After taking a long bath, Sherlock had every intention of sleeping. Unfortunately, his racing mind refused to cooperate. After a few hours of fruitless tossing and turning, he gave up. He stomped around the guest suite, looking for some sort of distraction. Everywhere he looked, something reminded him of Molly, which only served to make him more irritable. His eyes rested for a moment on his coat. His face lit up at the memory of what he had recently put in his coat pockets. After fleeing the feral cave children, the route back to Door's home had taken them past the crack in the wall where the savages had first abducted Molly. The ground there was still littered with their tiny darts. Sherlock couldn't help himself, he carefully picked up a few and stowed them in a pocket. Well, now was an excellent time to begin a chemical analysis of whatever it was they used to knock out their victims.
Sherlock had previously borrowed a microscope and rudimentary chemical set from Portico's study. Door had no plans of using it; she gave Sherlock permission to take it as long as he refrained from blowing up the house. Sherlock carefully removed the darts from his coat pocket and began setting up various beakers and slides.
The microscope was a beautiful thing, made from exotic woods and gleaming brass. The lens appeared to be made from polished rock crystal. As aesthetically pleasing as it was, it was old and had none of the features Sherlock was used to taking for granted. It was difficult working without all the technology he had had access to at St. Bart's. Thinking of the lab produced a sharp pain in his chest. He resumed focus on the experiment. He had scrapped each dart carefully, removing most of the sedative residue. He had various samples diluting and was busy preparing slides.
Sherlock worked for hours, completely absorbed in his study. At one critical moment, he called out, "Molly! Fetch me the other slide!" The pain in his chest returned, sharper than before. He lifted his eyes from the microscope and looked around. Oh. Right. Molly wasn't here. No one was. He rubbed his chest as he remembered that Molly wasn't likely to come back either. He tried to be resolute. He had worked for years alone, had preferred it even. In university, Sherlock was widely known as the worst lab partner anyone could ever be assigned. His peers had often resorted to begging professors not to be paired with him. He had always been better off alone in the past, he was better off now.
The hours stretched on, Sherlock was getting very frustrated. Without the proper tools, it was proving difficult to analyze the samples. He was getting tired too, but was too determined to give up. Another test was finished, but gave him no clear answers. Sherlock pounded his fists on the desk. He had never been a very clean person and often ignored basic safety practices when in the throes of experimentation. Now years of bad habits caught up with him. Slamming his fists against the desk had caused one of the tiny darts to fly up in the air, lazily spinning around. The dart came down, needle sharp point first, and pricked the back of his hand. Sherlock stared at it for a moment, unbelieving. Almost instantly, he felt the sedative begin to work. Clearly he hadn't removed it all. Deeply angered at himself, he stood up, plucking the dart from his hand. He threw it away and managed to take four wobbling steps before collapsing in a heap.
Sherlock had already been knocked out for several hours when Molly and de Carabas left. They briefly argued about which direction to go. The message had been somewhat garbled and the location of the victim was unclear. Finally Molly agreed that it was better to let the Marquis lead, he had a better sense of where everything was anyway. They had taken a shortcut through some sewers, and then turned into a tunnel that had been partially excavated for a transit line that was eventually abandoned due to wartime shortages. That tunnel lead to a tunnel that was in currently in use by Tube trains. Molly and the Marquis had to race down a short section of track in between the passing trains. Before the next train came, they ducked into a door that opened into an old access tunnel. At the end of this tunnel was a set of stairs, they began to climb down. The stairs ended in an empty cavern. Suddenly, Molly could hear shouting, she ran ahead, searching for whoever had summoned her. As Molly raced ahead, the Marquis became disoriented. There was a rock wall in front of him, Molly had taken the light and it was growing dark. De Carabas turned around, but he had completely lost his bearings. Shit. He knew this was a bad idea. He called out, "Molly, stop, it's a trap!" He was answered by the sounds of a struggle. He closed his eyes and reached out, trying to find where the wall really was and find his way to Molly.
Molly raced around the corner and was promptly grabbed from behind. A rag was shoved over her face; she recognized the scent of chloroform immediately. She was furious, how could she be so stupid? Well, she wasn't going to give up without some fight. She threw her head back as she struggled. Her reward was the satisfying crack of her assailant's nose being broken. The last coherent thought she had was that at least Sherlock's self-defense lessons had been good for something after all.
