringing, ringing and nothing. Molly isn't picking up. Sherlock tried again. Nothing. He sighed deeply.
"Brilliant. In that case, I guess I'll have to meet her there. Oh, she will hate that, won't she?"
"Oh boy, that felt good! Can't remember the last time I had this much fun", said a very breathless Molly to the other two of the party, who decided to take a break.
"Really? That's nice! Pity though that the men here are scarce…", Mary replied.
"Now you're offending me!", Mike said with a playful grin, "Was I not entertaining enough?"
"Oh, don't be upset! You're much fun but, you know, it's always nice to meet new people", replied Mary half joking, half apologizing.
"Wow, I'm thirsty. I'll get something for myself, do you guys want anything?", Molly offered.
"I'm fine, thank you, Molly."
"Yeah, same here. I'm just resting through a few songs before going to the dance floor again."
"You are tireless, aren't you, woman?" Mike replied to Mary's statement with a chuckle.
Molly reached the balcony and ordered bottled water and a Dry Martini.
"There you are", spoke a male voice from behind her. She turned and saw a man with a very tidy hair, wearing aviator sunglasses, dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket.
"I'm…sorry?", Molly replied. She couldn't quite recognize the man, though he really did look familiar.
"It's me, Molly."
A moment later it dawned on her, which almost made her choke on her water. Sherlock just grinned in return.
"What the – why are you – why – what?"
"I'm here because I have some important info. Tried to call you but you wouldn't pick up. Turns out I had to come here."
"O…kay?", Molly said, still a bit confused, "Info about what? What's so urgent that couldn't wait until I got back home?"
"How long have you known Jacob Frasier?"
"Wu…what? How do you know him? Wait, have you done anything to him?"
"No, not me. Just answer, Molly."
"Well…uh…I've known him for just over a week. He's new at Bart's. Why?"
"Oh, there you are, Molly. Oh, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. ", Mary stepped in, taking in Molly's new companion. Sherlock acted as if she wasn't addressing him.
"You're not interrupting, Mary."
"Yes…so…I'm leaving now. Well, Mike and I are leaving, we're sharing a cab.", Mary leaned closer to hug Molly and half-whispered in her ear, "Tell me all about it later! He's a catch!"
With that statement, Molly turned tomato red. She quickly tried to disguise it, and thankfully for the dim lights it was rather easy.
"Already? Whatever happened to dancing?"
"Oh, that…I might have drank a bit too much. My head is all fuzzy, I don't really feel very well. Better call it a night."
"I see. Well then, hope to see you later. Goodbye to you two!"
"Bye, Molly! See you Monday", Mike said, leaving with Mary. Molly sighed heavily and turned to Sherlock, clearly upset.
"Do you realize how reckless of you it was to just show up here?"
"No one seems to recognize me here. This is not exactly broad daylight, is it?", he said with a half grin.
Molly rolled her eyes and started sipping on her Martini. She wondered if she was starting to pick a few of Sherlock's habits or if it was just because of pure impatience.
"All right, everyone, hope you enjoyed my beat. It's ten o'clock so I invite all of you, beautiful females to step in here", the DJ said motioning to the dance floor, "it's girl's night out time!", and then "I will survive" started playing.
Many women started assembling on the dance floor, which left Molly and Sherlock alone in the balcony with a good 15 feet radius at the very least. Sherlock started scanning the place.
"Why don't we take a seat?", he said, motioning to a corner with a table and a two seats across from each other. As they made themselves comfortable, Molly was quick on her demands.
"Right. Jacob Frasier. What about him and what info is that?"
"He's Moran's man. A spy. His job is to keep an eye on people connected to me somehow. He's received a message from Moran", Sherlock's grin was growing bigger with satisfaction at each word. Molly had already given up on understanding what such things meant. This was Sherlock.
"What kind of message?"
"A picture of St. George mounting his horse, slaying a dragon with his spear."
"So you have that and a Gremlin. Any luck figuring out what do these clues mean?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, I have. I can even tell you that I know where he is and what he is up to and ugh, how can you stand disco music? I feel like my synapses are failing and with each beat I feel more and more stupid!", Sherlock's grin quickly faded into an annoyed frown.
"Shouldn't be surprised, should I?"
