NOTE: Hello! I forgot to say thank you for the reviews last time, my apologies. I'm grateful for every one I get. They make me jump with delight, and that isn't an exaggeration. Here's the next chapter. I've really started to hate Carter. He's such a...you know. Anyway, mistakes, please let me know of any, or simply if you don't understand something, let me know.
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Chapter Ten: Carter's interest in Molly deepens.
"Yeah, we can do that, no problem." John muffled, chomping on a half eaten scone, simultaneously reaching for a lush green apple. Sherlock had suggested the Doctor, along with his doting, pretend wife distract the staff, take the attention away from himself and Molly by any means possible, whilst they searched Carter's private quarters.
"Good." Sherlock said, sipping his coffee, one of those fake smiles planted across his face when he'd smugly worked something out, "It shouldn't be too hard for you seen as though-"
"Seen as though what, Sherlock?" John butted in, swallowing the last of his scone, almost with guilt.
"Nothing, John. I'm sure I'll remember the name of this one." The pair stared silently at one another for a moment, before John cleared his throat and stood.
"Will you excuse us ladies? I need a word with Sherlock."
"Go ahead." Mary smiled, sipping her tea, eyes fixed on the two men as they headed into the bedroom. Molly didn't quite understand what had just happened, circling her spoon around her milky bowl, the odd cornflake swirling around with it.
"Is everything alright?" She asked Mary, resting her spoon down in her dish.
"Oh fine, yes." The agent smiled, eyes still fixed in the direction of the bedroom.
A beat later, Molly pressed further, "Are you sure?"
Mary finally looked her in the eye, clearing her throat, anxiety evident within her eyes. A faint "no" tumbled from her mouth, hand coming to rest upon her forehead.
"What's happened?" Molly wiped her mouth with the napkin, shuffling over to the chair John had occupied.
"Molly." Her eyes had glazed over, shifting in her seat to look at her companion, "I've done a terrible thing."
"What? Mary, tell me."
"I've been so unprofessional. It's not like me." The door swung open and Mary's smile returned, anxiety completely gone from her face, cup back in hand as she took another sip. John reappeared, destination straight to Mary's side, holding his hand out for his 'wife' to take.
"Shall we explore the castle, my dear?"
"Wonderful." Mary stood, taking his hand and gratefully squeezing Molly's shoulder before exiting.
Utterly and completely baffled, Molly sat there a moment, looking about the room in an attempt to work out what had just happened, what Mary had meant by her words. She didn't even notice as Sherlock entered the room once again, pouring himself more coffee and heaping two sugars into it. A few frowns later, Molly pushed her bowl forward on the table cloth, leaning back on the chair and folding her arms.
"What just happened?"
The detective sipped his coffee, pulling a disgruntled face as he placed it back in the saucer, "John didn't like me deducing him."
"I gathered that. What exactly did you deduce? Mary seemed worried."
"She should be. Affairs in the work place never end well. And this is John we're talking about. Relationships never last with him."
Molly leaned forward, "What? They're sleeping together?"
"Obviously. The second I opened the door, Mary's flushed cheeks and John's smug smile gave it away. Doesn't take a genius to work it out."
"But we've only been here three days."
She caught the roll of Sherlock's eyes, "When you know, you just know. John's words, not mine."
"I see."
Sherlock rose from his chair, "We should be going."
Molly's mind drifted back to earlier, "Are you still mad with me?"
His eyes made contact with her own, "Of course. But there are more important things to be getting on with than convincing you I'm right."
-!-
Hands entwined together, Sherlock and Molly walked quietly down the corridor, hoping not to get caught, but prepared otherwise. She didn't fully understand how Sherlock knew where to go, however he was after all, a detective, his instincts must have been guiding him.
Reaching a corner, Sherlock came to a halt, peering down both ends of the hallway, dragging her left and knocking on the first door they came to.
"Is this it?" Molly whispered, only to be shushed as he knocked again. When there was no response, Sherlock turned the knob and slowly peered inside, letting go of her hand and closing the door behind them.