Sebastian was impressed; he hadn't anticipated much of a fight from her. The sharp pain of his nose being broken made him lose his concentration on the glamour that was confusing the Marquis. The Marquis was relieved as the walls disappeared. He knew that what he was seeing was a glamour, but it had still tricked him. He ran ahead and nearly tripped over Molly. Standing a bit back from her, holding his bleeding nose was a tall blond man. The Marquis paused, evaluating the situation. The man was already holding one knife, de Carabas backed away slightly. "Broke your nose, didn't she? Good girl" he said as he looked over the scene.
Sebastian grinned, blood dripping into his mouth. "Where's Sherlock?" he asked.
"Who?" answered the Marquis, the picture of innocence.
Sebastian just grinned even larger, then spat some blood out. "You know who I want, don't play dumb. Where the fuck is he?"
The Marquis shrugged. "It was worth a shot. I don't know where he is, I prefer not knowing where that irritating idiot is anyway."
There was a flicker in the air. The Marquis looked down at his chest. Shit. The bastard had thrown the knife and lodged it in his lower left side. And the damn thing had gone straight through his coat too. The Marquis narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. Another flicker in the air. Another knife was now sticking out of his right side. Blood was pouring from both wounds. De Carabas looked a bit closer at the knives. Well this was amusing. They were the same ones he had traded to Baxter months ago. Evidentially they had been bartered all around the Underside, ending up back in the Marquis' possession, in a sense. He had to laugh about it; he was running out of other options. De Carabas glared at the assailant. "What do you want?" he spat.
"Boss wants the pathologist and the detective alive, didn't say anything about anyone else I should run into, nothing personal you know. Tell Sherlock to meet us on the roof in six hours, otherwise some really unpleasant things are going to happen to Miss Hooper. And they'll keep happening, for as long as her body lasts."
De Carabas was trying to staunch the blood flow and not having much success. "What roof?" he asked.
Sebastian smiled and picked up Molly, throwing her over his shoulder. "Sherlock knows. Better hurry up if you want to deliver that message." He winked at the other man, and then disappeared.
The Marquis quickly felt around in some pockets. He had a couple of frilly handkerchiefs in one, and the scrap of lace he had last used to bind his throat. He stuffed the fabric into gashes on his sides. He began to race back to Door's home as fast as he could. It was awkward at best running with both hands trying to keep pressure on wounds. He had to give the other man credit. The knives had been thrown with impossible accuracy. Neither would kill him too soon, the blood was already flowing less. But his guts had almost certainly been cut and were leaking a toxic brew that would fell him in a matter of days if not sooner. The Marquis briefly wished that he had convinced Molly to make another egg to hold his life. Although, if they succeeded at getting Molly back, she would probably be able to heal him. Even more reason for him to hurry. He took to the sewers, it was foul, but a far shorter route. Once again, back in the sewers, leaking blood all for a girl. He was getting to be quite the hero. The Marquis de Carabas swore to himself that if he survived this episode, he would do something really dreadful; his reputation was at stake after all.
Sebastian Moran carried the unconscious Molly Hooper back up to the surface of London. No one noticed the tall man with the bloodied nose with the woman slung across his shoulders. He didn't even have to waste any energy making a glamour. That was one advantage of going back to the Underside. Once he was out of London Below, he stopped to check where he was. He had hoped to emerge near Jim's house and was pleased to see that he had. He was tired of carrying the dumb bitch around. A short walk was all it took to get back to the home he had shared with Jim. Sebastian was a little worried that Jim would be angry he only had Molly. He figured he wouldn't get another easy chance like that, better to get just the girl, Sherlock would follow.
