CHAPTER 10:

"I met Tom through a dating site," Mary Morstan told Greg Lestrade, her eyes flitting over to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. The dark haired man was standing by the window, looking out into the darkened sky, while the sandy blonde-haired gent was seated, holding a little notepad, furiously scribbling in it. The brooding man seemed imposing, and the shorter, seated fellow kept looking up at her with a comforting smile. Detective Inspector Lestrade had a neutral expression, as he too, took down some notes.

She poked at the IV stuck in her hand, feeling slightly uncomfortable being in the room with so many males. It would have been a greater discomfort, had the two female nurses not also been in the room.

Mary went on: "I was supposed to meet him in Jubilee Gardens that night, because we were going to walk together over to The Charles Dickens—that's a nearby pub—and get a few drinks. I was there for about five minutes and had looked down at my watch when I felt a sharp pain in my neck. I brought my hand up and felt something sticking out of my skin. I tried to stand up and pull it out, but my vision went wonky and I blacked out."

"What happened then?" Lestrade asked.

"I… I don't remember. I woke up to find myself tied to a table, most of my clothes missing, and two men talking about someone."

"Did you catch their names?" John asked, his brow furrowed in question. "The two men, speaking, I mean."

Mary shook her head. "No, they didn't address each other in that way, although one called the other 'sir'."

"Please describe them and their voices," John coaxed with a slight smile. "If you can."

Mary closed her eyes and frowned. She really didn't want to speak about this, but she had to; those people needed to be stopped. "The big one—the one who called the other 'sir'—was big, kind of stocky. He had blonde hair and… and…" She went silent, taking a deep breath. "The other? I never saw him, but he was there. He… he held the knife to my throat when the other…" She trailed off and started to cry.

John jumped out of his chair, reaching out to pat Mary's IV-free hand. "It's all right, Miss Morstan. You're safe now."

Sherlock had turned and raised an eyebrow at the pair, but said nothing. Lestrade merely smiled grimly and nodded.

"I—I know. Forgive me. It's hard to put aside those feelings." One of the nurses came forward with a box of tissues, which John took from her and handed to Mary. She wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. "The other man," she continued, "his voice… He was definitely Irish. There was a creepy, callous indifference tone to it, and… and he giggled a lot."

Sherlock's gaze narrowed. "What did they say, exactly?"

"I—I—" Mary stuttered, trying to recall the words.

"Think, woman!" Sherlock hollered impatiently.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade bellowed.

"Oy!" John shouted.

"Hey!" One of the nurses scolded.

Sherlock sighed heavily, and stepped back. "My apologies. Do take your time, Miss Morstan. Try to recall what they said. Please. Anything you remember will be helpful."

Mary closed her eyes and took three deep, calming breaths. She was silent for several long moments, then, suddenly, she began speaking:

"Our Sweet Molly will surely lure Mr. Holmes to his doom."

"You think that Hooper's letter will work?"

"I do. Was it left where it could be found?"

"Yes, sir. Did it myself."

"Now, what do we do about our lovely lady here?"

"Let me have her, sir.

"Really? I was going to give her to Molly. Poor Molly is so lonely and needs something to do."

"Have her write more, sir; she's good at that.'

"Actually, she's quite good with a scalpel, but I agree; she writes well."

"As for this bitch… Let me play with her, sir."

Mary opened her eyes and looked at John, who smiled encouragingly, before turning to Sherlock and Greg. It didn't take a Consulting Detective to know Mary Morstan had heard two men talking about their Molly Hooper.

"I have a few more questions for Miss Morstan," Sherlock said. "Did you see this Molly Hooper at all?"

Mary shook her head. "No."

Sherlock said, "When you escaped, what do you remember about your surroundings?"

"Woods… and a waterfall," Mary told them. "It looked familiar, the waterfall; but I can't remember why. Then a couple in a green SUV stopped and picked me up and brought me here." She started to cry again, and John held out the tissue box for her, while patting her shoulder.

Sherlock and Lestrade turned to the nurses. "Did anyone catch the names of the couple?" Sherlock asked.

