Okay, so first things first, I offer my sincere apologies for not updating in ages. Believe me, it's not because I can't be bothered or just haven't got round to it…this chapter has been in the works for ages but I have literally been drowning in coursework and exams, so actually getting any free time was a miracle in itself. But thanks for all sticking with me despite the rubbish updates on the last chapters. And please don't kill me. Anyway…

Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter (and yes, I count following or favouriting as feedback!). Here we are, chapter 20. Hope you enjoy it :)

20: The Brutal Awakening

Molly awoke slowly, a pounding throbbing emanating from behind her eyelids. She blinked back the black spots that swam in her vision and looked around gradually, trying to stop her vision from blurring and spinning as constantly as it was now. Eventually, her vision stopped swimming sufficiently for her to stare at the blue and white blankness opposite her. After focusing for half a minute longer with narrowed eyes, she was able to make out the shapes of clouds moving gently in the wind, above the black and jagged edge of London's skyline. She strained her eyes to try and recognise any familiar shapes, but could find only the distinctive dome of St Paul's, far away to her right and barely distinguishable.

This panorama spread only across the one wall directly in front of her, and Molly soon realised that the view she could see must be out of a floor-to-ceiling sheet of glass, acting as a window. The two other walls she could see (to her left and right) were covered from head to foot in cluttered graffiti, the garish colours blending together, confusing her vision and making her eyes throb again. A single phrase seemed to be being repeated, but it was utterly indeterminable due to the amount of times it was displayed and how all outlines overlapped. The floor and ceiling were blank, a plain white seeming stark against the bright graffiti.

Having sufficiently gauged what she could about her current surroundings, Molly turned her attention to herself. She was held to the wall by a thick chain around around her waist, pulled reasonably tight; enough to as to restrain her substantially, but not so much as to dig into her flesh or cause her pain. She was sat down, with her legs currently sprawled in front of her, and she flexed her neck slowly and painfully, trying to ease the terrible stiffness. Fuzzy recollections streamed into her mind: of Moriarty in the shop threatening her with a gun; clearly having drugged her and brought her to this place, wherever she was. Her head still throbbed slightly but her vision had reclaimed its clarity, and she was able to think straight.

Her first thoughts flew to Sherlock, John and Lucie. Not knowing what had happened to any of them or even whether they were alive tormented her more than anything. On the other hand, they could be completely unaware of her predicament, which posed an even scarier thought. Of course, she had no idea how long she had been in this place; for all she knew it could be as little as fifteen minutes, or as long as three days.

Her hands had been left free, and she felt in her pocket where she kept her phone, mentally cursing when she found it empty. But of course, Moriarty was clever enough to remove anything she could use to contact help. She leant her head back against the wall and shut her eyes, exhaling slowly and trying to stem the rising flow of panic threatening to fill her throat. The backs of her eyes stung, but she forced the tears back and tried to alienate herself from her emotions. No sign of weakness would do her morale any good. She crossed her legs as best she could with her restraints, and set about trying to calm and sort the flurry of thoughts in her mind.

"I'm telling you, Sherlock, I'm worried about her." Lucie stood in front of the detective's armchair, arms folded across her chest and a steely expression gracing her features. Sherlock was busily typing on his laptop and paying no attention whatsoever to Lucie's insistence that something was wrong with Molly not having been heard of for nearly a week. John stood passively behind her, one hand laid soothingly on the small of her back, not entirely sure where he stood on the matter.

"I have no intention of abandoning my research to look for Molly Hooper," Sherlock muttered, leaning closer to the screen to examine a picture in greater detail. "If she's got herself into trouble, she can get herself out of it."

Lucie growled quietly, immensely irritated. John gently rubbed her back and turned her around to face him.

"We'll do what we can, Lucie," he said gently, smiling, "but there's not an awful lot for us to go on."

"Why should I care about Molly Hooper anyway?" Sherlock mumbled, distracted. "I don't recall any debt I need to repay."

Something deep in the pit of Lucie's stomach snapped, outraged by Sherlock's indifferent and blatantly disregarding attitude. She spun back around and slammed her hands down on Sherlock's laptop screen, shutting it hard on his fingers. He flinched ever so slightly before looking up at her lazily.

"Oh, I see," he said slowly, a half smile forming on his face. "You're angry because you think I should care about her, and my rudeness annoys you."

"Yes!" she said, her voice raising.

"Lucie–" John said warningly, but she shrugged him off.

"Sherlock, is there not one person in this world you care about? Not one? You may not care about Molly, but I sure as hell do, and if anything has happened to her and you've been too busy sat doing your research to get up and save her, I will personally take the great effort to skin you from head to foot. Molly's done so much for you, and you didn't hesitate to find the two of us before! What the hell is so different now? We have no idea where she is, who might have got her, Jim…he's still out there, Sherlock, and you know it. I know you don't care, I know you go on about not having emotions, but if you sit there and tell me that you don't give one tiny little damn about Molly Hooper's whereabouts, I will be incredibly loath to believe you! It's time you got out of your little bubble and realise how much Molly cares about you, because if anything happens to her, I think you will be more upset than you even care to admit to yourself."

There was a long silence following Lucie's speech, during which her tone had raised steadily to a shout. John blinked at her, fairly stunned by the outburst by a woman who, to his previous knowledge, was quite gentle and quiet. She still leant on Sherlock's laptop, bent over and staring hard into his face; Sherlock held her gaze steadily, searching her eyes for sincerity.

"You think…I have feelings for Molly?" Sherlock said slowly, rising to his feet and looking down into her face, not breaking eye contact. The word 'feelings' contained such disdain that Lucie snapped again.

