A/N: The mystery of Moriarty is resolved and things happen. Sorry for the wait, hope it's worth it! I do have a start on the next chapter as well and a good outline of what needs to happen after. Enjoy!
Moriarty looked over his shoulder, then back at the other two. "Look, we don't have much time, so we need to get out of here. My name is…"
"Jim Moriarty," Sherlock said, at the same moment Molly blurted out, "Oh my God!"
Clearly the newcomer wasn't expecting either reaction; he cocked his head inquiringly, sparing a moment to ask Sherlock, "You know who I am?"
Molly was shaking with terror; she'd just spent a year under the control of one madman; what had she ever done to deserve to have two of them in her life at the same time? Yes, this wasn't the psychotic murderer she'd once dated and dumped, but his presence here and now couldn't mean anything good.
She shuddered and shrank back against Sherlock, who had wrapped an arm securely around her shoulders. "Molly, Molly," he said softly. "Look at me, Molly. Please look at me."
"We really don't have time for this," Moriarty said impatiently, but Sherlock's glare shut him up, and he backed out of the doorway, hands raised in mock surrender. "I'll just keep an eye out for any of Holmes' goons, then, shall I?"
As soon as he was gone Molly grabbed Sherlock's coat by the lapels, her eyes wild as she hissed, "What's he doing here? I won't let him take us, Sherlock, surely you can overpower him or…"
"Molly, listen to me!" he said, sharply this time. Obviously the soft and soothing approach wasn't going to work. Not this time. He shook her slightly, just enough to get her attention. As their eyes met, he made sure to keep his expression calm and most of all, sincere as he spoke. "He's Lestrade's man. He's been working undercover, a mole in Holmes' organization, for the past two years, trying to find evidence against him that would hold up in court. He's not the same as the Jim Moriarty from our world, Molly. I promise. He even goes by a slightly different name, calls himself Jamie."
Her eyes, still wide with fear, lost some of the crazed look as she took in his words. Her grip eased the tiniest bit, which Sherlock found encouraging. "Jamie?" she repeated, sounding doubtful. "You don't mean…Jamie from IT?"
Since that seemed a likely cover identity, Sherlock nodded. Molly finally released him, glancing uncertainly toward the door and then back to him. "S-so I guess we should…go with him, then." She gave herself a little shake, and Sherlock watched, impressed, as she visibly forced down the panic the sight of her psychotic ex-boyfriend's lookalike had caused. But as she helped him to the door, she glanced over at him, a hard expression on her face. "Sherlock, I know you think we can trust him, and I want to believe you, I really do. But if I see any sign, any tiniest hint that he's actually working for Holmes, I won't hesitate to do whatever I have to do to take him down."
He started to object, but Molly's fierce expression silenced him. "No, Sherlock, I've been here for a year, and I know this world better than you do. This time, you have to listen to me, to trust me."
"I've always trusted you," he responded. "I already told you that, and nothing's happened to make me change my mind. But," he added as she helped him limp out of the storage room, "you have to trust me as well. Yes, you've been here longer, but remember who it is you're dealing with." There was a touch of his usual arrogance to his words even though he tried to tone it down for Molly's sake. "Just because we're on an alternate version of our world doesn't mean my deductive abilities are any less sharp."
She gave a small laugh, which he quietly rejoiced to hear. "Right. Of course they haven't." Then it was her turn to add, in a quiet voice, "But my instincts are just as sharp, and I've learned to depend on them."
"So between us, we should be able to sort things out properly," Sherlock concluded, casting a small grin down at her as they maneuvered their way past the unconscious and handcuffed forms of the two guards set to watch them. It was actually rather pleasant, having her tucked beneath his arm, holding her to his side, even if it was because of his injury. He wondered idly how it would feel to do this under less unpleasant circumstances, if she'd even be willing to let him get that close to her once this ordeal was over, but quickly and firmly set such fancies aside as they hastened down the hall. This was neither the time nor the place, but once they returned to their own world…well. He would see if he was still interested in such things, if Molly even wanted anything to do with him ever again.
They caught up with Jamie Moriarty within a few minutes, passing by a third unconscious and handcuffed guard; honestly, how had the man hidden all that hardware on his person? Irrelevant; the fact that these three were out of commission was all Sherlock needed to know at the moment.
"There's four more left here, two guarding Greg and your John Watson and two on the main entrance," Jamie said in a low voice as soon as they reached him. He continued walking, keeping the pace slow and steady in order to accommodate Sherlock's limping gait. "All the other entrances and windows are boarded up tight, so there's only the one way in and out on this floor. There's only one staircase still open to reach the rest of the building, in sight of the front entrance, and the lifts have all been disabled." He grinned and held up a small electronic device the size of a pack of cigarettes. "Or so they believe. Once we get Greg and John free, we make our way up to the roof and call for a helicopter and get our arses out of here."
