Molly clutched his arm with more strength and Sherlock held her arms with both his hands, steadying her. He needed to think. The clues he had picked up at the school were now useless. Why would Mary pick Robyn up without warning? Why the forged e-mail and call? If there was something Sherlock hated were things that made no sense. He was usually able to provide them the necessary sense but not in this case. He looked at Molly one last time and she nodded, trying, as best as a desperate mother can, to recover and be helpful. Sherlock let go of her and dialled a number. He knew John was out of town, to visit his sister and he had taken his son with him. Mary had stayed because her relationship with Harry was tense and also because she had work to do. Sherlock had talked to John two days ago, before he had left, when he showed up at the flat, like he did from time to time. The phone didn't ring. It was off. Sherlock stopped and looked inside his mind for a clue, something he might have overseen, but there was nothing there.
"John's phone is turned off." He informed Molly.
She looked at him and he saw hope, the face she usually made when she was expecting him to solve a crime. She was relying on him and he had promised her. He looked at his phone again. He needed advice and a favour from someone cleverer than him. He looked at the last of the three numbers on his address book, the one he called less and he pressed the button. After just a few rings his brother picked up. He didn't waste time with small talk.
"Robyn is gone. Someone forged a signature and a call and it was Mary Morstan who picked her up at school. We need to find her."
He waited for a sound on the other sign of the line.
"The call and fax where delivered to her kindergarten, for sure?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock confirmed the information. "I am on to it. Did you try to call John?"
"Yes. The phone is off. Do you think you can have access to the calls made from Mary's phone? It was a man's voice, pretending to be me, but it may have been made from her phone, nevertheless."
"I have given an order to check that already." Mycroft informed. "I will let you know as soon as I have news." And without further talk he hung up. Sherlock could hear on his cold voice the concern, even if Mycroft tried to hide it.
In his office Mycroft gave all the orders of what had to be made and got up, leaving the door open as he left the building.
Sherlock put the phone back inside his pocket and grabbed Molly's hand, interlacing his fingers on hers. She felt his hand cold and sweaty and she held it tight.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"I can't just stay here." He admitted. "There must be something we can do. I am going to John's apartment; maybe we can find any clue there."
"But it doesn't make sense." Molly said, pulling his hand and making him stop. He looked at her. "Why would she do this?"
"I don't think she did it." Sherlock said. "I think someone might have made her do it." He let go of her hand and looked at her, ready to explain, the same expression he had when he was trying to make other people understand his deductions. And he was. "If someone wanted to get to Robyn, how would they do it? In the kindergarten they wouldn't let her go with anyone unless there was a specific order, which was the case. The fax was a very good fake, as for the call… voices change on the phone. But to get Robyn out of there, now that would be more complicated, because Robyn would know and tell the responsible if it was a stranger. So they needed someone that Robyn knew, that she trusted and with whom she would go without question."
"So, you are saying someone threatened Mary to go and pick Robyn at the kindergarten."
Sherlock nodded.
"And Mary would go?"
"Maybe she didn't have a choice."
Molly's eyes welled up with the implication.
"Why would someone do this, Sherlock? Why would someone want to hurt Robyn?"
"I don't think they want to hurt Robyn; I think they only want to get to me."
And without adding anything else Sherlock paced away from the room. Still feeling the touch of Molly's hand in his, Sherlock remembered the wise words of caution his brother had told him such a long time ago. He had indeed put them all in danger.
Molly walked out of the hospital, looking at both sides. Sherlock had disappeared. She sighed raised a hand to make a taxi stop.
"Scotland Yard, please." She instructed the driver. She was scared, but she trusted Sherlock and now they had Mycroft on their side. Still, until they found Robyn, the weight on her chest would not subside, nor would her incapacity to do anything and the feeling of helplessness.
Lestrade came closer as soon as she arrived at the Police Station.
"Are you alone? Where's Sherlock?"
She shook her head.
"He just disappeared. He was headed to John's place."
"Why didn't he call? How is he going to get in?"
"How he always gets in." she answered. "He knows where the spare key is."