"Anna isn't here. Search the room for anything, clues, evidence."
"Okay." Sherlock headed to one end of the room, pulling open drawers, rooting, before closing them and moving on to the next. Molly glanced around and headed to the bedside table, opening the small draw and rooting inside. There was a large variety of things cluttering it up, paper, prescription tablets, old broken watches, loose change, forgotten perfumes. Molly shuffled things about, finding a notebook hidden right at the back. She pulled it out, careful not to disturb too much inside the drawer. It was a beautiful embroidered book, with a lock on the front. The Pathologist attempted to open it but it was sealed shut. There was obviously something worth hiding in it.
Not about to give up, knowing the key couldn't be far, Molly searched the drawer, however nothing turned up. With a sigh, she glanced over at Sherlock, finding him with an old revolver in his hand, something he'd clearer found somewhere amongst Carter's things. She watched as he checked to see if it was loaded, before he tucked it into the waistband of his suit pants. Molly turned her attention back to the book, perching on the bed as she thought of possible locations for the key. By the lamp, she noticed a small trinket box, also complete with lots of random items inside. Rooting through it, she came across the key, sticking it immediately into the lock, a feeling a satisfaction running through her as she heard it click open.
It was Anna's diary and Molly suddenly felt extremely conscious of her actions, knowing that she would hate for someone to read her own diary. The thought alone scared her, considering the amount of secrets she kept in it.
"What's that?" A voice came from over her shoulder. Molly turned to look at him, closing the front almost protectively, as if it were her own world in there.
"Oh, i-it's Anna's diary."
"Brilliant, give it here."
"No." She clutched it to her chest as Sherlock extended his hand.
"Molly, it could have vital evidence in there. Let me see it." He stepped forward and Molly stood to step away.
"No. No, let me read it."
The detective put his hand in his pocket, "Fine."
Walking to a nearby chair, Molly took a seat, opening the book to the last entry. Her writing was beautiful, so curly and old fashioned.
24th February
I think they could help me. They seem so nice in comparison to others who have tried to be accepted into the club. I cannot help thinking that this is not entirely what they want. They are not doing it for the prestige, the privilege of working with Set, it is something more. Maybe they are having money troubles, or want the protection, I don't know. All I do know is I wish they would see my sadness, see that I am trapped here to be the wife of a man I never loved. I would never will this fate upon Lara or Susan. However, it could soon befall them if I sit by and watch. What will it take for me to be ridded of this prison?
Molly took a deep breath, fighting the tears that had worked their way to the rims of her eyelids. Without a word, she dropped her eyes to the floor and handed the diary over to Sherlock, wanting to know what he thought of the entry, despite how personal and heartbreaking it was. She heard him shut the book after a minute, passing it back.
"Too convenient."
"What do you mean?"
He sighed, "Is it not typical that her last entry happened to be her begging for our help? No. She's in on it. That's a trap."
"What? You mean they know we're not genuine?"
"No, I'm saying they're covering their back in case we end up being something we're not. They'll know if one of us goes to Anna, telling her we could help her, the whole game is over. Don't fall for her tears Molly." She locked the diary, "We should go now. Put it back how you found it. I've found some keys, they're spares, but they could help us end this sooner than expected."
"Okay."
-!-
In the distance, Molly gazed, arms folded across her chest, out of the window at the setting sun, the glow making her skin appear burnt orange. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight, the deer in a far field still grazing as the chill of night began to creep in. She was ready to dine, wearing another Gucci dress, this one army green, floor length and pulled in at the waste by a belt. Her interest in her clothing was becoming less, the novelty of it wearing off. There was too much to think about, too much to deal with in her mind to get excited over a silly, expensive dress.
Her hair was half up half down, much like her mood and thoughts over the past few hours. She just couldn't accept what Sherlock had said, about Anna being involved in all this. Molly had thought from the start that she didn't want to be here and now the diary entry had confirmed it for her. But no matter what the Pathologist said to try and convince him, she was wrong. His inability to process emotions meant he hadn't seen what she had.
