Sorry this update took so long! I didn't have access to the internet! It was horrible! Oh and Benedict got married! Yay! Finally! I ADORE Sophie! She is so pretty omg! I'm more of a Sophie fan than Benedict fan now :D
Happy reading! :)
Chapter Nine: Molly's Keen Eyes
Sherlock wasn't happy. Not in the slightest. How will he determine the motive if he doesn't get to see the crucial piece of evidence before everyone else? He did not want his analysis to be biased by the fact that others had manhandled evidence. No, he wouldn't allow it.
But, to his much dismay, he wasn't skilled to…well…he couldn't handle burnt evidence. He had enough intellect to understand that he would sabotage the investigation instead, if he tried to have his own way with the delicate evidence.
But still!
He liked to create tantrums. And it was time for another one. He grabbed his hair and yanked at them, hard enough to hurt when he felt a nudge on his shoulder. Curious as to how his mental agony subsided at the soft nudge and how his need to stage a tantrum disappeared and how all those needs got replaced by a puzzling need to know who indeed had prodded him to sanity, he whipped around and spluttered. Molly Hoop-Moriarty, stood in front of him, offering him a cup of coffee.
"Coffee? It might help…I didn't add milk, it reduces the effect of caffeine…but if you want me to, I'll add some?" she asked politely. Sherlock squinted at her. Why did she bring him coffee after what had happened between them?
Remorse. But what for?
"I…Thank you…" he nodded and brought his hand forward to take the cup. His fingers brushed hers lightly as he took the cup and took a very long and loud sip. Molly couldn't help but giggle at his boyish behaviour.
"You haven't changed…at all. Except…well grown big…and a few wrinkles, here and there...which is good by the way, yes…I should stop talking…"
"You haven't changed either. Except, grown sad and sadder…"
"You don't know that," she smiled a smile which didn't reach her eyes, as she shook her head, "But you have given up smoking, haven't you?"
"How did you know that?" he smiled with amazement.
"When you were…umm…mauling me-"
"Molly, I'm very sorry-"
"It's fine. I'm used to it-"
"You shouldn't be," he shook his head animatedly, "You shouldn't have to be."
Molly narrowed her eyes at him, staying quiet for a few seconds before continuing, "I smelt your cologne. Nothing else. I remember you used to reek of cigarette smoke," she smirked.
"Oh God! Was it that bad?" he groaned with disgust.
"I am afraid so," she grinned, "But it is good that you quit. You'll live eight years longer."
"Ten," he murmured as he took another sip from his cup.
"Ok…ten."
"Have you eaten anything since…you know…"
"Well…I had a strawberry. Does it count?"
"No. Go eat something that counts as food."
"Chocolate?"
"Food, Molly. Vegetables, meat or whatever. Don't eat…water."
"Strawberry is not water."
"Strawberry is ninety two percent water. Eight percent doesn't make food."
"It does for me."
"Molly…go have a twelve-inch sub, for God's sake!"
"Calories…" she smirked.
"God…you have already had food haven't you?"
"Maybe…" she grinned slyly.
"Ugh, you're still just as infuriating as before…maybe a little more…" he smiled into his cup.
"That's a good development!" she smiled delightedly.
"For you, yes."
"How's he dealing with his current uselessness at the crime scene?" Lestrade asked John.
"Have a look for yourself," John looked somewhere over Lestrade's shoulder. Lestrade followed his gaze and his mouth formed an 'O'.
"What's going on?" he whispered.
"We were just saved by Mrs. Moriarty, I tell you. He was on the brink of tearing this place apart, but she brought him coffee just in time. Did you get any coffee?" John asked.
"No, you?" Lestrade grinned with a knowing glint in his eyes.
"No," John joined in with a mischievous smile.
They kept passing each other evil smirks when Sherlock walked towards them.
"Did you collect all the shoes, Gargoyle?"
Lestrade turned red in the face and started laughing loudly.
"Sherlock!" John frowned at him, "He was joking, Greg."
"Oh! Oh, I know! I know, he is a funny guy, isn't he?" he grinned.
"I said, did you or did you not, collect all the shoes under this roof?" Sherlock repeated as he set his empty coffee cup on a table.
"I did. You don't need to tell me, Strix!"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, "Of course, I do. Now, we are going to depart for our residence, to ponder over the case. I can't do that here, it's just too occupied with idiots. Follow me, John," Sherlock strolled out while Lestrade eyed John.
"Is he by any chance a relative of the Queen? Or does he do that to irritate me?"
"I count Mycroft as Queen, so yes, he is a relative of the Queen," he winked and followed Sherlock outside.
The next day, John was sitting in a lounge chair, watching the telly, while Sherlock was constantly blocking his view by his anxious pacing.
"Something is not right, John."
"I know."
"No you don't."
"You are rude to Lestrade, you stole a piece of evidence and you're ogling at a married woman."
"Stop being so shallow. What evidence? Where was Joseph Moriarty? Has he not been informed of his father's death?"
"The photo you stole from Glenda's room. He must have been informed."
"It's nothing. Just her other daughter-in-law, Irene Adler's photo. Then where is he?"
Sherlock and John were staring at each other when John coughed awkwardly and Sherlock's phone chimed.
Sherlock pulled his phone out and flicked through the message, his face illuminated by the screen light and a happy smile, "Aha! Joseph Moriarty has been kind enough to grace us with his presence at the crime scene, finally. I need to meet him now. Come on, John," Sherlock pulled his Belstaff on grabbed his scarf as he made for the door.
"What's with your English?"
"The game is on, John!"
"You mean the business has commenced, Dr. Watson?"
