"Oh, oh, oh, Myc- . . . ah, I mean, boss, he's here."
Mycroft looked up as his younger sibling pushed into the operating bay set up as a hurried, makeshift command central two stories up from Bart's lab followed closely by John who dragged a handcuffed Irene Adler along with him.
"Where are the Coley brothers?" Mycroft asked Anthea quickly as Sherlock's flashing eyes found him.
Anthea looked at him with round orbs. "They're downstairs on standby. They insisted on it and I let them go to save my sanity. It's going to be hard enough to keep this one happy without those two wearing a hole in the tiles."
Mycroft glared sideways at her. "But I need them right now!"
Her lips turned down and she shrugged. "Sorry boss. He's not really going to do anything, is he?"
"Mycroft!" Sherlock bellowed across the lab.
He snatched up his umbrella and held it up as his younger brother came directly towards him with a murderous look in his eyes.
"Now Sherlock, don't do anything stupid . . ."
"Sherlock!" John shouted.
Then, almost like a dance, Sherlock cut through several personnel who stepped in his way with a few well-placed punches and an elbow or two. At the last second before he reached where Mycroft awaited, Anthea stepped in his path.
Mycroft rushed forward and grabbed her shoulders. "Oh, for the love of- Anthea!"
"Don't hurt him!" She held up her hands at Sherlock. "This was as much for you as anyone."
"Anthea, just step aside," Mycroft chided as he set her aside. "Now, brother mine . . ."
Before he could even form the next word, his feet were swept out beneath him and he was slammed to the floor with a hand square in the chest. As he gasped for breath, Sherlock straddled him and he felt the first crack of a fist into his cheek. He sputtered.
"Bloody hell! S-Somebody do s-something!"
Sherlock managed to land several more punches, in between curses and threats, to the point where Mycroft's vision was swimming before a bunch of people, including John Watson and several others piled on to drag him off.
"Sherlock, this isn't helping anything," John shouted.
"I disagree. It's making me feel loads better!" He returned loudly.
Mycroft sat up and wiped his lip. Bright red blood smeared across the back of his hand and stained his cuff. He opened his mouth and heard a pop in his jaw.
"We're in the middle of an operation, Sherlock. An operation that involves your . . . whatever she is," he looked up at him with a skyward brow and frowned. "Have you sorted that out yet?"
Sherlock lurched forward. "I'm going to kill you for this!"
"Sherlock, calm down," John cut in. "He's right! He's a bloody giant piece of shite but he's right . . ."
"Excuse me?" Mycroft protested.
John raised his brows and pointed a finger at Mycroft as he parted his lips to defend himself.
"No," John rebuked. "No, shut it. You are a piece of shit, Mycroft Holmes. I'm half inclined to kill you myself for enlisting Molly in such a thing."
Mycroft hauled himself to his feet. He shook off an assisting hand and brushed his own over his suit several times.
He lifted his chin. "I didn't enlist Molly."
He was met with several disbelieving glowers.
"I didn't," he insisted. "You can ask her yourself in a few minutes. Molly Hooper enlisted me. This was all her idea."
Molly stared anxiously at her laptop as it booted up. Sebastian Moran tapped his fingers on the bench top as the screen changed colour and the wallpaper appeared.
"How old is this machine?" He muttered.
Molly didn't answer. It actually wasn't that old at all, but it had been loaded with a couple new programs recently. One particular application should turn on the camera and microphone surreptitiously as soon as it was done loading the desktop.
Her computer also didn't seem to appreciate the lack of wifi connection. Errors popped up along the bottom of the screen. The baddies had brought their wireless signal disrupter with them and turned it on.
"Christ, at last," Sebastian muttered as a login box appeared. "What's your password?"
"What indeed?" She mumbled.
"Don't be sassy, now," Joseph said in her ear and pushed her towards the laptop. "Just type it in for the boss."
Molly yanked her arm from his grasp. "Why? Why should I? You're just going to kill me."
Sebastian groaned and poked her in the back of the head hard enough that she was pushed forward.
"Tell you what, mouse. We won't shoot you. We'll shut you in one of your body coolers instead. I mean, you'll still probably die but there's a microscopic chance you'll survive the hypothermia and oxygen depletion long enough for someone to find you. What do you say?"
She looked over at the disappointed Joseph and then returned her gaze to the slimy Sebastian. She nodded vigorously. Being locked in a storage cooler instead of being shot in the head sounded fucking fantastic right then.
"Promise?"
He smiled. One lip tugged higher than the other.
"I promise," he gestured a cross sign over his heart.