Dinner went much the same as every night, Carter back from his trip and telling them all, the sordid stories of his life. Molly laughed, jokingly scorned him and sipped her wine to try and numb the worries she had. As they headed to the drawing room for a chat, Carter informed them that he'd invited over a "whole roomful of guests" to entertain them. He said some of them were members of his club, but he would not tell them who was who. And if they were impressed by his latest potential members, it would be another step in the right direction.
There was music, the clanging of glasses and loud chatter on entering the room. Her grip on Sherlock's hand had comforted her, until that is, he parted from her to mingle with the people in the room. Molly was left with Mary to blend in with everyone, eventually finding a group to talk to. Molly laughed, made jokes which were seemingly well received, not something she was used to.
A gentle caress of her arm made her turn, expecting to see Sherlock, however became faced with the last person she wanted to see. Carter smiled deeply at her, and all she could do was return the sentiment, the act in place.
"Lara," he began, that hand still stroking her arm in full sight of his wife and Sherlock, "May I have a word with you," he checked to see if there were prying eyes, lowering his head briefly to her ear, "in private."
Molly's heart raced as she glanced over to Sherlock, his back the only thing she could see as he chatted eagerly with some stranger, "Okay."
"Delightful." He gripped her arm then, removing the wine glass from her hand and guiding her over to the patio doors. Once outside, the cold air hit her like knives, realisation dawning on her of how much danger she could be in. The sounds of the party became faded as the glass doors closed, the loud laughter of a woman standing out from the rest.
"Lara, do you understand how your beauty captures the hearts of men? Your husband is a very lucky man."
"T-thank you." She spoke, looking over her shoulder, hoping the man she loved would happen to see her, notice her disappearance.
"Don't worry." Carter stepped forward, backing her into a stone wall nearby, "We'll be safe out here."
Molly gulped, fear grabbing her as the criminal grabbed her wrist, not so gently, "I should be getting ba-"
"No, you shouldn't. I want you to stay out here with me." The space between them now was non-existent and it took all of her willpower not to shove him away, "Now, Lara. There is no denying the attraction between us."
"I-I'm sorry if I've given you that impression but-"
"But nothing, they need never know." Hand still gripping her wrist, Carter's other hand stroked her hair, causing her to flinch. At this, she saw his jaw tighten, teeth gritted together as he continued to talk, "I don't like it when I can't have what I want. I want you, Lara."
"Please don't." Molly whimpered, which only caused Carter to push her further into the darkness.
"If you and your dear husband wish to be in this club, your loyalty needs to lie with me, not him."
"I can't do this." She whispered, tears now falling from her eyes as he brought his face closer to her own, "I love him."
"What does love matter in a life like ours? You do what you have to do to get what you really want." He removed his hand from her hair, gripping hold of her chin to make her look at him, "Now, kiss me."
She let out a breath, wondering how it had ever come to this. How had she got herself into this situation? There was no way out, "No, please."
"Please!" Both his hands tightened. She wanted to scream, but she was sure it would make things worse, "Lara, you will do as I say. Do you want to be in my club? Tell me."
"O-of course."
"Then kiss me."
Molly looked him directly in the eye, her tears blurring his face somewhat, her teeth now gritted, "What about your wife?"
Within the space of a second, Carter had stepped away from her, ran his hands through his hair and straightened his jacket. Molly let out a sob as the danger level seemed to drop. The criminal began to laugh hysterically, as though she had said the funniest thing in the world.
"Oh, Lara, my beautiful Lara. You will be mine. I promise you that." Her breathing became hard, "Your husband, Luke, Susan, you. You'll all be in my club once you pass the stages. And then there will be no escape for you. I will have you."
Saying nothing more, Carter smiled at her, pretended to tip a hat he wasn't wearing, before rejoining the party. All Molly could do was sink to the floor, unable to cry, unable to speak or hear anything around her.
