Five minutes into the journey, Sherlock raised his head from perusal of his mobile phone to see that they were heading in entirely the wrong direction.
"I said Baker Street." He called through to the driver, tapping on the glass privacy screen, but the driver simply flicked him a glance in the rear view mirror then ignored him.
Red lights on the doors indicated that they were locked, but instead of automatically unlocking whenever the vehicle stopped at traffic lights they remained stubbornly locked tight.
Even banging on the windows had no effect, they didn't open, and no one seemed to hear or see him. Behind the privacy screen Jeff Hope just smiled.
"Sit back and relax, Mr Holmes. I'm taking to you meet Mr Moriarty." He spoke into a small radio microphone that hung down from the roof of the cab.
"I have no wish to see Mr Moriarty." Sherlock ground out through gritted teeth.
"Maybe, maybe not." The driver seemed singularly unconcerned. "But he would like to see you, and to ensure you don't try to run before he gets to see you I was to tell you that he has a couple of people there who're dying to see you…."
xXx
In the cold basement room of Ruairi Murther's shop John groaned as consciousness came rushing back, and with it the pain of having lain awkwardly on the damp uneven floor.
"John? John…." Molly leaned forward and put a hand on his arm as she saw awareness returning.
"Moll?" John's mouth felt like the bottom of a budgie cage and he said as much, making Molly smile until she remembered their predicament.
Moving stiffly, John sat up and looked around. A bundle of rags caught his eye and he started to edge towards it but a sharp cry from Molly stopped him.
"No, John. He's dead."
"He….?" John turned and looked at the Pathologist, and then back at the shapeless heap. "Ru? Ruairi?"
A sob caught at the back of his throat as he scrambled across to the limp and torn remains of his old friend.
"What did he do to you Ru?" With gentle hands John rolled his friend onto his back, feeling the cold tacky blood that soaked the ragged edges of the dead man's clothes.
"It…..it was the tiger." Molly sat back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest.
"I saw it."
"He changed…..he was a man when he took me from the lab….but as they dragged me in to…he changed…I heard…"
"Stop now." John commanded as Molly's voice rose hysterically. "Try to think of something else."
Wiping his hands on his jeans John moved away from the dead body.
"We need to work out a way out of here…."
"They've got Sherlock…."
"What?"
John gripped Molly's shoulders painfully hard.
"How do you know?"
Molly flinched, and John released her, a little shamefaced.
"Sorry."
The pathologist rubbed at her arms and shook her head.
" 'S okay." She said a little shakily. "I heard them talking. Jim has a cab driver that he sent to pick him up, he wouldn't know until it was too late that the driver had been sent to bring him here."
"Fuck!" Lashing out with his fist John punched the wall, then sucked in a calming breath and forced a stiff little smile out to reassure Molly. "Okay, we need to keep alert, and if we have a chance to run we take it."
"What if we can't both get away?"
"Then I'll make sure you do Moll – you run, and you get word to Lestrade." His smile became genuine. "Don't worry, we'll manage."
xXx
At about the same time John was punching the wall in the cellar, Sherlock was being escorted into a house a short distance away.
Moriarty was sitting in his favourite chair, his tiger's head resting on his crossed legs, and he was absent-mindedly running his fingers through the thick luxurious fur across its shoulders.
Determined not to let memories of just what this man could do cloud his thought processes, Sherlock stood tall, disdaining to look at short, grubby looking taxi driver that was using a cattle prod of all things to guide him through from the enclosed rear yard where they had alighted from the cab.
"Hope, must you be so crude? A cattle prod? He's now a stray cow!" The Irishman giggled, a high pitched, girlish sound that had the tiger flattening its ears against its head.
"Yeah well, he's bigger than me, and younger, and I didn't fancy having to tell you I'd lost 'im." Hope said honestly.
"No," Moriarty agreed, sobering a little. "I wouldn't want to give me that news either."
He waved the old man away.
"Go back to work, I'll call you when we're ready to….. well, when we're ready."
