35.
Her shoulder was burning and blood stained her t-shirt and Elspeth bit down on her bottom lip to stop herself screaming again, but it was hard – so hard. Seb hadn't said anything earlier when he strode in; he'd just taken his gun out, aimed, and shot before Elspeth could even think about getting out of the way. Ordering her to stay still and wait for the doctor, he ripped her hoodie from her and left the room again, locking the door behind him so Elspeth wouldn't escape. Not that she could. She was ill and exhausted and could barely see properly, let alone think about trying to run away. And now her shoulder was in an immense amount of pain despite the strong painkillers that the doctor – a quiet, shady man who had avoided meeting her eyes for the encounter – gave her.
Elspeth let out a loud sob, moaning when the action jarred her shoulder. The doctor had dug the bullet out, which was almost as painful as having it embedded in her, and covered the wound, warning her not to touch or aggravate it. If she laid still, her shoulder hurt. If she moved, even a little, it hurt. There was nothing Elspeth could do other than lay on her side and wait for the painkillers to kick in.
"You're lucky, you know," Molly said casually, strolling across the room with her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, her long hair tied back in its usual ponytail. Elspeth stared up at her. "The position of the bullet was very precise – Moran was careful not to damage your subclavian artery or brachial plexus, so I'd say they still want you alive."
". . . my sub – what?" Elspeth choked out, blinking rapidly as she struggled to keep up with Molly's speech.
"Subclavian artery," Molly repeated. "It feeds the brachial artery – the main artery of the arm," she added when Elspeth frowned again. "The brachial plexus is a large nerve bundle that controls arm function, so if you had been shot in either of them –"
"I'd be screwed," Elspeth finished. Molly grimaced.
"Basically, yeah."
"I think the painkillers are kicking in," Elspeth noted suddenly. Her head felt a lot clearer, her vision restoring to its usual clarity, and the sensation was like a breath of fresh air after being submerged in water for a long time. Rising to her feet, Elspeth looked around at the familiar surroundings, her eyes taking in the desks and stools and equipment; vials and jars were stacked neatly on shelves, a microscope sat next to one of the computers, one of the desks was covered in books. "I'm in the lab!"
Molly gave Elspeth an amused smile, wandering past her to write something in one of her files, and Elspeth stared round at the lab, taking everything in. The lab was clean and clinical when compared to the darkness of the room Moriarty was keeping her in, and Elspeth couldn't tear her eyes from Molly, who was humming under her breath while she worked.
"Is Dad here?" Elspeth asked. Molly looked up, her brow creasing thoughtfully.
"Probably."
"Probably? Either he is or he isn't." There was a hint of annoyance in Elspeth's voice but Molly didn't seem to notice. "He's usually here," Elspeth continued quietly.
Frowning, Elspeth looked at Molly for a few seconds before turning away, her gaze resting on the door. She glanced over her shoulder a final time before striding out of the lab, the door swinging shut behind her as Elspeth stepped out and into –
Mycroft's office?
Elspeth paused. She turned around but the door to the lab was gone, replaced with one of the office walls.
"Where am I?" Elspeth questioned for the first time.
"Oh, for God's sake, Elspeth, must you always ask such stupid questions?" Mycroft sneered, Elspeth turning around to face him. She felt very small under his scrutinising gaze, shrinking back when he rose to his feet and walked around the desk. "Where do you think you are?"
She looked around, pulling her sleeves down to her knuckles and clinging to them. "Your office," Elspeth said finally.
Mycroft sighed, his expression one of complete and utter exasperation. "Mentally, yes, but not physically." Elspeth stared back at him, confused. "Think about it, Elspeth, it isn't hard – unless your mind has truly been addled by your excessive drug consumption."
"I had some painkillers," Elspeth retorted angrily. "because I got shot. That's hardly excessive."
"That's not what I meant."
Elspeth was taken aback, her mouth open but no words leaving, and Mycroft gazed back at her with a bored expression; she remembered he'd given her a hint about her location. Mentally, but not physically . . . mentally but . . . what was that supposed to mean?
Her head began to hurt and Mycroft's expectant gaze became more intense, making her feel even more pressured to get the answer right.
"Is this –" she began uncertainly, cutting herself off. "Is this a . . . Mind Palace?"