"Of what? Me, figuring out the clues?".
"No. Well, that, too. I actually meant the disco music. It's not really like you to dance, is it? The beats are supposed to shut down your brain so you can dance like there's no tomorrow, Sherlock, and such a thing is a kind of heresy to you, isn't it?"
"I can dance, Molly."
"Can you, really?", she looked at him in disbelief.
Sherlock slowly removed his sunglasses, folding them into his jacket pocket. He squinted his eyes at her and a grin slowly crept into his features. They were staring at each other and, surprisingly, Molly didn't feel so uncomfortable anymore. Oh well, blame it on the alcohol.
"Is that a challenge, miss Hooper?"
Before Molly could reply, Sherlock got up from his seat and dragged her to the dance floor by the hand and in that second Gloria Gaynor's music gave way to Maroon 5's "Moves Like Jagger".
Moves Like Jagger [feat. Christina Aguilera] (by Maroon 5)
Oh
Oooh
Just shoot for the stars if it feels right
Then aim for my heart if you feel like
Take me away and make it okay
I swear I'll behave
Sherlock was feeling very confident and yet a little frightened. He could dance, that much was true, but he didn't really dance. It was far from a rational, intellectual activity, and yet he couldn't stop himself from doing it. He was actually having fun with something other than a crime scene. Who would have thought it?
You wanted control, so we waited
I put on a show, now I make it
You say I'm a kid, my ego is big
I don't give a shit
Molly couldn't believe it. Sherlock was actually dancing. With her. And he looked damn hot. Was there a thing in this world this bastard couldn't do? It was so, so unfair. On closer observation, Molly perceived something in Sherlock she couldn't quite name. It was like he was being less himself and more…fun. He was so business all the time, but right now he looked almost like a normal person trying to have some fun. Or maybe it was just the alcohol doing its toll.
And it goes like this
Take me by the tongue and I'll know you
Kiss me 'til you're drunk and I'll show you
All the moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the moooooves like Jagger
Sherlock couldn't quite understand what was guiding his moves. He felt like he was in some sort or trance, a bit like when he used to do drugs a few years ago: exhilaration, excitement. He felt like he didn't really had to think much and the moment felt strangely private, like there was only him and Molly at the disco and, sure enough, he felt it again, that bolt through his spine, that funny feeling in his stomach. Before he could realize it, he already had his eyes locked with Molly's and a hand on her waist.
I don't need to try to control you
Look into my eyes and I'll own you
With them moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the moooooves like Jagger
Maybe it's hard when you feel like you're broken and scarred
Nothing feels right
But when you're with me, I'll make you believe
That I've got the key
So get in the car, we can ride it
Wherever you want, get inside it
And you wanna steer, but I'm shifting gears
I'll take it from here
And it goes like this
Take me by the tongue and I'll know you
Kiss me 'til you're drunk and I'll show you
All the moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the moooooves like Jagger
I don't need to try to control you
Look into my eyes and I'll own you
With them moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the moooooves like Jagger
To Molly, this was a very intense experience. She felt like the rational part of her brain had just switched off under Sherlock's intense gaze. Molly had never seen him like that, and she felt unconsciously drawn to him, closer and closer, like he was a strong magnet and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
(Christina Aguilera)
You wanna know how to make me smile
Take control, own me just for the night
And if I share my secret
You're gonna have to keep it
Nobody else can see this
So watch and learn, I won't show you twice
Head to toe, ooh baby rub me right
If I share my secret, you're gonna have to keep it
Nobody else can see this
Now Sherlock was decidedly in new territory. He felt that Molly, too, was kind of fascinated but also weary, and…he couldn't take his eyes off of hers. The music was starting to fade into white noise in his head and he was unconsciously slowing down, progressively coming to a full stop. And he just stood there, looking at her. She, too, seemed to realize what just had happened and suddenly she looked away in embarrassment, with a confused expression on her face that also showed her awe.
"I, uh…", she started. Sherlock cleared his throat.
"Uh, yes. Let's go."
