John didn't know Molly very well, but despite this he was disturbed by the fact that Moriarty had targeted her. Forcing aside the jealous feeling that it was done to get Sherlocks attention, because Molly was enamoured of the enigmatic detective, John stared at the picture of the tarot card that had been left behind.
The Ten of Cups reversed; the picture caused him to smile a harsh little satisfied smile. If Moriarty thought Sherlock would be broken hearted over the loss of Molly Hooper he was far off his mark, because it was obvious to all except the woman herself that she was merely his means to an end….the smile faltered a little as the doctor recalled that his own overtures were met with a comprehensive rejection.
With a mental shake John pocketed his phone and trotted across Camden High Street, heading towards a little backstreet shop that looked as if it had stepped straight out of a Dickensian tale. The dark green paintwork was cracked and peeling, and the elaborate cream wording above the shops front window – Murther and Son, Plant and Herb Specialist – was now dirty and faded, but every other aspect of the place was just as John had remembered it.
Pushing open the door he listened as the sound of the bell echoed through the building, followed swiftly by the shuffling of slippered feet as Ruairi Murther made his way through from the back room.
"Hello Ru," John said quietly, "long time no see."
Blue eyes that had seen more than a hundred years and lived through several wars – both mortal and sorcerous – widened as they took in the sight of the blond man.
"John? Little John Watson?" There was still strength in that voice, and John smiled at the use of the affectionate moniker.
"Yeah, I didn't really grow much taller." He reached out and took the other man's hand. "How are you? I half expected to find you retired, and Padraig running the shop for you now."
A shadow passed over the old man's face.
"Padraig's no longer with us." Ruairi shook his head, long grey hair swinging lankly around his shoulders. "He and his son Ciaran were killed in a fire several years back."
"I'm sorry to hear that." John's face creased in a sympathetic frown. "So you are alone in the world now?"
"No, I have my great-grandson, Seamus. He's a little younger than you; I don't think you'd have seen him around the shop back then."
"But he helps you here?"
Ruairi's sharp eyes flicked from John's face to the floor, and then he gestured with an unsteady hand to the door.
"Lock that, put up the closed sign and come through to the back; I'll make us a cup of tea."
John did as he was asked, his heart and footsteps heavy as a cloak of dread enfolded him. Whatever Ruairi had to tell him couldn't be good or he would have spoken openly.
xXx
Sherlock knew that once Lestrade and his people arrived they would question his every move, so he hurried along to the haematology lab where he was able to persuade the supervisor that, for the sake of his marriage, it would be a good idea to run the tests on the three blood samples without delay.
Extracting a promise to get the DNA results fast tracked and should be ready within twenty four hours, and a full blood analysis within a couple of hours, Sherlock hurried back to the mortuary in time to greet the arriving police officers.
"What have you done this time, Freak?" Sally asked as her gaze swept across the mess in the room.
Mike Stamford, who was being helped away by a doctor stopped in his tracks.
"Sherlock wasn't here when all this happened." He sounded bewildered as he peered short-sightedly at dusky skinned officer. "Why should you think it was him?"
"It's wishful thinking Mike," Sherlock explained as he walked back into the room, careful not to disturb the scattered papers. "If she can prove it's my fault it will be the first and only time she's solved anything harder than the Daily Star crossword without help."
He carried on through to Molly's office, his eyes taking in everything about the room before making a closer examination of the Tarot card. Glancing again at John's brief explanation of its meaning, he waited for Lestrade to stop at his side.
"Where's John?" Greg asked, but Sherlock ignored his question in favour of pointing to the card.
"It a warning, a sign that the recipient is on the brink of losing something that is of great importance to them."
"So who is the recipient, Dr Hooper or you?" Greg rubbed a hand through his hair as he watched Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "What the fuck is at stake here?"
"I'm assuming, as the card was left for me to find, that I am the one who has lost something, and it's not a great leap to the conclusion that whoever has taken Molly thinks that she is important to me."
"Yeah, poor bitch is suffering because the only person important to you is you, Holmes."
"Sally…" Looking over his shoulder Greg pinned his Sergeant with a furious glare. "Whatever your opinion I expect you to behave professionally."
"But Sir…."
Sherlock meanwhile had taken photographs of the card on his mobile, and was heading back out the door, smirking at Donovan as he passed.
"Sir!" Once more Sally appealed to her superior officer, but Greg was quietly fuming, hand on hip with his head bowed, massaging his temples in an effort to ease the headache building there.
"Leave it Sally, before you force me to pull you from the team and send you for training to reinforce your people skills."
"You wouldn't!"
"I'd have to, and I'm sure you could do without all the awkward questions that would be asked…."
"Is that a threat, Sir?" Donovan became defensive, pushing back her frizzy hair and trying to stare Lestrade down, but he stepped up into her personal space.
"Now look, I know the man winds you up, and let's face it, you have grounds for retaliation but look around you…" he gestured towards the several members of Pathology staff who were standing watching them. "It would only take one of those porters or lab assistants to report you and I would have no choice."
Greg stepped away, motioning for the forensics team to start cataloguing the clues, leaving Sally to follow in his wake as he went in search of Sherlock.
xXx
Moriarty's plans were coming together nicely. Jeff Hope had been despatched with precise instructions – the man had never let him down before and Jim saw no reason to think today would be any different. Sherlock Holmes was not as clever as he made out to be, if he was he would have seen the wisdom of joining forces when the option was offered. Now his minion lay in wait for the consulting detective to leave the latest scene of crime.
Next came his very fruitful discussion with Kitty Reilly. Her contacts within press circles, however lowly, provided the information he needed. He inevitably found the pay-off boring, but it was worth it to ensure the ridiculous woman's continued service. Maybe he should have been flattered that the woman was enamoured of him, believed herself in love with him, and he played the restrained lover for all he was worth to keep her in ignorance of the truth – that she would one day become a part of his menagerie, a willing participant under his command….