Hope smiled, backing out of the room as if from royalty.
"I love it when my people give me the respect I deserve."
"You have to earn respect Moriarty, not frighten or bribe in order to…."
"No, I command it!" the Irishman hissed, all trace of humour wiped from his face leaving behind a vicious sneer. "And those who disobey are made to suffer – but you know that don't you? You suffer, even if you have found a way to control it, you cannot stop it."
Standing, he stepped up to the taller man and ran a finger softly down his face, raising an eyebrow as the muscle in Sherlock's cheek twitched at the touch.
"Now tell me Sherlock Holmes, what are you trying to do? Are you trying to stop me? Trying to find a way to make it all go away?" Moriarty's harsh laugh echoed around the other man's head, making him screw up his eyes and try to move away, but the Mage was having none of it. "Stay!"
Sherlock froze, the only voluntary movement he was able to make involved breathing and the feeling terrified him.
Leaving him rooted to the spot, Moriarty turned his attention to the Tiger.
"Sebby dear, go find Mother." He opened the door. "Oh and Sebby? I need you on two feet, not four."
A soft growl was the only answer he received as the elegant cat slunk out of the room.
xXx
At the sound of the key in the lock John swiftly moved across the room to stand beside the door, hoping to have the chance to grab and disarm whoever had come for them, but as the door swung open he was disappointed to hear his name called.
"John Watson, stand where we can see you please or you will be made to regret your foolishness every time you look at Miss Hooper."
John didn't recognise the voice, but whoever he was he sounded certain of his facts. Moving around the wall, not to put himself within grabbing distance of the enemy, he finally joined Molly against the far wall, the body of his old friend between them and the door.
"Good." Sebastian stepped through the door, a silenced gun held confidently in his hand, a large hunting knife in a sheath on his belt. "Mr Moriarty would like you to join him and his guest in the main house."
Staying clear of Sebby's weapon, Maire Moriarty slipped into the room and grasped Molly's arm.
"Now," she said, "you have a choice. We can walk nicely to the house, or we can incapacitate you and drag you across the gardens."
Molly opened her mouth to defy them to do their worst but John reached over and squeezed her hand. She shut her mouth and waited.
"Lead on." He said quietly.
Maire kept hold of the pathologist's arm, leaning on her as if she needed the support. John let them move ahead of him, and Sebastian brought up the rear, close enough to prod the doctor in the back with the silencer muzzle while keeping it hidden from passers-by.
In silence they walked, down along the passageway between Ruairi's shop and its neighbour, and out onto the main thoroughfare, looking for all the world as if they were just strolling home.
As they reached the street corner John coughed, a noise sounding suspiciously like 'Now' and Molly leapt into action, shoving the old woman to the floor as hard as she could and taking off like a greyhound out of the traps. Never before had she been so grateful that the Lab insisted on all staff wearing sensible clothes, and particularly sensible shoes!
Meanwhile John had turned and pushed the gun away, hearing the bullet ricochet off the tarmac before being backhanded across the temple with the butt. Stunned and wobbly, John found himself being dragged the rest of the way to the house while Moriarty's mother limped behind, and he couldn't control the smile that tugged at his lips as he noted that Molly had got away.
xXx
"Miss Hooper?" Lestrade recognised her voice, but had never heard her sounding so shaken and tearful. "Thank God! Where are you? We've been looking…."
"Mr Lestrade please, you have to just listen….."
Molly repeated everything that John had told her to say, from the kidnapping to the escape.
"So, is John with you?" Greg asked, realising as he did that John wouldn't have made the young pathologist make this call if he was.
"No, but there is more he needs me to tell you – only you inspector. Where can we meet that's safe and unwatched?"
The grey haired man blew out a gusty breath, both confused and worried.
"Safe? You can't come to the Yard?"
"I'm sure they'll expect me to go there – is there nowhere else?"
"Okay, tell me where you are, I'll pick you up and we'll find somewhere where you can safely stay."