"No, sir," one of the nurses replied. "They dropped her off, told us they thought she'd been attacked in the woods, and then in all the commotion of trying to get the rape kit for Miss Morstan and another victim coming in after being hit by a car… Well, they disappeared."

"We'll need to see the CCTV footage of the parking lot, if possible," Lestrade said.

The nurse nodded and scurried off, presumably to tell security what the detective required. Sherlock turned to the other nurse and asked: "Did they say where Miss Morstan came out?"

"No, sir," the second nurse replied, "but the closest wooded area is Studley Park. There's a stream there."

"Waterfall?"

"There's one, of sorts," the nurse nodded.

"Perhaps we should check it out, Sherlock," Lestrade suggested, putting away his notepad. "It's the only lead we have."

"No, it's not," Sherlock replied, removing Molly's letter. "There's still this matter to deal with. I suspect that we'll find another body wherever this clue leads us, but perhaps we'll get another clue there as to where those men and Molly are."

"Sherlock," Lestrade began, "do you think Molly's working with those men?"

"I need more data," Sherlock told him. "There's something missing, and I don't know what—" he stopped and his eyes widened. "Oh, of course."

Lestrade's head tilted to the side. "What? What have you got?"

Sherlock turned to Mary and John. "The dating website. What's the name of it?"

Mary looked taken aback. "LondonLovers."

John perked up. "That's the same site I—" He suddenly looked sheepish. "That's how I met Jeanette."

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "It was rumored Millie MacGregor had a secret boyfriend. Carrie Gramble had a boyfriend, but as he was no longer in the picture—probably because of the drugs—it's very likely she went looking for a new one. I want to check that website. Now."

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

After meeting with the hospital security, Lestrade jotted down the couple's SUV's plate number, and texted Donovan to get to work on a trace.

Mary Morstan had no family members whose care she could be released into, so she was given a lift back to London with Detective Lestrade, Sherlock, and John. She was wary of being in a confined space with three strange men, but John and Lestrade seemed to understand, and Lestrade gave to her his vehicle's tire iron. John joked to Sherlock that he should keep quiet, lest Mary use it on him, because god knew he certainly wanted to sometimes.

Sherlock ignored this, of course. He was thinking about the letter; he was convinced it was Big Ben. He told the other occupants in the car: Soaring high above, I am. "The bell tower rises high above." Hear me now. "Hear the bell chimes." Exploding into the night. "Exploding, like bombs—Guy Fawkes Night, in commemoration of the night he tried to blow up the Parliament building, where the bell is housed." Spectre of the dark. "In the fourth James Bond film, Thunderball, a mistaken extra strike of Big Ben on the hour is designated by criminal organization SPECTRE to be the signal that the British Government has acceded to its nuclear extortion demands."

"Hang on," John interrupted. "How do you know about James Bond, but not Doctor Who?"

"Focus, John!" Sherlock scolded. He went on: London will fall at my feet. "London landmark, obviously." Oversized hearts will ring out with joy. "Bells ring." Visitors will welcome me. "Visitors are welcomed to tour the bell and the Parliament Building." Everyone will hear me. "The chimes are exceedingly loud." Lay time at my feet. "Time. Clock." You clever Fawkes. "Again, another reference to Guy Fawkes."

John asked Mary about the man she was supposed to meet up with, and Mary talked about him a little. She said Tom had recently moved to London from America, worked on computers, and was interested in American soccer and swimming. Mary said she was surprised they had even matched up, but talking to him on the computer and then twice over the phone, he seemed all right. She said Tom had a funny accent, like he was trying too hard to sound American; she thought maybe he was from the American south, and was trying to cover up a drawl. She'd met him at a pub, and he was rather nice, so she agreed to a date—a date that never happened.

When they returned to London, they took Mary home, and she, surprisingly, lived just a few streets away from Sherlock and John, on Balcombe. John asked her if she would like to pop over for tea sometime, giving her their address, and Mary nodded, saying it would be lovely, but she really needed some time to recover.