If she continued on this venture, she would either bring this man to justice, or be trapped for life, living in fear just as Anna did on a daily basis. How could she tell Sherlock about the events that unfolded mere second ago?
-!-
"Lara, there you are." Sherlock planted a kiss on her cheek, sliding his arm around her as she stood beside him, joining the group he'd been stood laughing and joking with, oblivious of what just happened to her, "Where did you go?"
"Oh I," what could she say? "I needed some air. The wine is a bit heavy for my taste."
Sherlock smiled back at her, though she could have sworn the look in his eyes knew she was lying, "Do you wish to retire? You don't look well, my dear."
"Please, my head is spinning." She laughed and the others looking at her laughed with her, "I don't know my limit."
"We'll inform Carter and then head up."
"Yes, okay."
"Excuse us." Sherlock kept his arm around her, heading straight to where Carter stood. She couldn't look at anyone, especially as the detective made his excuses to the host. The criminal looked sympathetically at her, telling her to get well before tomorrow as he had a big day planned for them all. She felt sick, felt dirty, as though his sordid behaviour had rubbed off on her.
Leaving Mary and John behind, Sherlock and Molly headed straight to their quarters. Once inside, Molly flopped onto one of the sofas, head in her hands as she fought back the tears. She couldn't cry in front of Sherlock, she'd done it before and it was obvious he was the same as any man, feeling uncomfortable when a woman started to cry.
But she couldn't contain herself any longer. The events of the evening replayed once more within her mind and the tears flooded. She let out a cry, a sob, suddenly not caring that Sherlock was in the room. He could have walked into the bedroom to avoid her and she wouldn't have cared. Molly needed to do this, otherwise she'd end up bursting with frustration and fear.
To her surprise, she felt the sofa dip by her side, indicating Sherlock had sat beside her. What surprised her even more, more than him not avoiding her completely, was the feeling of a warm hand on her back. She was leant forward, elbows on her knees, so she couldn't see him at all, just his large feet facing slightly in her direction. His hand didn't move, visibly not used to comforting people.
"Molly." His deep voice rumbled through her, causing her eyes to squeeze shut, trying to block out the world.
"Doesn't t-take a genius to work out what he did, does it? What he tried to do." Molly muttered and laughed at the same time.
"No." Sherlock said nothing more, the gentle caress of his fingers came upon the place where Carter had gripped her wrist harshly. He was attempting to comfort her, though it made the fear and raw reality of what happened return to the surface. Overcome with emotion, Molly whispered his name, removing herself from hiding and flinging her arms about his neck. He was so warm, a safe blanket that she never wanted to let go of. His arms came around her waist, pulling her closer, keeping her from harm's way.
"I'm scared, Sherlock." Her arms tightened around him, knowing he was probably rolling his eyes in that moment, though she really didn't care. She needed this and he was going to let her take it, "He says my loyalty is not to my husband, but to him. He promises he'll get me once we're in the club. He's going to take me away from you, Sherlock."
"Molly," he said again, "he won't. You won't be left alone with him again."
"It feels like we've been here for so long. So much has happened." She felt his hand stroke her back, just once, "I don't know if I can do this, Sherlock."
"You can." He removed her arms from his neck and sat her back, undoubtedly at his limit of human contact, "I won't let him harm you again." The pad of his thumb came up to her face, wiping her tear sodden cheeks, soothing her. It caused her breath to hitch, her brown eyes to slowly connect with his blue, fading away, the awful memories of the evening. Sherlock's view drifted to her lips, as they had that same morning.
"Sherlock." Molly whispered, the detective inching his face ever so slightly forward. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips came upon hers. However the beep of Sherlock's phone knocked him out of the moment. He was suddenly on his feet, resting a hand over his mouth, evidently shocked at his own actions. With a shaky breath, he pulled the phone from his pocket, tapping away, eyes scrolling.
Without turning to look at her, he pocketed his phone, "It's Lestrade. There's another dead body."