"Palace is an overstatement."
Ignoring the insult, Elspeth frowned again. "But I didn't – I never made a Mind . . . whatever this is, not like Dad did," she said. "At least, I don't think I did."
"You must have at some point," Mycroft pointed out, crossing his arms. Elspeth glowered back at him, resenting the condescending tone he used, but knew that he had a point; she'd had a go at it once or twice over the years, but it was a lot harder than Sherlock had made it out to be. She must've done something right though.
"So what else is here?"
"Am I supposed to answer that?"
Elspeth scowled at him, crossing her arms as she glared at her uncle. "Why are you being so mean right now?" she demanded. "You're my uncle, you're supposed to help me, not stand there and – and – and be a dick!" Mycroft rose his eyebrows, unresponsive to Elspeth's outburst, and she turned her back on him, running her hands through her hair. She couldn't wrap her head around it. "Who else is in here? And what else?"
Mycroft sighed heavily behind her. "You're behaving very stupidly right now, Elspeth," he told her. Elspeth stared back at him. "Where are we now?"
"Your office."
"Where were you before?"
"In Molly's lab at Bart's hospital," Elspeth answered promptly.
"What can we conclude from that?"
"That my mind is seriously screwed right now," she muttered. Mycroft didn't look impressed. "Uh . . . it means . . . it means –" Elspeth bit down on her bottom lip. Slowly, her mind began to make a connection. "These are places I've been before," she realised. Looking up, Elspeth stared at Mycroft. "I've been here before!"
Without giving Mycroft a chance to respond, Elspeth whirled around and ran for the door, flinging it open. She skidded to a halt when she saw Magnussen standing in the centre of the room, watching her with his cold, dead eyes, wearing that cool smirk of his. He was closer than she'd realised, Elspeth recoiling when he reached out and curled his cold fingers around her neck, pressing down he could feel her pulse pounding.
His smile flat, Magnussen pulled away. "Interesting," he commented.
Elspeth shook her head. "You're dead," she whispered. Her throat felt dry. "I saw you die."
"That may be, but I'm not really dead. Not in here." Magnussen touched Elspeth's forehead, digging his finger into it, and Elspeth flinched. "Tell me, Miss Holmes, how many times have you remembered my words? What is it you do to aid your father and Doctor Watson? My understanding is that you were admitted into the psychiatric ward, only to leave and get caught by Jim Moriarty." Magnussen tutted. "That really isn't very helpful, is it?"
Stumbling backwards, Elspeth blinked back the tears in her eyes. "Shut up."
"I must say, your mind is fascinating," Magnussen continued, as if she hadn't spoken. He licked his lips. "You have some interesting memories in here."
"I said shut up!" she yelled at him.
The sound of a siren blasting made Elspeth fall backwards, slamming straight into the shelf behind her. Her hands covered her ears, fingers digging into the roots of her hair, and Elspeth's legs collapsed from beneath her; she slid to the ground, curling up, feeling an immense sense of panic overtake her. Struggling to breathe, she stared up at the figures beginning to emerge through her blurry vision, her whole body shaking uncontrollably.
"What's happening?" Elspeth screamed. "What's happening to me?"
"You're having a panic attack," Molly told her calmly, standing over her.
"Panic attack, panic attack . . . what should I do?"
"Stop having a panic attack," Mycroft suggested, his upper lip curling. Elspeth's breath quickened, her heart racing, and her hands flailed for something – or someone – to cling onto, to give her some sort of support . . .
"You need to find something to keep you calm," Molly said. Elspeth stared back at her, wide eyed and fearful.
"That's easier said than done, Molly," she said tensely. "Oh God . . ." she'd had panic attacks before, she knew what they felt like, but this was far more intense than Elspeth had ever experienced before. "Calm, calm . . . calm down." She scrambled to her feet with some difficulty, Molly and Mycroft standing aside without offering any help, and staggered forwards, almost falling in her haste to get away. Still gasping for breath, Elspeth lurched through the first door she came into contact with – and promptly fell over when Seb Moran aimed and shot her straight in the shoulder.
Landing on the floor, Elspeth crawled backwards until her back hit the wall, her eyes darting about the unfamiliar corridor. She didn't consider her surroundings as she climbed to her feet as quickly as she could, running despite her short breath.