"So you're the mole, the one Holmes could never find," Molly said slowly, clearly still trying to decide if this version of Moriarty was safe to trust. Not that Sherlock blamed her, of course; even knowing that Lestrade had a mole, and even suspecting who it might have been (the DI had refused to divulge his identity even after their mutual capture), Sherlock had still found himself somewhat taken aback at having those suspicions confirmed. If the laws guiding this world had been entirely consistent – if each of their doppelgangers was an opposite rather than a duplicate – then he would find the idea of trusting this version of Moriarty that much easier. However, since that rule was clearly rubbish – as witness the fact that Lestrade and the late Sally Donovan were very much the same here as they were back home – he couldn't disagree with Molly's tendency to rely on her instincts. Not that he was one for blind trust, either, but he at least had the benefit of having spent several weeks in the company of one of the few people in this hellish version of London who was actually trustworthy.
Jim – Jamie – was responding to Molly's half-question, nodding easily as he continued to move down the hall at a pace Sherlock could easily keep up with. Having Molly's arm around his waist certainly helped, although he refused to question why he felt so comfortable with her. "Yeah, that's me, the mole," he was saying easily. "Been undercover for almost two years now, working my way up to being indispensable enough to be able to get some real dirt on Holmes." He flashed them both a quick grin. "I'm thinking kidnapping a police officer might just do the trick!"
"And you knew I was there, the whole time," Molly said, her voice neutral but a sudden tension clear in her body. Sherlock tensed as well; now wasn't the time for a confrontation with Moriarty about why he hadn't even tried to help her, but the other man was quick to respond.
"I sent DI Lestrade the intel on you not too long after you made your, hmm, rather spectacular appearance in Holmes' flat," he said, meeting her gaze and speaking softly but rapidly. "But without evidence of wrongdoing – strong evidence, mind you, a fucking smoking gun might not even have been enough – there was nothing he could do to extract you. Every attempt at making contact was sabotaged by the goons he had watching you; no matter who chatted you up on your few public appearances, they were chased off before they could even slip a note to you."
"And I suppose rescuing me from that sadistic bastard wasn't worth blowing your cover, is that it?"
Oh. Dear. God. Molly chose now, in the middle of a rescue, to confront Moriarty about the rescue she'd not received earlier?
Before he could try to nip this entirely unnecessary confrontation in the bud, Moriarty had stopped and turned to face the two of them directly. "That was what I was told, Miss Hooper," he said, his voice cold and a hint of their own Moriarty in the brown eyes that had gone flat and hard. "Believe me, if it was my choice, I'd have had you out of there and in an interrogation room so fast your head would still be spinning. Even if none of your evidence could be taken to court – bein' as you're a dead girl these past twenty years and all – I'd have found some way to use you to get to him, the justice system be damned."
"You hate him, too," Molly said. She'd flinched a bit when he'd said 'interrogation room' but something about Moriarty's obvious hatred clearly spoke to her; Sherlock was interested to see how much more relaxed she was now, when it would make far more sense that she would show a rise in tension. "It's personal for you, like it is for Lestrade, and not for the same reason, is it."
Moriarty let out a sharp bark of laughter, his expression caught between embittered and admiring. He cast a sideways glance at Sherlock as he said, "I see why our dear Mr. Holmes was so taken with you, Miss Hooper; there's nothing wrong with your mind, even after a year under his thumb. Yes, it's personal; he killed my best friend, Carl Powers, when we were fourteen and he was sixteen, and I know for a fact that wasn't even his first murder."
"Yes, all of this is quite fascinating," Sherlock broke in, knowing he sounded very much as if he felt the opposite. Which, to be honest, he did; the Moriarty-Powers connection was interesting, but hardly pertinent to the goal at hand, which was effecting John and Lestrade's rescue and getting the entire group of them out of this building safely. "However…" he added, allowing his voice to trail off.
Moriarty took the hint. "Right, this way," he said, taking them down a side corridor. He'd produced a gun from his waistband and held it with competent ease. Sherlock couldn't help noting that detail and wondering if it was one that translated to the James Moriarty of his own universe. His cat-and-mouse game with the Consulting Criminal had been put on indefinite hold when Molly's disappearance had consumed his time, but Sherlock knew he was still out there somewhere, no doubt biding him time.
Once they returned, he would have to deal with that particular problem, of course, and he even told himself he looked forward to the new challenge it would present him, but he also knew quite well that he was lying to himself. That the only challenge he was interested in facing upon their return was the challenge of demonstrating to Molly in as definitive a manner as possible that he was entirely unlike the version of himself that had held her captive for the past twelve months.
His thoughts returned to the present as they rounded a corner and Moriarty motioned for he and Molly to stop. The other man held his arm back, handing Sherlock the gun, and he took it without question, already having deduced what Moriarty planned. Taking a deep breath and shaking his shoulders like an actor readying himself for a role – which was very much what he was about to do – Moriarty put his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, relaxed his body into a slouch, and sauntered into view of the guards who'd been placed on John and Lestrade's prison room. Whistling insouciantly, Jamie from IT strolled down the hall as if he hadn't a care in the world.