Half an hour later they were in Lestrade's car, heading towards Battersea.
"I'm afraid my flat's nothing special," he apologised as he negotiated the traffic. "Not the tidiest either."
Molly stifled a nervous giggle.
"That's okay….."
"You see I…..."
They both stopped speaking.
Greg chuckled.
"Go on." He said.
"Tidy doesn't matter Mr Lestrade, safe does." Molly said quietly as the car pulled into the parking area behind the drab sixties tenement block.
Blushing a little in embarrassment Greg led her into the cosy but obviously 'batchelor' flat. Hurrying around he picked up the detritus of his everyday life and shoved it out of sight in his bedroom as Molly wandered into the living room.
"Coffee?"
"Do you have decaf?" Molly looked over her shoulder at the detective.
" 'Fraid not, not in my line of business – coffee to wake up, beer to relax." He smiled disarmingly, and Molly couldn't help but return the smile.
"Okay, maybe just a weak one then." She waited until he had made their drinks and they were sitting either side of the coffee table, and then she began to tell him a story more suited to a horror novel.
To give Lestrade his due he didn't move, didn't exclaim at the impossibility of it, and when she had finished he didn't immediately declare her insane.
Looking up through her lashes Molly waited for him to accuse her of wasting his time, but instead he just walked out to the kitchen and made himself another coffee.
The silence grew almost claustrophobic before he finally spoke.
"I take it John hasn't told you about any of the other stuff that has happened recently?"
"Other stuff?" Molly frowned.
"Ah, obviously not." Running a hand through his hair Greg flopped back in his chair. "There have been several odd incidents, dead birds delivered to the Yard for Sherlock, bodies and kidnappings, and every time a Tarot card was left or in the case of the dead bird was inlaid in the lid of the box it came in."
Swallowing down his drink, he looked around a little distractedly.
"I have a spare room if you'd like to stay here – no strings, and it's nothing spectacular, but it's safe. I don't believe they'll come looking for you here."
"Mr Lestrade…."
"It's Greg."
"Greg, thank you, but are you sure? I mean, if they do come looking…."
"This isn't exactly the easiest place to find, you'll be fine here." He led the way to a neatly decorated room with a single bed, bedside table, wardrobe and dressing table. "Not much, but you're welcome to it."
xXx
John landed on the floor at Moriarty's feet, barely conscious, flung through the door by a very angry Sebastian.
Sherlock gritted his teeth, the cold fear that had been clawing at him since the tiger had left to fetch his flatmate from wherever he was being held ratcheted up several notches, and he could feel the familiar itch and burn under his skin .
Moriarty looked at him, then at the two people standing in the doorway.
"I'm sorry son," his mother bleated, hanging her head. "The girl got away."
"What?" Eyes blazing Moriarty slapped the elderly woman. "You stupid bitch! How many times have I told you she was important to my plans? Where did she go?"
"I don't know….."
Turning from the whimpering woman Jim looked at Sebby. The golden eyed man shrugged.
"I suppose you helped her." An elegant handmade shoe kicked John in the ribs.
"Stop!" Sherlock shouted, his breath becoming tight in his chest, worsening at his enemy's next words.
"Why, is he important to you? Oh he is! How sweet" a cruel smile crossed Moriarty's face. "What a shame Molly Mouse got away, still, I think we'll have more fun with little Johnny here. I want to know why he was so friendly with Grandpappy, and where he could fit in with my plans. Sebby….."
Sebastian was already taking his clothing off, dropping to a crouch, his metamorphosis already sparking through his limbs.
Gasping for air and ripping at his clothes, a harsh cry broke from Sherlock's throat, and as John and Moriarty watched – John horrified, Moriarty with morbid fascination – Sherlock suffered his second uncontrolled event in less than a week, twisting through the haze of heat and the remaining clothes that fell loosely from his shrinking frame, until with an anguished screech he flew through the door and out, to fresh air and to freedom.