Hello and welcome back...there's nothing really to say except I hope you enjoy the chapter :) (just something to say sorry if there's any mistakes, Microsoft Word has broken and I'm forced to use Wordpad...I spellchecked as best I could, sorry again) xx
Sherlock was sprawled across the sofa when John returned from the bathroom after his shower; the detective was anxiously awaiting his pathologist's return. He had been less than pleased about letting her go alone but she was insistent. Oliver could do anything in his state of mind and Sherlock didn't trust him one bit. He shifted uncomfortably at the thought and John sighed deeply, frowning at the vibrating phone on the coffee table.
"Aren't you going to get that?" John pointed at the phone and Sherlock opened his eyes, gritting his teeth tightly.
"I am…thinking."
That was all he said as he closed his eyes again, attempting to regain his concentration. John snatched the phone up as Sherlock clasped his hands together, his eyes shut tight. John gasped and swallowed when he noticed 11 missed calls and three texts from the Inspector.
11:34am. Where the bloody hell are you? GL
11:28am. Sherlock, we need you down here. Are you coming? GL
11:20am Break in. Molly Hooper's flat. Are you coming? GL
John wasted no time in stepping over to the sofa and dropping the phone onto Sherlock's chest from quite a height, causing the detective to jerk and snap his eyes open angrily.
"What the-"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John's expression and retrieved the phone, examining the messages; his expression changed to horror as he read through, now realising what had been so important. It wasn't long before he was on his feet and rushing from the flat, abandoning his coat and scarf in the process with John hot on his heels.
Molly blinked her eyes open, her head throbbing; she tried to scan the room but it was pitch black. Her face was hot and wet, immense pain flooding through her entire body. Her hands were tied behind the chair she was sitting in and she wriggled uncomfortably, ignoring the mind-numbing fear rushing to her.
"I wouldn't move about too much...it might set it off..."
The cold voice of Erica was all Molly could hear, buzzing around the room like an angry bee. It was only when she tried replying she found her mouth gagged, too. 'Set it off'? Set what off? Molly's eyes widened in shock and she whimpered, the weight of the vest strapped around her body now becoming apparent. Molly closed her eyes, permitting a single tear to fall as she prayed Sherlock's abilities were everything she hoped...
Sherlock had reached Molly's flat in record time, breathless from running without stopping; he swallowed as he noticed the flashing squad cars outside the building - it was more serious than he had first anticipated. Pushing his personal feelings aside, Sherlock moved inside and took his time examining every inch of paintwork on the way upstairs. No signs of any struggle. She must have been unconscious...obvious kidnapping, they wouldn't need all those officers is she was still here. He paused as he felt John's hand to his arm.
"Are you alright?" John swallowed, removing his hand almost immediately as Sherlock scowled; they were now outside Molly's flat.
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
Sherlock knew, of course, but he didn't want to become distracted; he wanted to work, to find her and then make Oliver pay. John nodded once and took a step backwards to allow his friend to continue. Shaking his head, he crouched in front of Molly's door and narrowed his eyes, running gloved hands over the wood. Hmm, no signs of forced entry. Oliver clearly used his key. He is not that stupid. However, they kidnapped a woman in broad daylight. It shouldn't be hard to find them at all. He stood up, entering the flat and immediately groaning at the sight of Anderson thumbing through Molly's things, chuckling to himself. He looked up and turned towards the detective, stepping over her upturned chair.
"You took your time. It looks like you're not needed after all, Holmes, we're almost done. Some friend you-"
"Almost done? Tell me, where is she, Anderson? Who took her? Why did he/she or indeed they take her? How did they do it in the early morning without being spotted?" Anderson narrowed his eyes and Sherlock dropped his gaze to the chair, "...was that like that when you arrived?"
Gaping, Anderson nodded and Sherlock knelt on the floor to examine it carefully. John and Lestrade watched in interest as Sherlock darted around, mumbling to himself. There are scratches on the floor, clearly marking where she was dragged through the flat. How even Anderson missed that, I'll never know. Again, clearly unconcsious...no evident signs of a struggle. Sloppy work, though...amateurs, indeed. John and Lestrade slowly followed the detective into Molly's bedroom; they paused in the doorway as they saw Sherlock at the end of her bed, softly rifling through her small suitcase; they couldn't see his expression but could tell he was finding this difficult. Lestrade was clearly feeling brave for he cleared his throat.
"Sherlock, maybe you should-"
"There," he pointed to the corner of the room, refusing to turn to face them; John was almost one hundred percent sure as to why this was. Lestrade frowned at the dirty cloth thrown into the corner of the room. Sherlock took a deep breath, "Oliver couldn't have done this alone, it was impossible. I am certain Erica is involved too. One of them served as a lookout whilst the other," Sherlock took a brief moment to compose himself before turning to face them again, his expression stone cold, "carried her to the van waiting outside. Oliver's work van, no doubt. I do not know what they intend to...do with but I assure you I have every intention of finding out."
