Sofia had hung up on her father three times.
She was at the library working on a paper that she had left to the last minute, pulling an all nighter with her best friend Amanda. Assuming that it was just her father calling to ask why she had not made it home the pervious night, decline had been pressed on her phone.
So when the door to the private study room of the library was practically kicked down by Lestrade and his men, Sofia was a little shocked. Not as shocked as she was, however, when her father pulled her into his tight embrace.
"Wha...dad?"
"Its Ali... I'll explain on the way" was all Greg said.
There have been cases of twins feeling each others pain, knowing when the other was in danger. Sofia Lestrade's biggest regret that morning was that she hadn't felt her sisters pain.
She was sobbing by the time they arrived at the hospital and were ushered through the crowds and into the hospital. Even through her grief, she wanted to punch every last on of the reporters who had blocked their way. Greg had had to physically restrain her when that foul Kitty Riley woman had asked "DI Lestrade, are you going to actually catch the killer now that your own daughter has been killed?"
Two men in white lab coats were waiting for them at the reception desk. Sofia felt sick. She had assumed, for whatever reason, that Molly would be the one working her sisters autopsy. It felt strange that she was being handled by strangers.
"It's weak, but its a sign of life" one of the doctors was telling her dad. Sofia looked dumbly between the two, the grave looking doctor and her father, tears rolling down her his cheeks.
"She's alive?" Sofia asked dumbly. She assumed that was what the others were talking about.
Greg pulled Sofia into his arms. "Yes, Ali is alive"
0o0
The strong, constant beep of the machines that were keeping Ali alive was the only noise in the room. Greg watched as Sofia sat at her sister's bedside, her hand wrapped around Ali's pale one.
He never considered what it would be like to loose his girls. No one ever did. No parent anticipated that there would come a day that they would loose their babies.
As a family, he had spoken with his girls about what would happen if he was injured or killed at work, but there was no plan for this. The doctors had been realistic. When mr hester's son had found her in the back room of the bakery, Ali had been badly beaten and was bleeding profusely from uniform straight cuts on her thighs and biceps. There was not much hope of recovery.
Greg had sent Sofia into the room to see Ali when the doctors suggested it, then waited outside to hear the diagnosis. The damage was severe, and if she didn't take to the blood transfusions and operations, then there was little to no hope.
"Who would do something like this dad?" Sofia asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Greg stood to stand behind Sofia, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking down at Ali. "I mean, do you have any leads? Does Sherlock?"
Greg shook his head sadly. No leads. No ideas. No clue.
0o0
The box landed on the table with a thump. Sherlock ripped the lid off of the top of it and began digging through the files held inside. Only after a minute of silent work did he realise Donovan was still in the room.
"I like Ali" Donovan said strongly. Sherlock paused, staring at the woman who he rarely saw eye to eye with, wondering why she was talking to him, of all people. "So you catch this bastard! You hear me Holmes! Catch him! Whatever you need, just tell me."
Sherlock paused and watched as the woman turned on her heels and left the evidence locker that she had showed him to. That was weird, but his continuing understanding of sentiment explained it all away, he guessed.
Taking out the first file, he flipped it open to see a picture of Moran's smirking face. Last time Sherlock had seen it in person, the mercenary had been unconscious, presumed dead, from a well placed blow from a tire iron. He had since disappeared, and after almost a year of searching for him, both Lestrade and Sherlock had given up. Looked like the cold case was back open.
Sebastian Moran, disgraced soldier turned gun for hire had been the right hand man of James Moriarty. Sherlock had put him in jail once before, only to have him released by Moriarty and back in the game. It had been Moran and Moriarty that had tortured Molly three years previously, so unsurprisingly, Sherlock had unfinished business.
Sherlock studied the crime scene photos before him, pictures of scenes from Moran's assassin days. He was known to be violent and messy, yet no one managed to catch him due to his powerful connections. People used him when they needed to make a statement and that is why he had soon become a close personal friend of Jim's.
When his phone vibrated beside him, he glanced at the text. Mycroft. Sherlock had informed him that Moran was at large again and that increased security needed to be put on Molly and henry. Mycroft had agreed, and the latest reply detailed the specifications. Good. Sherlock was glad that his brother cared for his family's safety as much as he did.
The case files held all known information about Moran, but the pictures it painted were disjointed at best. Not a man to use the same torture technique, there was no real pattern and therefore nothing to definitively link Moran to the slasher victims.
Moran was an artist. Staging crime scenes and brutalising victims to make a statement, but never before had he worked so cryptically. This whole case was unusual to say the least.
Sherlock studied the files twice from cover to cover before sighing. He couldn't think. He couldn't concentrate. He needed something he had sworn he wouldn't go after.
His hand betrayed him before he could stop it, hitting the speed dial and calling Molly.
0o0
Molly looked at her mobile, a picture of Sherlock flashed on the screen alerting her to his call. She hesitated, but answered the call anyway. The idea of letting it go to her voicemail was appealing.
"Sherlock?" Molly began, and when he did not greet her, she sighed. "Sherlock?"
Another ten seconds passed between them before he whispered "I just needed to know you were safe"
"I am at Mycroft's" was all Molly said. She kept her tone even, unsure of the way the conversation would progress.
His voice was the sweetest firm if torture. She had asked him for space, but regretted her request almost instantly. To say she missed Sherlock was quite an understatement. It had only been 24 hours, but life without him was painful.
"I know" Sherlock said firmly, no emotion in his voice "and its best if you stay there"
Molly paused, panic rising within her. Sherlock wanted her to stay at Mycroft's. Molly had assumed that when sherlock called he would be begging her to come home (which she would have done in an instant) but he wanted her to stay away. Did this mean he wanted their separation to be permanent? was this the end? She took a shaky breath and whispered "ok" through her tears.
"It's for the best" Sherlock continued rationally. Molly barely held back her sobs. "You being there. I have to sort everything out at our end. I'll send some of your things over"
Molly silently cried on her end of the line before squeaking out "So that's it then? We're over?"
There were a few moments where she let herself cry openly. Sherlock sat confused at the other end of the phone line.
"Over? What? No?" Sherlock's tone mirrored the panic she had earlier. "Over? Molly? Are you leaving me?"
"No! Are you leaving me?"
"God no!" Sherlock barked, almost hysterical. "I'd cease to be without you Molly!"
There was an awkward minute or so of silence (Molly getting her tears under control was the inly noise between them) before Sherlock asked "what made you even think that?"
"You said..." Molly hiccuped "you said that you want me to stay here. And that you'd send my things"
"Mycroft didn't tell you?" Sherlock asked. Molly shook her head, and then realising that Sherlock couldn't see her non-verbal response made a noise in her throat.
"Wonders never per cease, he kept his word" Sherlock was surprised. "Molly, Sebastian Moran is the slasher, I am sure of it"
Molly almost dropped the phone. Sebastian Moran. Memories of that night in the parking garage, the way the man had looked at her, spoken to her, tried to kill her. She felt sick.
"I am on the case, and I promise I won't switch off until you are safe. You and Henry." Sherlock promised. Molly, still in shock, said nothing. "I've arranged extra security for Mycroft's. please stay there. Don't go to work. Don't let Henry go to school. Please"
Molly let the words sink in but still could not find words of her own to reply with. Fear had gripped her. Moran, one of the most dangerous men in the world was on the loose, killing innocent women, torturing them. Those poor women.
"Promise me Molly" Sherlock's begging brought her back to the present.
"Anything Sherlock" Molly whispered finally.
"Good" Sherlock sighed. "You won't hear from me unless it is completely necessary. I love you"
And suddenly, the dial tone was in her ear.