Molly stepped towards the laptop and typed in her password. Her index finger hovered over the enter key. She had to ask him. It was now or never.
"Why is this so important? Who is Jacques Leventreur to you anyways?" She queried.
Sebastian leaned over, swatted her hand out of the way and pressed enter himself.
"You haven't figured that out? God, I overestimated you." he muttered.
She chewed her lip. "Erm, well, I had my theories of course. I just never confirmed anything. I didn't get the time."
He sat back. "What theory did you lean towards the most?"
Molly licked her lips. She was so close. What was it that made these arrogant pricks want to talk so freely when they thought they had the upper hand?
"That Jacques Leventreur is an alias of yours."
He smiled and held out his hand with the palm facing upwards as his finger undulated. "You could say that, I guess."
"Could I? How about I go one step further? I think your real name is actually Jacques Leventreur. Sebastian Moran is the alias. Am I right?"
He squinted with a hard smile but didn't immediately respond.
"Well, am I right?" She prodded.
"Yes, Molly. You are correct. I hope that will console you," he stood. "Shall we?"
She didn't move from her seat. He grabbed her arm and pulled her from the chair.
"Don't resist. You are about to go to your death, mouse. Try to have a little dignity."
"I'm going down there," Sherlock bit out.
Mycroft slammed his hand down on the bench. "No, you aren't, not yet. Let them put her in the cooler first. It'll be the safest place for her when the team goes in. These men are all armed, Sherlock. They are cornered. They will likely start shooting."
Sherlock vibrated from head to toe as he watched Molly being led towards the back room of the morgue on a surveillance screen. She looked small and vulnerable, yet so very strong. Her little chin was raised as she walked and her shoulders squared.
He had never loved anyone so much in his life as he loved Molly then. Everything best about her was summed up in her brave stance as she took a few breaths and faced the open door of one of the body coolers. He watched her fists ball and then her slap away hands that tried to assist her up onto the metal table.
His guts twisted as she was pushed into the yawning black cavity and the door was slammed shut. He made a mental note. She had been put into cooler thirteen. He turned to rush out of the operating bay but Mycroft held out his hand.
"Wait! Sherlock, they need to clear out of the cooler area first."
Then, once the three men had stepped out of the morgue and could be seen back in the main lab, Mycroft gave the order to commence the apprehension of them. Sherlock was out the door of the operating bay in a tick. As he flew into the stairwell and down towards the lab, he heard the loud percussion of something going off, most likely a flash bomb to disorientate the three targets. In seconds, he burst through the stairwell doors as several loud bangs and shouting voices issued from the lab. Then, things seem to quiet for a moment. He slowed his steps as he approached the lab entry.
When he pushed open the door, he let out a long breath. Leem, outfitted in tactical gear, had his knee on the back of Sebastian Moran's head. Fil and a half dozen other men in black commando garb hovered over two men who appeared to be mortally wounded on the floor. He watched as Fil leaned down and checked the pulse of one man, then the other.
He looked up and nodded.
"Oh, hey there, Mr. Holmes. These gits 're both dead," he turned his gun around and offered it to him, "but you can plug 'em both a couple more times if ya like. You know, jus' to be sure."
Sherlock waved his fingers. "No, I'll take your word for it."
Then, he shook his head from the daze he found himself in and a fire lit beneath his feet. He ran as fast as he could to the morgue, almost falling as he rounded the corner, where he scanned quickly for cooler thirteen. He jerked at the handle but it didn't give.
"Molly! I'm here. I'll get you out," he called.
He jerked again but the door wouldn't open. Panic set in as he rattled it a couple times. He stopped when he thought he heard a muffled voice. He pressed his ear to the door.
"You have to squeeze the latch," she said faintly, "then pull the handle."
Tears erupted from his lids at the sound of her voice. He gulped in a breath, squeezed the handle first, which depressed a bar along the inside, and then pulled the latch. The door opened easily with just the lightest creak. He threw it back and whipped out the metal table.
Molly laid there for a moment with her eyes closed and her arms folded over her chest like his own, morbid version of Snow White.
"Molly?" He whispered.
There were tracks down the sides of her cheeks. His hand flew to her forehead and he stroked it over her head.
"Molly?" He repeated, his voice strangled.
He watched her swallow. "I-I don't want to be a ninny and cry. I'm trying to b-be brave."
She opened her luminescent brown eyes and his heart nearly exploded in his chest. He gathered her off the metal table then and clutched her against him tightly. As soon as he had her though, his knees buckled and he found himself on the floor with her across his lap with her clinging to him and sobbing into his neck.
"Dear God, Molly, you are brave, so . . . s-so brave. You're the bravest person I know."