Sherlock scrunched his nose in confusion, "No. Why would you say that?"
"Just get a cab…" John groaned.
"Where were you last night, Mr. Moriarty?" Sherlock asked Joseph, inquisitively.
"I was out of country."
"Which country?"
"England."
"City?"
He paused for a millisecond, but Sherlock noticed, "Breadfordshire."
"You mean Bedfordshire?" Sherlock smirked.
"Yes. I don't really understand the British accent…"
"Clearly. Where is Bedfordshire, exactly?"
"Uh…"
"It isn't a city, you see."
"Oh…I was somewhere near the south of Breadfor-Bedfordshire…"
"Hmm…" Sherlock's eyes travelled down the man's frame, "Mr. Moriarty do you my asking why your clothes are rumpled? I presumed a man of your stature would wear clean, pressed clothes…" he smirked at him. Obviously, he had gotten wet in the rain in Breadfordshire and had put them up for nature to dry them. How very…lazy.
"I…uh as soon as I got the news of…well, news, I put up whatever my hands found without caring what it was…" he shook his head sadly.
"And yet, you're wearing a perfect Windsor knot around your neck. Do you mind if we take your shoes?" he gave him a maniac grin.
"I'm sorry, what?!"
"Your shoes. We've collected all men's shoes except this pair that you're wearing."
"Oh…right…can I have at least a pair with me? I will have to go out in a few hours…" he murmured uncertainly.
"Of course, you can! Anderson!" Sherlock barked and Anderson came running at his side, "Give him a pair of his shoes that have been examined. And take the pair he is wearing for examination. I hope this helps, Mr. Moriarty," he grinned devilishly.
"Yes…I guess…"
"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Moriarty. Please try not to leave Cork till we advise you to," he smiled at the man, whipped around and his face held nothing but scorn. He strode over to Lestrade and spat, "He was in Breadfordshire last night, Lestrade. Go send your team to search Breadfordshire."
"Breadfordshire…" Lestrade scribbled the name on a piece of paper, "Where is it? UK or Ireland?"
"Oh God…please tell me…in fact, don't," he held his hand up in front of Lestrade's face, "Don't tell me. I will tell you. There is no such place as Breadfordshire," he shook his head and mumbled incoherent swears under his breath, "He meant Bedfordshire, which I hope you know, is in the UK."
Lestrade had balled the piece of paper in his fist and shoved it into his pocket, "Don't try to be smart with me, you bastard," he grabbed Sherlock's collar roughly.
"Excuse me, detective?" a small voice interrupted them. They looked around with an amusing look of surprise and found Molly, nervously swaying on her feet.
"Molly!" Sherlock smiled and yanked his collar from Lestrade's grasp.
"I hope I'm not interrupting something?" she asked guiltily, looking from Sherlock to Lestrade.
"No, Molly. What is it?" Sherlock asked softly and pushed Lestrade back.
"I found something for the detective. I'm not sure if it can help, but I thought it could be important," she murmured.
"Of course, what is it?" Sherlock asked.
"Detective Lestrade…?" she called out.
"No, whatever you have, you can show it to me," Sherlock blocked Lestrade's way, who just groaned.
"But he's the detective in charge of-"
"And I am the consulting detective because these people lack the analytical skills tha-"
Molly gave him a very stern, annoyed look, that impressively muted Sherlock, "Detective, I found this in the garden…" she handed a tiny piece of paper to Lestrade, who gave Sherlock a smug grin.
"Well, this is a receipt definitely from…Webster Weaponry. Wait a minute…purchase of ammunition? Gun?" he gave Sherlock a baffled look, "Isn't the weapon a knife or something like that? A gun doesn't leave a slit in your throat."
"See what I mean, Molly? They lack the intellectual ability to deduce something as simple as a receipt," Sherlock drawled, pompously and snatched the receipt from Lestrade's hands, "Give me that! It isn't a receipt. It is an invoice. It is a small ammunition store, judging by the cheap quality of its ink-"
"The weapon was used and then sold at the weaponry shop? But wasn't it a knife? Why would-"
"Does it say that it was a gun?" Sherlock waved the paper in Lestrade's face.
"No, but-"
"Then it isn't a gun. Weaponry shops don't only trade in guns or such ammunition," he murmured and turned to Molly, "Where did you find it? Can you show me the exact place?"
"Sure…" Molly nodded and led them outside, into the garden. They walked a bit further along a faded path which ended near the house's wall bordered with pink roses, "Here. I was checking on the flowers when I saw this paper. I thought it was scrap until I read what was written on it."
Sherlock nodded and looked up at the wall. Three windows of the lounge, and three windows above it, one of each the bedrooms on the right side of the hallway, opened into the garden, "That's your room, isn't it?" he pointed at the second window on the first floor.
"Yes…" Molly nodded.
"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock smiled and stepped back to let her leave.
"So?" Lestrade asked just as Sherlock saw Molly return inside and the two Moriarty brothers leave the premises of the house.
"John!"
John reappeared from behind a tree it seemed, "Yes?"
"We need to follow these two brothers. You go after James. I will go after Joseph. And Lestrade, you go to Webster Weaponry. Drag the owner with you and bring him to the address I will text you later. Can't say anything more right now, Lestrade," he shook his head and ran out of the gates.
"What's going on?" John asked, his voice laced with worry.
"Just follow James Moriarty. Keep an eye on where he goes and who he talks to. That's all. And remain discreet!" Sherlock gasped out and hailed a taxi, "You take the next one," he jumped into the taxi and slammed the door shut, "Follow that cab!" he yelled at the driver as he pointed to a quickly departing black cab.
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