"Do you want me to take you home?" Lestrade asked.
She shook her head again.
"I can't go back to the apartment right now. I don't know what do, I just wish there was something I could do, but I don't want to get in anyone's way."
"We're checking the location where the fax was sent from. It's here in central London. Donovan headed there just now. We have our officers spread around town, with her picture. Someone must have seen something."
That as the hope Molly was clinging on to. And it was all she could do.
Sherlock moved the vase a few inches, retrieving the spare key from underneath it. They had never changed the place. He opened the door, carefully, trying not to make noise. After checking on every division he realised he was alone, just as he suspected. The flat was immaculately clean. The clothes were drying on the spare room. The bread had been bought that morning, and Mary had taken a shower. But something was different when Sherlock got to the backdoor. The lock had been forced and the mat was wrinkled, marked with two big footprints. Too big to be Mary's. Sherlock kneeled down, smelling it.
The earth left by the shoes. That was not John's size, and that was not an earth you would usually find on their backyard. He scrapped bits, to analyse them later. He shouldn't have left Molly behind but he deduced she would go to Scotland Yard and she would be better there. He didn't know he if was being observed to any extent and the far away she was from him, the better. He came outside, to the small porch and picked Mary's purse from the floor. It had been abandoned there. The clues showed his assumptions where correct. Someone had taken Mary away. There were no other clues in the house so he left through the back, looking attentively at the ground. The footprints got lost with others, so no clue there. On the main road he took a cab and headed to Scotland Yard as well. He needed to know if they had made progress and he definitely needed to pick Molly up. She was his access to the hospital.
He walked out of the cab and entered the Police station. Molly was sitting on a chair, drinking tea and Lestrade was making calls. Before Sherlock could say anything his phone rang. It was Mycroft.
"Mycroft?" he said. Molly heard him and got up.
"Does the name Alfred Wisconsin ring a bell?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock could hear the sound of cars and people on the other side of the line.
Sherlock thought for a second, trying to give the name a meaning.
"Yes, drug dealer. Murdered a costumer making it look like suicide. I helped sentence him."
"Yes, I thought the same." Mycroft affirmed. "He has escaped prison last week. And apparently has been looking for you."
"How do you know that?"
"Your most dear Homeless Network. They said he has been asking trivial questions about you and your family and friends." The word family sounded strange to him. "No one seems to know his whereabouts, though. Received the last bit of information a few days ago and hasn't consulted with them ever since."
Sherlock took the information in. So, this was it. This was why. Just as he thought. But now, it wasn't just an assumption; he had a face and a name to look for. He thanked his brother who promised to keep in touch as soon as he had more information.
"I need to go to the hospital again." He told Molly.
"What did Mycroft want?"
"I'll explain on the way."
He updated her on the discovery and explained all he had seen at John's flat.
"Do you think that can lead us to him?" Molly asked, when they were already inside the hospital, Sherlock trying to find a match for the type of earth he had found on John's balcony.
"If this can't help I don't know what can." He then paused, without facing her. "I am sorry."
"What for?"
"If it wasn't for me, she wouldn't…"
Molly approached him and placed her hand on his arm. He didn't look at her.
"It's not your fault."
"Yes it is." His answer was dry, with no room to retort.
"No." she said. "It is not." And she paced away again, without knowing what else to say. He raised his eyes from the microscope as she sat across from him, looking at the door and clutching her own mobile phone, waiting for it to ring with good news and sending the tears away when they appeared.
The computer beeped, when a match was found. Molly got up, and Sherlock looked at the screen.
"This is still found in London." Molly noted.
Sherlock nodded.
"There is something that is not found in the whole of London, though." He said. He pointed her his own research. Mud, gravel. And something else. Vegetation. A very specific sort of vegetation. "I know exactly where he is." He said.
Molly saw his expression change, between determination and anger. Sherlock grabbed her hand for the second time that day and picked up his phone with the other hand, giving Molly no chance to slow down. Not that she would. She heard him explain Lestrade the place where he should find Mary, Robyn and the kidnapper and she recognised it as well. But that didn't make anything clearer.