Mycroft is in danger, John is in danger, and everything seems to be falling apart before it can even begin. There had been a bright light at the end of the tunnel with a promising future but that light is getting dimmer and dimmer with every passing minute. It seemed nothing could have a simple solution or be an easy fix.
Sherlock's mind is reeling with dread, worry, and sick anxiety. He can only focus on what might be or what could be. The only positive thing is the blueprints he has stored in his palace and he grateful once again that he made the decision to download them.
The air vent that Sherlock and Greg are wedged in, luckily, is a decent size and they aren't having too much trouble moving about.
"How far do we have to go?" The D.I. asks his voice echoing slightly off the metal walls.
Sherlock ignores the question and presses forward.
Within minutes Sherlock finds the shaft that plummets downward heading in the direction they need to go. Without too much preamble the lanky man eases himself over the edge and braces his arms and legs against the walls.
"Sherlock." Greg says in a worried tone.
Again he is ignored as the taller man continues. Sherlock is moving slowly and starts to break out into a sweat, he's doing everything to fight his cramping muscles. Chancing a glance Sherlock is glad to see the bottom is not much further. A sliding sound and Greg's terrified yelp makes the other man look up just in time to see the detective inspector falling towards.
The next few minutes are a blur as the two fall through the ceiling into a room below. Sherlock lays on the floor with the full weight of the groaning lump on top of him.
"Lestrade." Sherlock grumbles pushing at the D.I.
Greg moans and hisses. "Sorry." He manages rolling off.
Sherlock slowly manages to get to his feet; with a quick assessment he is glad to find nothing is broken. Glancing around he notes where he is, using the blueprints stored within his palace Sherlock concludes that they have fallen into a storage room. The filing cabinets are dust covered and easily tell that they haven't been used for some time.
"Are you alright, can you walk?" He asks the man still on the floor.
Greg answers by standing, "I'm going to be sore in the morning but nothing feels serious."
Sherlock nods and moves for the door, opening it slightly he observes the empty hall. Without a word he opens the door and hurries out.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade hisses but Sherlock ignores him.
They have to find John and Mycroft, everything depends on finding them. After that Sherlock will do the thing he should have done in the first place, take John somewhere safe, outside of London and away from everything. The more time passed the more dread Sherlock felt. This had to have something to do with John and the consulting detective can't help but feel that he might lose the man he loves again.
Cursing his thoughts Sherlock pushes them back and focusing on where the doctor and his brother would be.
"Where are we going?" The D.I. asks quietly.
Sherlock glances back at the other man. "John and Mycroft would have gone to the observation room at the end of this hallway, I doubt they're still there but I want to be absolutely sure." He answers feeling the twisting anxiety in his stomach.
The observation room is clear and Sherlock knows there is only one other place they can be but that most likely means that they aren't alone.
"Where now?" Greg asks eyeing the empty room.
Sherlock looks over the man and feels a sting of sympathy towards him. The D.I. is a mess and doing a very fine job of keeping himself contained. Sherlock can see the strain on the man and wonders if this is what Greg is seeing as well but brings his mind back to the question.
"The control room," Sherlock answers, "the central control room is the only other place Mycroft would go in the event of an attack." Though the more time that went by, the more Sherlock is sure this isn't an attack at all. It is more like an ambush.
The D.I. nods before moving to leave the room. Sherlock follows behind trying to anticipate what might happen next but there is nothing to go off of, all variables are a mystery.
"Where exactly is the control room?" Greg asks still moving forward.
Sherlock didn't answer as he took the lead using the blueprints in his mind to navigate the twisting halls with the inspector hard on his heels. As they move closer to the control room Sherlock's growing dread escalates and his mind seizes with images of John.
John's lifeless corpse, John bleeding, John cold and unmoving, they blur together, swirling. Sherlock can feel his body freeze with the terror that washes through him.
"Sherlock?" Greg's voice breaks through and hands are gripping his arms.
Sherlock slowly comes back to himself realizing he had stopped in the middle of the hall and on the verge of hyperventilating.
"Sherlock," the D.I. tries again, "can you hear me?"
The taller man regains control of himself feeling embarrassed by his wayward emotions. "I'm fine." He manages.
Greg eyes him for a moment but says nothing, letting Sherlock take a moment to collect himself.
Feeling steady Sherlock braces himself and steps forward. They are so close to the control room he can see the door and it looks far from dangerous but in his mind it is radiating.
Lestrade strides the remaining feet and grabs the door and without preamble opens it. There is no resistance from the thing as it swings in with ease. Sherlock catches up to the D.I. just as he bolts inside.