The trio went to Baker Street, and Greg once again contacted Sgt. Sally Donovan, directing her to the Parliament Building, specifically to stop tours to the bell, because it could be a crime scene. Donovan complained about the headache she was going to get from the paperwork nightmare, but Greg didn't care; Sherlock said the next place they'd find another body would be at Big Ben, so they needed to get there ASAP. Greg promised they'd get there soon.

John broke out his laptop; he logged into the LondonLovers website, and easily found Mary Morstan, who went by the named "ProudMary" (she'd told this to John; she loved the song by Tina Turner). Sherlock, of course, commented on John's nickname: "ArmyDoctor" ("That's as clever as you could get, John?"), and Greg considered creating a profile for himself.

They decided to hack into the website—to which Greg was not pleased; he told them he should arrest them, but everyone knew it wouldn't happen—and took a closer look at Mary's profile. There had been four men to contact her since she'd created the profile. Sherlock took a look at the men's dating profiles and deducted that two ("CallofBooty", "SavageKhunt") were actually married, and one ("JediTrekkie") was still living with his mother, so that left "JustTom".

"An even more clever nickname," Sherlock stated sarcastically.

With a few quick clicks, John had hacked into Tom's profile. There was no picture of Tom, but plenty of photographs of green rolling hills, a beach, and a bare minimum of information. John was surprised that someone as bright as Mary ('Well, she seemed to be,' John thought) would even want to speak to someone who had little to no statistics.

"Find out to whom Tom's been talking," Sherlock commanded, from his lookout by the window.

"I'm not listening to this!" Greg said, walking away, his hands over his ears.

"Fine then, Lestrade," Sherlock snapped. "See if Mrs. Hudson's awake to give you a spot of tea."

"As your guest," Greg shot back, "you should be offering me tea."

"How many times have you been here?" Sherlock asked, folding his arms together.

"More times than I care to admit."

"Hey!" John cried, offended.

"Sorry, John," Greg laughed.

"Well, then, that means you are no longer a 'guest'," Sherlock announced. "You can make the bloody tea yourself."

"Sherlock…" John said suddenly, his tone ripe with disbelief.

Sherlock turned. "What is it, John?"

"You… you need to see this."

In two strides, Sherlock—and Greg—crossed the room and was at John's side, peering over his shoulder. In Tom's site email, he had sent many messages, but four names Sherlock had seen recently, and one that was so very familiar: "ProudMary (Mary Morstan), "LilKitty" (Laura Kitterman), "MillieMayI"(Millie MacGregor), "HawtGurl666" (Carrie Gramble), and "WhovianGal42"…

Molly Hooper.

Sherlock's insides roiled. It just couldn't be. Molly could not have had contact with the same man who had emailed three dead women and Mary Morstan. Things were not looking good for his pathologist; she was missing, had been writing letters found with a dead woman, had been spoken of during an abduction, and now had been found to have been in contact with what was possibly their lead suspect.

Had he driven her to madness?

He looked over at the letter sitting on his desk, and snatched it up. Her loopy handwriting winked up at him, almost mocking him. With his free hand, he grabbed up John's laptop, which garnered protests from his friend.

Sherlock flopped down on the sofa, set the letter next to him, and began typing away, his fingers flying over the keyboard. After a few moments, he stopped and stared at the screen. John and Lestrade wanted to ask, but they knew Sherlock was trying to gather data in order to make his deduction.

"We need to get to the next place the clues point to in this letter," he said abruptly.

"Will we find Molly there?"

"No." He said nothing further as he tossed John's laptop aside onto the cushions, leaped up and grabbed his coat and scarf. Lestrade scrambled for his jacket and was off down the stairs behind Sherlock. John paused for a moment and looked at his still-open laptop. There on the screen were two open windows. One was Molly Hooper's profile. The other was the profile of "JustTom".

Tom's name was prominently displayed: Tom Riary.

John gasped and grabbed his coat, calling out for the two other men to wait. Tom's name was an anagram! He knew Tom's real name, having heard it from Sherlock after John saved him from that serial-killing cabbie.

Moriarty.