The second door was very like the first but Elspeth opened it anyway, tired and anxious.
"There you are," John said with a warm smile, walking past her. Elspeth almost sobbed with relief when she realised she was standing in the living room of 221B. "Come on, the film is about to start."
After Molly's disinterest and Mycroft's snide remarks, John's welcoming demeanour was a relief. Elspeth followed him and stared at Sherlock, who was sitting in his armchair with the DVD case in his hand. She remembered this. It had been a quiet night – no cases, no clients – so John suggested a film, and though Sherlock had complained, the three of them actually quite enjoyed the evening.
"We've been waiting for you," Sherlock told Elspeth, meeting her unwavering gaze with his own. His lips twitched into a small, half smile and though all she wanted was to smile back, Elspeth just couldn't. Rooted to the spot, she stared back at him.
"I'm sorry," Elspeth blurted out. "I'm so sorry." Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly. "For everything – I'm an idiot, I know that now, and I wish I hadn't left the hospital because now Moriarty's got me locked somewhere and I don't know what's going on and –" there were tears in Elspeth's eyes when she paused, taking in a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Dad."
"You should be," Sherlock said in agreement. He stood up and crossed the room, putting his hands on Elspeth's shoulders. When she sobbed, ducking her head, Sherlock put his hand under her chin so she had to look at him. "But I'm proud of you."
Leaning down, Sherlock kissed his daughter's forehead and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing that things were different.
Calmer, Elspeth pulled away and watched as 221B was replaced with the corridor again. She bit down on her bottom lip.
"This is my mind," Elspeth said to herself, trying to sound firm despite the way her voice trembled. "This is my Mind . . . whatever it is." Palace sounded pretentious and reminded her too much of Sherlock, and if she started to think of him again, she knew she'd only be sent into another state of panic. It didn't stop tears from trickling down her cheeks though.
"Why are you crying?" an unfamiliar voice asked from behind her.
Elspeth turned around, her eyes meeting those of a small girl – large, round, a strange mix of brown and green that stared back at her with burning curiosity . . .
"You're me!" Elspeth blurted out. Her much younger self, only three or four years old, continued to gaze up at her. "I . . . I'm crying because there's this quote that I read telling you to be the person your younger self would look up to and I know for a fact that you shouldn't look up to me because I'm a mess, I'm a failure."
"Why?"
"Because I make stupid decisions and I don't let people help me and I leave everyone who's trying to help behind because I think that I'm helping them, but I'm really just putting myself in more danger," Elspeth babbled.
Three year old Elspeth stared up at her, tilting her head to the side. "Are you afraid?"
"I'm always afraid," Elspeth admitted softly.
"Well," her younger self said. "you should find what you're afraid of and punch it in the face!"
Elspeth laughed a little. "Yeah?"
"Yeah! That's what I would do!" three year old Elspeth told her earnestly, her eyes shining. Elspeth laughed again, wiped her nose on the back of her hand, and nodded with sudden determination.
"Alright. I'm going to make you proud!"
Elspeth started to run and she didn't stop until she found a staircase, pausing at the top before rushing down it. The stairs went down and down, deeper into the darkness, but Elspeth continued to run because she was determined; to face her fears, to make herself proud, to end this for once and for all.
"Ah, Ellie," Jim Moriarty said to her. "I was wondering when I'd see you."
The bloody hoodie was folded up on the bench next to him while Sherlock peered down the microscope at one of the slides. It had arrived shortly after Seb took it from Elspeth, dropped right on 221B's doorstep, and Mrs Hudson had been absolutely horrified to find it there. Sherlock had recognised it immediately.
A soft gasp made Sherlock look up, Molly standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were in here. Do – do you want me to go?"
Sherlock frowned. "Why would I want you to go?"
Her cheeks pink, Molly strode into the lab with a little more confidence. She paused when she saw the hoodie.
"Sherlock, is that blood?"
"Yes," was all Sherlock said, lifting his head so he could switch slides.
"Whose blood is it?" Molly wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer or not. When Sherlock froze, his lips pressed together in a tight line, she wondered if she was going to get an answer or not. "Sherlock?"
"It's Ellie's."