The room is mostly dark with only the light from the multiple computer monitors to see by but Sherlock spots his brother's form on the floor near the corner of the room. Sherlock glances around and his eyes find John's body closer to the monitors. He ignores the others in the room. Sherlock's visions narrows as he hurries for the still form and frantically searches the doctor.
John is breathing from his slumped position in a chair set in front of one of the monitors. Sherlock feels relief when he is assured that John is uninjured.
"John," Sherlock whispers stroking the side of the other man's face.
The doctor doesn't respond but he can hear voices behind him.
"Mycroft can you hear love?" Lestrade is whispering, "My please open your eyes."
There's a mumbled reply but Sherlock can barely hear it.
"I didn't hear that." Greg says.
Mycroft speaks again a little louder but still incoherent expect for one word; "John."
"It's alright John's right here, he's unharmed but unconscious." The D.I. tells the other man.
"No," came a sharp tone that is sluggish, "careful, John." There are other words but they are lost as something hard knocks into the distracted consulting detective.
Sherlock lands heavily on the floor with a weight on his chest. The oxygen is forced from his lungs and hands grip around his neck keeping the air from relieving his body. There is shouting around him but blood is pounding in Sherlock's ears muffling it and somehow he can't see his attacker everything is too dark. He is well versed in defensive techniques but all clear thought has gone out the window and all he can do is limply attempt to fight off the offender.
As his consciousness begins dimming all Sherlock can do is wonder and hope John is alright. He wished that whoever his murderer was that they will leave John alive and just kill Sherlock, if anyone in the world deserved life, it was John.
"Enough!"
The shout causes the attacker to disappear suddenly leaving a gasping Sherlock behind.
His vision clears and he inhales sharply, greedily sucking in oxygen. Sherlock coughs and sputters trying to regain control of his lungs. He is dimly aware of voices speaking nearby.
"My pet that is no way to treat your toys," It's a women's voice and she sounds vaguely familiar but as he still fights for air Sherlock can't focus enough.
"Sherlock," the woman is closer, "It's been a long time hasn't it?"
Sherlock looks towards the voice and has to hide his surprise.
The slim woman with mousey brown hair and dark brown eyes looming over him is Molly. The shy pathologist of St. Bart's has been stripped away of her quiet demeanor and timid nature. Before Sherlock is someone completely different, she looks closer to the Woman then Molly.
"Surprise?" She asks with a wicked grin nothing like the soft smiles he is used to getting, "I am rather a good actress, even the great Sherlock Holmes was blind to me."
Sherlock is surprised and bewildered and maybe a little confused. He hadn't seen Molly in almost two years and had almost forgotten about her. Ignoring her Sherlock looks around the room and spots John standing at attention behind her. "John." He croaks barely above a whisper. His throat rubbed raw and sore.
John doesn't acknowledge him or move.
Molly glances over her shoulder smirking, "such a good solider isn't he? Johnny wasn't even that hard to train once James began his lessons." She walks closer to him and runs a hand down his chest, "My little soldier loves his mommy, doesn't he?" Molly coos.
"Leave him alone." Sherlock wheezes sitting up on his elbows.
Molly laughs softly. "But Sherlock I've worked so hard to get your attention, I thought that brain washing the lovely doctor here would have you right where I want you and…well it worked." She says trailing around John, "You are so enamored by this simple man that you're slipping Sherlock and in your line of business, that's dangerous."
Sherlock's mind jumps through all of memories containing Molly but nothing fits. "Who are you?" He asks. He has already thought she could be Moriarty's sibling or love interest but no that's not it. There is no family resemblance and zero signs of emotional connection.
Molly smirks. "No one of consequence, I'm just your biggest fan."
Sherlock narrows his eyes. "I was lead to believe James was my biggest fan."
"That's what I wanted you to think," Molly says, "I had to let you think you knew the extent of my organization so that you would miss the crucial element."
"You?" Sherlock asks.
Molly smiles slowly, "me." She confirms. Her smile fades, replaced by a sneer. "But now James is dead and my organization is in shambles."
It's Sherlock's turn to smirk. "Not as clever as you thought." He says his eyes flickering over to the statue of John.
"No, that wasn't my goal," She says stroking John's face, "No this right here was my prize, seeing you on your knees with the love of your life in the balance, isn't it poetic." John blinks slowly.
Sherlock grinds his teeth before slowly moving to stand.
Molly doesn't try to stop him and even smiles slightly.
To the left of her Greg is crouched next to Mycroft, both watch the proceedings in silence. Sherlock gives a curt nod towards his brother knowing his message will be received.
"What will you do now?" Sherlock asks, "Molly, what are your plans?"
"Oh you know," Molly says, "with you out of the way there are some options. I doubt I'll have to worry about anyone after you're gone. No one is as clever as you."