Sebastian kicked the door open. He looked around the ground floor, no one home. But, then he heard a noise upstairs, it came from Jim's bedroom. He stomped upstairs and kicked the bedroom door open. Jim was lying on the bed, his legs hanging off. Between Jim's legs, a blond young man was enthusiastically sucking Jim's cock. Jim lazily turned his head when the door flew open. He had been typing something on his phone, but tossed it aside now. Sebastian dropped Molly on the floor, her head bouncing when she hit. Jim closed his eyes and shuddered slightly. The curly haired lad between his legs made some happy noises, as though he had always dreamed of this moment. Sebastian had to admit the whore was doing a fine job of faking enthusiasm. He seemed to be enjoying himself much more than Jim. Now the young man looked up, shyly smiling at Jim and carefully wiping him off with a towel. Clearly, the young man hadn't seen the blood spattered man enter the room and drop an unconscious woman on the floor.
Jim glanced over at the master bathroom. "Go clean yourself up" he said to the whore. Sebastian and Jim both admired the young man's ass as he walked away. God, he was lovely, practically still a boy. Jim stretched up and reached under a pillow. He pulled out a pistol, flicked off the safety and paused for moment to aim. Then he nonchalantly shot the whore through the back of the head. Blood sprayed across the bathroom mirror. Sebastian walked around the bed. He ignored the smell of gunpowder and gurgling noises from the floor. He stepped over the body and grabbed a towel. He ran it under the water and then scrubbed the blood from his face. When he returned, Jim was finishing redressing in an exquisite gray suit.
Sebastian sighed, "You always did like the blonds."
Jim grinned wickedly at him and pulled him close for a kiss. "Why do you think I haven't killed you yet? Where's Sherlock, I did say bring me both of them, didn't I?" he sang.
Christ, not the sing-song voice, Jim was always most dangerous when he used that voice. Sebastian took a deep breath. "He's on his way. I sent a message for him. He's due to meet us on the roof of St. Bart's in oh, about five hours now." Sebastian studied Jim's face, waiting for his reaction. Jim sighed and ran a finger down the side of Sebastian's face.
"Moran, you're such a fuck-up, it's really pissing me off you know. I'll deal with you later. You know it is winter, not exactly a nice time to hang out on a fucking roof. Get up there, make it nice and cozy for me, and keep her alive too." With that, Jim leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. He pointedly looked at Sebastian and then at Molly. Sebastian got up and reached down to pick up Molly Hooper once again. Jim cleared his throat. "Oh, and honey, if this doesn't end the way I want it to, I'm going to make you hurt like you never have before. I'm going to do things to you that you never even dreamed of" he snarled.
Sebastian nodded and left the room. Molly's head smacked off the door jamb on the way out. He carried her out to the garage and dropped her on the cement. Bruises were blooming all over her body. Sebastian dug out some tarps and random other camping supplies left over from some past deranged scheme. He was about to throw it all in the car when he remembered. Shit. He grabbed the keys and tried to turn the car on, no such luck. He was part of London Below now, cars wouldn't work, and cabs wouldn't see him. He could try to drag everything on the Tube, but that was nearly more trouble than it was worth. Sebastian grumbled to himself and shoved all the things in a pack. Jim wanted cozy, then he'd fucking give him cozy. He shouldered the pack and picked up the increasingly battered body of Molly Hooper. She stirred a little; maybe he could make her walk part of the way.
Meanwhile, deep underground, the Marquis de Carabas was still running. He was becoming very unhappy about the state of his clothing. There was no way he'd get all this blood out of these trousers, what a waste. He was getting a bit giddy from blood loss, but pushed on, he was nearly there. He nearly groaned out loud in relief as the entrance to Door's home came into view. He dragged himself the last few steps and nearly collapsed through the door. Hell, no one was in the entry hall. He didn't think he could yell for long. He took a raspy breath and shouted "Door! Richard! Anyone! They have Molly!" He felt faint from the effort and dropped to his knees. The floor was starting to look very comfortable when he finally heard Richard and Door run in.
"Holy hell!" exclaimed Richard.
"What happened? Who has Molly?" Door shouted.
The Marquis was about to answer when Ingress came into the entry hall. She took one look at the scene in front of her and began screaming. Her shrill voice filled the entire room. Door looked back to her sister and then at the Marquis, unsure where to go first. She chose the option that was bleeding all over her floor. She ran to the Marquis side, dragging Richard along with her. "Keep pressure on his wounds, I'll be right back" she ordered.