Sherlock's voice was so low and quiet that Molly didn't know if she had heard him properly. She blinked, looked down at the hoodie, and slowly reached towards it, stopping before her hand touched the fabric.
"May I . . .?"
Sherlock nodded once. Molly picked the hoodie up, unfolding it. She recognised it immediately – not that she doubted Sherlock, of course; he could easily do a DNA test on the blood.
"Was this Moriarty, do you think?"
"Sebastian Moran," Sherlock corrected. It hurt so much – far more than Sherlock would've expected – to think that his daughter was in pain and alone, and no matter how old Elspeth got, Sherlock would always consider her as his little girl. "I'm going to make him regret it."
His eyes were dark and his chiselled features looked even sharper in the dim light of the lab, and for the first time Molly actually felt afraid of Sherlock, recoiling slightly.
The action didn't go unnoticed by him. Molly had never seen Sherlock in a rage. She had seen him flog corpses and shout at Lestrade and even row with Elspeth, but she had never seen him like this. And that was what Moriarty wanted, probably; he wanted to isolate Sherlock, to completely destroy the detective. That was why he was torturing Elspeth.
"I'm sorry, Molly," Sherlock said. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
Molly smiled back a little sheepishly. "You didn't –" she began, then seemed to realise it was pointless trying to lie to Sherlock. "You should, you know," she said instead. "Make . . . Moran?" Sherlock nodded. "Make Moran pay, because no one has the right to hurt anyone the way they're hurting Ellie, but don't do anything silly."
"Silly," Sherlock repeated. His nose scrunched up with distaste. "Molly, this is hardly –"
"I know, I know," Molly interrupted unexpectedly. She frowned, obviously reconsidering her words, and Sherlock watched her. "Don't do anything that will . . . that will make you worse off than them, like ending up in prison, because then you're just as bad as they are."
Sherlock mulled over her words when Molly turned away to pick a few files up from the bench behind them.
"Do you not think I'm already as bad as they are?" Sherlock asked Molly quietly, staring ahead of himself. Molly paused.
"No, of course not."
Sherlock looked at her then, his gaze intense. "I just frightened you," he reminded her.
"You want to protect your daughter," Molly replied, unable to look away even though she felt her cheeks growing warm. "Sherlock, you're a good man."
Molly really believed that. Sherlock gazed at her a few seconds more, frowning thoughtfully; perhaps he wasn't the emotionless sociopath he had always categorised himself as. John called him his best friend, Mary clearly cared for him, Molly thought he was a good man and Elspeth . . . she had always considered Sherlock her hero.
Turning away, Sherlock pretended not to hear Molly's quiet sigh and continued to look into the microscope. There had been several substances on her hoodie – chalk, asphalt, brick dust – and Sherlock was in the middle of identifying the fourth, frowning thoughtfully. The substances reminded him of that case a few years ago, the last one before the confrontation on the rooftop . . .
There was a slight rustle, followed by Molly saying, "are these sweet wrappers?"
"Where did you get them?" Sherlock demanded, snatching the colourful wrappers from Molly's hand. She stared back at him like a deer in the headlights but he had little patience for her sheepish nature.
"They were in the pockets," she said.
Immediately, Sherlock reached for the hoodie, turning the pockets out. "Are there any more?"
"No," Molly said, frowning. "Why?"
"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation, and these!" Sherlock brandished the sweet wrappers at Molly and she raised her eyebrows, briefly wondering if Sherlock had lost his mind. "Don't you see what this means, Molly?"
"No . . ."
Sherlock had never felt so relieved to find rubbish in his life, pulling his coat on and folding the hoodie over one arm.
"It means I've found her," Sherlock told Molly excitedly, striding towards the door. "I know where Moriarty is keeping Ellie!"
Thank you helenamaimi, WerewolfHybrid31, ArabellaBlack25, the musical bender, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, xoxoxChairGossipxoxo, Adrillian1497, ElizabethCullen08, bellechat and ScissorLuv143 for reviewing!
I got some great news this week; I have officially got my University place. I start my Creative Writing course in October!
Question (this has been discussed via Tumblr as well, so some of you may already know about it): would anyone be interested in a Moriarty/Ellie AU multi-chapter fic picking up just after Reichenbach and taking place in the two years that followed? PS, Paper Moons and Silly String will be posted VERY soon.