His fists had clenched by the time he finished speaking and Lestrade had disappeared, ordering his officers to raid and search Oliver and Erica's residence; Sherlock knew they wouldn't be there but there might be a clue as to where they actually were. Anderson and his colleagues moved into the bedroom, dusting for fingerprints here and there; the cloth was thrust into a see-through evidence bag along with several unneccessary items of Molly's. Sherlock gave one last sweeping glance of Molly's bedroom and frowned, noticing a piece of paper protruding from under Molly's bed. His eyes widened and he swallowed, straightening up and turning to John.
"It's a bill for a rented garage by the docks, John. Oliver must use it for work. That must be where they are holding Molly..."
He hurried out of the bedroom, almost colliding with Lestrade who was returning to him, his phone pressed tight to his ear; he was clearly on the phone to the officers he had sent to Oliver and Erica's flat.
"Sherlock...they've found no trace of Molly or anything in his flat. There is, however, several instances where he's been to the docks in the last month despite being out of work."
Sherlock was already hurrying out of the flat as Lestrade finished his call, following quickly after the detective and doctor; they couldn't afford to wait for backup and decided to go alone to the docks.
Oliver bit his lip, pacing the empty office room overlooking his rented garage. He watched as Erica drummed her fingers against the window sill, waiting with an impatient air for something.
"This is wrong...they're not going to bring the money...they don't even know to bring it..." Oliver all but whispered to his psychotic girlfriend. Erica chuckled, tilting her head towards the police car that had pulled up opposite the row of garages.
"Ollie, darling...this has never been about the money or your little whore," she licked her lips as she watched the swish of a coat and curly black hair duck out of the car, "...I can get money anywhere. My source was more interested in something else."
"Your source? Source of what?" Oliver swallowed guiltily when Erica didn't reply, a smirk spreading across her face when the Inspector began inching towards the garage.
Sherlock stopped dead as Lestrade approached the garage; he clasped his hands under his chin, and slowly began following his friend. John had also slowed, watching Sherlock suspiciously.
"What's the matter?" John was swallowing at how Sherlock looked as white as a sheet, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He ruffled his hair and span on the spot, speaking rapidly.
"Of course...why didn't I see it before? Doesn't this seem a little...convenient to you? They just happened to leave that receipt where they knew I'd find it? No criminal is that sloppy, John. They were intentionally leading me here...Molly is just bait. It's me they want."
He hadn't seen it before through his worry clouded mind; he had attempted to block out his personal feelings attached to the case but it was easier said than done. John scratched his chin, frowning in confusion.
"What interest do they have in you?"
Sherlock was about to reply with something probably egotistical when he noticed Lestrade pulling the garage open. They don't...they want my downfall. What better way to do it than to break me from the inside. His eyes widened at this utterly random thought and he found himself running forwards, shouting at the Inspector.
"NO! Don't open-"
It was too late; the explosion sounded before Sherlock had even reached Lestrade. The Inspector, himself, was blasted off of his feet, landing unconscious with a sickening crunch and bleeding substantially from gashes on his face. The area was a mess and there was raining debris everywhere; several car alarms were chirping in the distance. John's eyes widened in horror and, shielding his face, darted forwards the examine the Inspector; he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw he was still breathing, only just. Immediately, he jumped to his feet and looked around with panic in his eyes for his friend. Sherlock, with blatant disregard to his own injuries, picked himself from the ground; he ingored his own bleeding face and staggered towards the garage, dropping back down in pain from the broken ankle he had attempted to walk on.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
Erica grinned at the detective's deafening scream, throaty from the obvious pain coarsing through his body. She pocketed her phone with a satisfied smile and was forcefully seized by the shoulder, now standing face to face with Oliver. His grip on her shoulder tightened as he saw the remorseless face of his girlfriend; he swallowed, gritting his teeth.
"You promised you wouldn't hurt her," Oliver turned to gaze out of the window again, blinking at the sight of Sherlock struggling to his feet; his once immaculate coat and scarf was blackened and tattered. He turned back to Erica and she sniffed, tapping her phone against her chin.
"No. I promised not to touch her but I'm sure it didn't hurt either. He will be pleased," Erica tilted her head as she was pushed forcefully against the wall and smiled at Ollie's retreating figure. Sentimental clot.
Outside, Oliver broke down; he collapsed against teh opposite wall and clutched his head, allowing the tears to flow. He should never have trusted her...but she was certainly going to pay for this...
...thank you for reading :/ This is not the end! oh, no...Mr. Holmes needs his revenge...and a showdown with the mysterious 'source' :s *nervous swallowing* xx Stay tuned...back soon xx