Sherlock put his glasses back on and started for the door with Molly on his heels. She didn't know whether she should feel surprised or angry when she saw Sherlock holding opened the door of her car. She gave him a look that even she didn't know what quite expressed but got in the car nevertheless. Molly took the opportunity to let out a quite loud sigh within the seconds that took Sherlock to occupy the driver's seat. When he did, he avoided eye contact, focusing all his attention on the road. Neither would speak. Not a single word.
Oh God. I'm so nervous. This was supposed to be NO-SHERLOCK evening, and look how it turned out. Brilliant. And now I'm even crazier about him, if that even possible. Why was he here again? Oh! Yes, Moran! He ended up not telling me what he knew about the clues!, Molly thought to herself. She risked a glance in his direction. His expression showed nothing. His jaw was tight and eyes unmoving, set forward, his left hand changing gears mechanically. It almost looked like he was feeling self-conscious, but then again, this was Sherlock, when did he ever feel that way?
Maybe…I should try to ask him about the investigation. Can't be worse than this deafening silence.
"You didn't tell me."
"I'm sorry?", he asked, surprised, like he had completely forgotten that Molly was in the car with him.
"About Moran. You said you knew where he was and what he is up to. What is it?"
"Oh, that", he exhaled, like he was afraid she was referring to something else. He even grinned, all signs of tension and self-consciousness wearing off.
"He's most likely in Chechen. His next target will be Mother Russia and the attack or whatever he is planning will happen in Moscow. He's been out for a week, so we can expect it to happen any time next week."
"Russia? Why Russia? How are you certain it's Moscow?"
"The question, Molly, is why not. And the answer to your question is St. George. In this picture it has a red background, which is exactly the flag of Moscow: red background and St. George slaying a dragon. Also, the Gremlin figure is associated with sabotage, confrontation and the name itself suggests Kremlin. Coincidence?" he winked at her. "A third fact, and one Mycroft failed to notice until today is that the Russian woman is not in Baker Street anymore."
"What Russian woman?"
"Ludmilla Dyachenko. She's a hitman who settled across 221B, but is gone now. She'd started vigil on me when Moriarty spread the false news that I knew of his key code: a code that would supposedly provide one with anything. Now he's gone, neither Dyachenko or Moran are in London anymore and we get clues that points us to The Kremlin. Suggestive, don't you think? I'll need more data before I can point Mycroft in the right direction, though."
"Like what?"
"Like what exactly is it going to be. Is it a direct, terrorist-like attack, is it a mass campaign, is it a stealth attack? I don't know, and don't have any concrete information to pull off a deduction yet."
"I see. That Chechen region is sure tense, there's always lots of confrontations there because they claim to be an independent nation, but was never officially recognized as such by any country. So…with Moran they will have enough intelligence for the chechnyans to organize an attack to prove their point! But…they are so much smaller in number and military power, they will be easily squished with Russia's retaliation. How can that even work?"
Sherlock smiled.
"If it was all about numbers and military power, Napoleon would have won the Russian Campaign, wouldn't he? This is about a weak link, an Achilles' heel. They are looking for a breach."
"…Which is?"
"…Yet to be found. I don't have the faintest idea. Soon, though, hopefully."
Sherlock stopped the car and Molly realized they were already home. Molly didn't know if it was the alcohol or her love for him, but this "detective's-sidekick-kinda-role" was actually getting her very excited. She wondered if that was how John felt when going to solve crimes with Sherlock. They got out of the car and into the flat and Molly felt all that adrenaline and serotonin and all those hormones that made you feel bold and brave and good wearing off.
"Well…I'm calling it a night."
"Night, Molly."
Molly proceeded to her room to take a hot, long, relaxing shower before passing out cold.
And it goes like this
Take me by the tongue and I'll know you (take me by the tongue)
Kiss me 'til you're drunk and I'll show you
All the moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the moooooves like Jagger
I don't need to try to control you
Look into my eyes and I'll own you
With them moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the moooooves like Jagger
Oh, Sherlock. You're driving me crazy. And this is a strong, independent woman speaking, Molly thought as she laid down on her bed and pulled the covers up her arms.
Sherlock went to his room and changed into his night robe. He started to experience a new sentiment along with that of excitement he feels when he is on the right track. It's somewhat like the experience of Moriarty: excitement and fear. He feared for those he treasured. It wasn't over with Moriarty. His friends could still be in real danger. He has to stop Moran. He has to.