"I don't know and frankly I don't care what goes on in your head, Mr Holmes!" she shouted. "All I know is that my friend is missing and I want her back. And you want her back too, somewhere in the deepest part of your heart. And yes, I know you claim not to have a heart, but you do have one. Why else would you live all this time with John?"

For the first time, Sherlock looked ever so slightly taken aback. A mere flicker of hurt flashed in his eyes, but Lucie saw it and hung onto it.

"Oh yes, Mr Holmes, you claim not to care, but look at John! I have never seen another man care so deeply for anyone in all my life, and you know what? Good. You need John, but you also need to see that you do care for others apart from John. You care about Molly and you know it. Now will you help me get her back or not?"

Lucie was breathing hard and Sherlock held her furious gaze steadily. "And tell me, Miss Adler," he said scathingly. "Just where do you propose we start? Molly has left no clue of her whereabouts; the last place she was seen was…oh." He stopped and gazed up at the ceiling.

"Sherlock?" John chipped in from behind Lucie, gently moving in front of her and threading a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Was…where?"

"The clothes shop," Lucie finished breathlessly, her eyes shining with hope. "Are you planning on going there?"

Sherlock sat back down, not answering her, and opened his laptop again, busily scanning the screen's contents. Lucie sat on the arm of the chair and stared at the screen in disbelief.

"You've been…trying to find her phone all this time?" she said slowly, staring at Sherlock.

"Of course," he said, not looking up, "but I just needed to check how serious you were about finding her. Thankfully, you were fairly…passionate, shall we say." He grinned and winked at her.

Lucie's eyes filled with anger again. "You!" she cried, although a smile was already pervading her features. "You got me to say all that…just to make sure I was sincere?"

Sherlock laughed and nodded. "It was a pretty good trick, you have to admit."

"Sherlock…" John said, exasperated. "Was that really necessary?"

"Possibly not, but I needed to make doubly sure," the detective said, the moment passed and focusing his attention back on the screen. "I haven't been able to get a GPS signal from her phone, so I don't know anything about her whereabouts. That being said, her phone doesn't necessarily have to be with her; Moriarty could have taken that and done anything with it. Even if I did pick up the signal and it led to a certain location, it could well be bait. No, Moriarty's too clever for anything like that…" He drew his fingers up under his chin. "…he wouldn't let us know explicitly where she is…"

"Wait," said Lucie suddenly. "You know this was Jim?"

Sherlock stared at her like she was a simpleton. "Well yes, obviously," he said, his brow furrowing in confusion at her incomprehension. "There's nowhere else she could have gone. And Moriarty promised he'd be back; he would have targeted the weakest member of the four of us. That night in the bistro – he planted all those things in her head about how I don't care about her…Lucie, did she mention anything at all about that night?"

"Nothing."

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. "He targets her because she's the weakest member…he wants to feed her things about me, things that will make her lose her faith in us ever coming to rescue her. But he knows I will prove her wrong and come regardless…oh." He paused. "He wants this to end it. To get me there to rescue her, bringing you two, and kill the four of us, undoubtedly."

"Why would he want to kill Molly? She has no real involvement with him," John said, leaning on the back of Sherlock's chair.

"She's seen too much; she's too close to me," Sherlock replied, waving his hands around as he did when thinking. "It's safer for her just to be out of the way. He wants this…to be the final meeting." Sherlock folded his hands calmly, shutting his eyes.

"So…this is it?" John said. "This is like…the swimming pool…the rooftop…all over again?"

Sherlock nodded mutely.

"But you beat him both times then. You even beat him by faking your death, and you bested him at the bistro. Can't you beat him again?"

"This time, Moriarty has leverage," Sherlock said. "Any of us try anything funny…Molly dies. This time, he has the upper hand."

John and Lucie's faces fell.

"But…that doesn't mean we can't defeat all odds and beat him regardless!" Sherlock grinned and looked at the two of them. "First things first, you two go down to the shop where she disappeared and find out what you can from the shopkeeper…if he's still there, of course. I'll stay here and look for more signs as to where she could have gone."

Lucie and John nodded and moved toward the door, John putting on his traditional black coat and helping Lucie on with hers.

"That's a new coat," said Sherlock, looking her up and down.

"Yes," she replied, shooting John a sidelong, amused glance. "I bought it yesterday."

"Hmm. It's…nice," Sherlock said, struggling to get the compliment out. "The green…er…matches your hair. Well, not matches, but…you know…"

There was a silence, Lucie deliberately not finishing his sentence from amusement.

"…complements," he finished, looking uncomfortable and immediately turning back to his laptop screen.

"Thanks."

Sherlock reached under his chair and pulled out a terracotta scarf. He threw it to Lucie carelessly. "Happy birthday," he said, as Lucie and John made their way out of 221B.

As soon as they were outside, Lucie roughly turned to face John. "Okay, what did you do? Why did you make him buy me a present?"

"I didn't do anything," he said. "I didn't even know it was your birthday today. How bad is that?"

Lucie nodded solemnly. "Consider yourself a terrible human being." The trace of a smile played on her lips as she turned and hailed a cab; John hurried to catch up with her and hopped onto the seat next to her. They rode in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts of where Molly could be, anxiously awaiting the visit to the shop and what secrets it could divulge.

Sorry to leave everyone on a cliffhanger (well, not really, but etiquette demands an apology) and I will try to update soon! This story is beginning to draw to its conclusion, probably 25 chapters max. A big climax and showdown is coming…anyway, in the meantime, please review! :)