Door ran and grabbed towels and bandages. When she returned to the Marquis's side, she noticed that Ingress had disappeared. Well, she had to be somewhere in the house still, Door reasoned. She would look for her sister later, when de Carabas was no longer in danger of bleeding to death. She began to peel away some of the makeshift bandages. The gashes in his side were vicious, and alarming similar to some of the ones he had received from Croup and Vandemar. Working together, Door and Richard were able to bandage his wounds and stop the bleeding. The Marquis was feeling stronger, and began to explain what had happened.
Ingress hadn't hesitated, she ran straight to find Sherlock. She dashed through the guest suite, racing right past the slumbering form of Sherlock in her haste. She turned in a circle and ran next to Sherlock. Ingress stared at him. She poked his shoulder a few times. No response. She stuck her finger in her mouth, worrying. Finally, she came up with a better idea. She bent very close to his ear, breathed deep and shouted "SHERLOCK!"
Sherlock remained mildly sedated, but had still registered something running past him and poking him. He hoped whatever the hell was disturbing him would go away. But then it shrieked, practically breaking his ear drum. He flinched and rolled over on his back. He was still very disoriented, and had troubled comprehending where the noise came from. His eyes slowly focused on Ingress, who had resumed chewing on her finger. "Ingress?" he mumbled.
The little girl nodded vigorously. Her eyes darted around the room, she was terrified. Sherlock reached out a shaky hand toward her. She grabbed it then said in a rush, "Something bad happened to Molly." Sherlock sat all the way up, his mind rapidly clearing.
"What happened, Ingress? Where is Molly?" he asked. He struggled to his feet, swaying a little.
She shrugged. "The Marquis came back, he's all bloody" she answered. She began to cry. Sherlock reached down and picked her and staggered to the entry hall.
A council of war is meeting. Four men sit around a wooden table, arguing. One man is trying to calm the others down, two are turning red from yelling and the last man stands to walk away. The other three stop and shout after him. He ignores them and continues to stride to the exit. The other three men are silent for a moment as he leaves. They resume shouting once he is gone.
Sherlock's head was still swimming from the effects of the cave children's drug. He was impressed that such a small dose was as effective as it was. He would really have to continue studying it sometime. The little girl in his arms began screaming as soon as they arrived in the entry hall. Bloodied rags were strewn about the room. The Marquis was there in the center of all the chaos, along with Door and Richard. Sherlock strode towards the group. He turned Ingress's head away from the blood and made what he hoped were comforting noises while rubbing her back. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Her wails subsided to whimpers as he crossed the room. Before Sherlock could even ask what had happened the Marquis was already answering him.
"She received a message for help. I told her it could be a trap, she went anyway. Tall blond fellow was making some kind of glamour, he drew her in while I was confused. Drugged her, held something over her face. She fought back though, broke his nose. That broke his concentration and I was able to catch up. He wants you. Says the boss wants you and Molly alive, meet them on the roof. You've got a little less than five hours before they start hurting Molly." The Marquis fell back, gasping after delivering the message.
Sherlock closed his eyes; Ingress had burrowed her face in his neck and was still whimpering. He continued to rub her back. Door came up to Sherlock and went to take her sister. For a second, Sherlock tightened his grip, till he realized who wanted the little girl. He handed her over. Door looked at him carefully. "What's your plan, Sherlock? We'll help" she said.
Sherlock shook his head. "I can't risk more lives. I'm going alone."
De Carabas sighed in irritation, rolling his eyes for extra emphasis. "Spare us the bullshit; I'm already dying, in case you haven't noticed. I'm going, Molly's my only hope and I prefer not to die today. And these two are both as bad as the other for self-sacrificing, so cut to the chase please."
Sherlock looked at the three of them. Well, four if you counted Ingress, but for rescue purposes, he most certainly did not. De Carabas was a good fighter, but was, as he himself had pointed out, mostly incapacitated. Door's fighting abilities were not great, but she had other gifts. And Richard's abilities was largely unknown, Sherlock hadn't bothered to pay much attention to him. Supposedly this mild looking Scotsman was the Warrior of London Below, but Sherlock wasn't convinced. He angrily ran his hands through his hair and tried to quiet his mind. All he could think about was the hurt look on Molly's face when he had rejected her. He hoped he would get the chance to apologize.