In all though there was some pleasure to be had. With Miss Reilly despatched back to her office with orders to dig up more information, he waited for Sebby to return with the third of his expected guests.
When Molly Hooper was escorted through the door of his parlour a small mewl of shock escaped her lips.
"Jim?"
Her voice was barely more than a squeak.
"That's right," Moriarty drawled, a charming smile stretched across his lips "It's me, Jim from IT…Hiii!" This last was said in a high pitch, accompanied by the waggling of his fingers as if in greeting.
"But what….? Why did your friend hit Mike and drag me out of my office? You could have called…"
"Would you have come?"
"Well….after work, probably…."
"Not good enough!" The sing-song pitch was falsely happy, and Moriarty smiled wider as Molly cringed away from him. "I needed you here now."
"Why?" Molly was desperate not to let Jim know how scared she was, but his next words disabused her of the belief that she was succeeding.
"Because, Molly Mouse, I have a use for you – I had thought that kidnapping you would make your friend Sherlock Holmes unhappy, upset even, but it appears I may have been mistaken." He waived her to a chair. "Still no matter, I have a my plan B, in which you play a prominent role my dear."
"H…how? I mean…I don't understand…."
"So many questions my dear, yet so little time for me to answer you." Moriarty looked up as an older woman slipped in through the door, sliding across the room sure footed and sultry despite her advancing years. "Ahhh, you've arrived just in time mother. Take miss Molly Mouse downstairs and see that she's secure. I'll have need of her later."
"Stop it!" Molly leapt to her feet in defiance. "Stop calling me that!"
But Moriarty just laughed as the old woman grabbed Molly with surprisingly strong hands, and with assistance from a dark suited minion dragged her away, his voice calling her that awful name echoing through the halls behind her.
And now, with Molly secure and Hope and Reilly back in place, Moriarty sat statue still in a dark and chilly store room, listening and waiting, biding his time, his fingers absently teasing the silky hairs of his tiger's ears.
xXx
Storming out of Haematology Sherlock strode down the corridor back towards the Mortuary, his fingers moving fast and furiously over his mobile phone keyboard.
"The results will take longer than expected, they have had a problem with their computers. See you back at Baker Street to discuss Molly's kidnap. SH."
Seeing Lestrade and Donovan standing outside in the corridor while the forensics team collected evidence, he marched up to the Detective Inspector and demanded
"Let me know as soon as the kidnapper makes contact, and email me your reports."
"Sorry? No please? Or thank you?" Greg was close to boiling point. "Sherlock this is my investigation, even if you were the one to discover this particular crime scene."
"They are all linked together, the cards…."
"I know." Taking a breath, Greg lowered his voice. "I know they're linked, and I'm also aware that they seem to be aimed at you in some way. Where's John?"
"What does it matter where John is? We're not glued together you know."
There was a choked noise as Sally swallowed a laugh. Greg glared.
"Generally he hovers whenever you're threatened…"
"I'm not the one being threatened….."
Greg raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you?"
In the silence that followed Sherlock spun on his heel and walk swiftly from the building, one hand reaching for his mobile, the other raised to hail a cab before he had even reached the kerbside.
xXx
In the tiny back room of the shop John and Ruairi sat at the table in front of a three bar electric fire, staring into their tea.
"My great-grandson stayed with his mother after the fire," Ruairi explained. "At first we had thought they too had perished, but only the two bodies were found. Maire had taken the boy out to the park and had locked the door behind her out of habit – my boys couldn't get out, and the Fire Brigade were delayed getting in…."
"Locked the door?" John was horrified. "But why would she do that?"
Ruairi shook his head sadly.
"It was one of those stupid doors that wasn't secure when you closed it unless you locked it with your key." He seemed to stare off into the past. "Maire wasn't used to having Ciaran at home during the daytime, and so she made their home secure…..Those kind of locks have been made illegal now."
"Yeah, I seem to recall something about them, I didn't know it was your son though Ru, I'm so sorry."
While he spoke John's phone message alert sounded, and he glanced quickly at it, noting the message and deleting it as had become his habit since this thing with Moriarty had started had started.
Looking back up at his old friend he saw tears shining in the old man's eyes.
"I'm sorry too John, so, so sorry."
"Wha…."
From a door on the far side of the room stepped a slim, dapper looking young man, a few years younger than John, with dark, almost black eyes.
"Hello Johnny." He said in a sing-song voice. "I see great grandpappy has been entertaining you…"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Oh surely you haven't forgotten already? I'm Seamus, Ruairi's great grandson, although I prefer the Anglicised version of my name…..attracts less attention."
John swallowed, suddenly knowing without being told just who this was.
The man read recognition and smiled.
"That's right Johnny boy – it's Jim, Jim Moriarty…."
"He took his mother's name…" Old Ruairi whispered. "I'm sorry John."
"That okay Ru, not your fault." John rose to his feet and squared up to Moriarty.
"Oh I wouldn't do that Johnny, really I wouldn't."
"No, but then you're not a soldier." John kept his eyes fixed on the other man, waiting for him to make the first move.
And make the move he did, but it wasn't the move that John anticipated. He simply stepped to one side of the door and with a flick of his fingers called through reinforcements.
If the room had seemed small before it was positively claustrophobic now, as a large, golden eyed Bengal Tiger slunk through to stand at Moriarty's side.
"I'd tell you to run Johnny boy, it would make Sebby's day, but I need you alive for a little while longer."
John didn't hear the rush of air from the pistol; he only felt the sting as the tranquiliser dart buried itself just below his collarbone….just before everything went black.