"And what of John?" Sherlock doesn't want to direct attention towards the doctor but his insides are screaming.
Molly glances at the man. "My little Johnny has a big job in front of him. I'm going to have him kill you."
Sherlock expected that.
"Then after your dead or maybe before your completely dead I'll say the magic words so Johnny can see with his own eyes what he's done. Can you imagine the doctor's face when he realizes that his finger pulled the trigger that killed you?" Molly chuckles lightly under her breath.
Sherlock's body goes cold with the thought. He needed to come up with a solution as soon as possible to get everyone out alive before things drastically changed.
"Or maybe I'll keep him around. I do so love him as a pet. I could use a body guard who is absolutely loyal while I rebuild what you ruined." Molly muses.
There's nothing for Sherlock to use as a weapon, nothing in his pockets would serve any use either. Some kind of miracle needed to happen in the next few minutes.
"I'll have to decide later," Molly finishes shrugging her shoulders, "Johnny, my little soldier, kill Sherlock."
John moves out of his stance and strides towards Sherlock pulling a gun.
All of the breath leaves Sherlock's body, John is a trained soldier, no skills Sherlock possess will ever compare to John's. Sherlock readies himself. It seemed like so long ago that he was willing to take his own life when it seemed that there was nothing to live for. Now all Sherlock wished was that John wouldn't be the one pulling the trigger.
John stops inches from him with the barrel pointed between Sherlock's eyes. A few seconds of inhaling and exhaling passed.
"It's alright John," Sherlock whispers leaning forward so the cold metal is pressed into his skull, "It's all going to be alright John. Everything is going to be fine. I love you, can you hear me? I love you." The words are spilling from his mouth without preamble.
John's arm twitches and his eyes narrow in confusion. "Shut up." He hisses.
"Just do it John, just let me go." Sherlock murmurs, "I should have let you go before but I couldn't, or I wouldn't. John you have changed me, you've made me better and I wouldn't change that for the world. The time we've had was just barrowed and now it's time to let it go, so do it John. I love you."
"Stop," John's arm tenses and his fingers turn white from gripping the gun so hard.
"I love you." Sherlock is now chanting quietly and keeping his eyes locked with John's.
The doctor's face is a contorted in something akin to pain and his whole body begins to shake. He presses the gun harder into Sherlock's head and the man's eyes fall shut.
Sherlock lets his memories take over. He remembers all this years ago the invalid army doctor limping into the lab at St. Bart's. How the man had caught his interest in seconds and then again after shooting the cabbie. Time after time John proved everything Sherlock thought about him wrong and slowly Sherlock's heart melted until he thought John lost. Now Sherlock was about to lose the man again but this time permanently.
"I love you."
A soft click followed by a loud bang rang out.
Sherlock shuddered and felt slightly confused when he didn't feel…well dead. Cautiously he opened his eyes to look at the back of John. Over the shorter man's shoulder he could see Molly staring at John with wide disbelieving eyes. For a moment she looked just like the Molly Sherlock remembered.
"How?" She whispered as blood bubbled from her lips. Red was blossoming from her chest and quickly soaking her clothes.
No one said anything before she crumpled to the floor.
A second pass then John drops the gun, breathing heavily and swaying. Sherlock moves forward and gripping the other man to keep him standing.
John's head snaps around, "Sherlock?" He sounds confused.
"Hush John," Sherlock murmurs, "it's alright."
"What?" John asks leaning against Sherlock, "What happened?"
Sherlock pulls him backwards and maneuvers him into a chair, "it would seem my dear Watson that you broke the brain washing."
"I…what?" John asks looking at the body on the floor, "Sherlock it's Molly."
Sherlock shakes his head, "no John, that's not Molly that was never Molly."
John drags his eyes from the corpse to Sherlock's face and his eyes widen. "You're hurt." He says reaching up to a cut on Sherlock's cheek.
Sherlock smiles, "it's nothing you can't fix doctor."
"Sherlock what happened?" John asks.
Sherlock bites his lip. "We'll talk about it later."
John falls quiet but looks very distressed and goes about examining the cut on Sherlock's head. Around them things start to move. People fill the room and talk in adorn that neither understand.
"Are you alright?" John asks quietly.
Sherlock feels tears burning the edges of his eyes when he hears the concern in the other man's voice. "I'll be fine." He fakes annoyance, smiling.
John snorts and strokes Sherlock's cheek. "I'm sure you will."
They don't talk much after that with the hustle of the others in the room. Mycroft is taken care of and Lestrade trails behind steadily. No one approaches John without getting a stern look from Sherlock. Finally they are lead to an empty room and John is allowed to fall asleep with Sherlock holding him.