Author's Note: I have really enjoyed writing this chapter and know where the next couple of chapters are going! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 9-A Damsel in Distress

Sherlock woke the next morning feeling truly rested. Molly was snuggled next to him, her head nuzzled next to his chest and his arms wrapped around her. Sherlock sighed. He would be perfectly happy to wake up like this every day for the rest of his life. He raised his hand so he could brush a lock of hair out of Molly's face.

Molly's eyes fluttered and opened. Soon they focused on Sherlock's smiling face. "Good morning," she said.

"Morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, you?"

"I always sleep well when I am with you." It was true Sherlock realized. Something about having Molly beside him when he slept kept the nightmares at bay as well as his own thoughts. Usually on a case he would be lucky to grab an hour or two of sleep here or there because his own mind would keep him awake. With Molly, all he felt was peace.

A loud thumping noise came from upstairs along with a high-pitched laughing. The thumping continued over and over.

"What is that?" Molly asked.

"That is Rosie. She wakes up every morning laughing and jumping in her crib since she learned how to pull herself up. She'll then plop on her bottom only to pull herself up and start all over."

"How sweet," Molly said.

"Yes, we best get up. John will be bringing her down for breakfast any second. Plus, we have a very busy day ahead." Sherlock placed a quick kiss on her forehead before getting out of bed and heading to the shower.

Molly stretched out in the bed and took a moment to marvel over how different her life was now compared to two months ago. She never in her wildest dreams thought that Sherlock Holmes would actually love her, want her. Yet, here she was, engaged to the man of her dreams. She felt like the luckiest woman alive. She was also having a grand time on this case. Her boring little life suddenly felt like one big adventure.

Molly got up and pulled on her nightgown and matching robe. She tossed her hair up in a messy bun and stepped out into the kitchen. John was already there putting Rosie in her high chair.

"Good morning," John said.

"Morning," Molly replied. She filled the kettle full of water and put it on to boil. Then she bent over Rosie. "Good morning, sweetie." She planted a quick kiss on the little girls cheek. Molly then made three cups of tea.

"Oh, thank you," John said gratefully.

Sherlock stepped out of the room just in time to take his cup. His curls were still damp from his shower.

"Today we need to investigate the crime scenes out on the moors, and then we need to speak with Father Clark," Sherlock said.

"No problem. As soon as we eat we can drop off Rosie and get down to business."

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

"Thank you again for watching Rosie," John said to Ms. Poole.

"It's the least I can do. I just hope you are able to stop these murders."

"We will do our best," John said.

Ms. Poole took Rosie out of the room. John turned back to look at the others who were already making plans.

"Duncan is ready to take you out any time you are ready to go," Dickey said.

"You aren't coming?" John said.

"No, definitely not. Tromping across the moors is not my thing even during the dry season. You do need to be careful out there. It has been very rainy lately and that will make the ground incredibly soft. Also, ask Duncan if he checked the weather. You don't want to be out there should the weather turn."

"Molly, why don't you head on back to our cottage? You can have a rest if you want while John and I head out on the moor," Sherlock suggested.

"Not a chance. I'm going out there too." Molly said.

"You're hardly dressed for hiking on peat bogs," Sherlock said.

"Neither are you," Molly replied.

"Touché," Sherlock grinned. "Still, this could be dangerous. I think you stay here."

"I'm going with you. All I need is to change clothes and I will be fine," Molly insisted.

"We have a variety of hiking gear," Dickey said. "Boots, waders, jackets, both men's and women's. We make a point of having items on hand for guests and customers."

"Perfect," Molly said happily.

"I don't suppose there is anyone else besides Duncan who can escort us to the crime scene?" Sherlock asked Dickey.

"No, afraid not. Mathew is driving Angelica to Inverness right now. Duncan is the only one available," Dickey said.

"Mate, you can't stop her from coming," John whispered to Sherlock. "You are the one who brought her out here. You can't very well tell her to go have a rest when the game has just begun." He was careful not to have the Thurgood's hear him refer to the murders as a game, but he knew full well Sherlock would get his meaning loud and clear.

"Quite right," Sherlock agreed reluctantly. Still, that didn't mean he had to like the idea of Molly going out on the moors, especially with Duncan with them.

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

An hour later Sherlock, John, and Molly were carefully plodding their way through the moor following Duncan's directions very carefully. John found it rather exhausting, constantly hopping from one firm patch of peat to the next. Plus, even what Duncan called firm ground never really felt like firm ground. The thick layers of peat shook like jelly and squished like giant sponges as they traversed them. It didn't take long before John had worked up a sweat. He looked over to see Molly sweating as well, but of course Sherlock looked none the worse after an hour of hiking, hopping, and jumping.

The problem with working up a sweat out here was that it just resulted in one's feeling even colder. It was bloody freezing outside. The open terrain meant the wind blew right threw you, plus the temperature was near freezing before the wind kicked in. Even with multiple layers of clothing on John was still cold.

"Molly, how are you doing?" John asked.

"I'm okay," Molly replied. She was a bit winded, yet the look on her face said she still found all of this to be a grand adventure.

"We can't go any farther," Duncan announced. Duncan was a large man, lean and solidly built from a lifetime of physical labor. John figured he was probably only thirty years old but the wrinkles around his eyes spoke of a man who had lived his life outdoors. He was strong and healthy, and moved about the moor as easily as a child on a playground.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, scouting the area.

"The rains have been especially heavy this season. If you try to go any father you'll just sink up to your armpits in mud. You might even drown. There are grasses and weeds below the surface, when people struggle they wrap themselves around your legs and you get trapped. Panic takes over and you drown from your own struggles," Duncan warned.

"Sounds awful," Molly said.

"Aye, it tis," Duncan agreed.

"Unfortunately, all this rain means any trace evidence would be gone by now," Molly said.

"Most likely," Duncan agreed, "Especially for the first one. I can take you to where Miss Lorna died last week. Perhaps there will still be something there to help you."

"That would be wise," Sherlock said. He was frustrated that he could not see the actual sight.

"Follow me," Duncan ordered. He turned to the left and started walking west of their current location.

As they walked a light rain began to fall and the fog seemed to roll in from nowhere. In no time at all it felt like they were the only people on the planet.

"How on earth do you find your way?" Molly asked. "I would be terribly lost."

"I grew up on these moors," Duncan replied. "I know them like I know the back of my own hand."

"So, Lorna was found closer to the house than Sarah?" John asked.

"Yes," Duncan replied.

"That makes sense. Sarah was killed before the rainy season. The dry moor would have made it easy for him to carry her further out to avoid detection. But with the ground so wet now he couldn't do the same for Lorna," Sherlock said.

They continued on for about another thirty minutes when Duncan finally announced they were at the spot.

"This is where they found Lorna," Duncan said, pointing to where they needed to look.

Molly recognized the area because of the large rock that jutted out of the ground. She had seen it in the crime scene photos back at the police station.

Sherlock began to look around. There was a yellow flag on a wire pole that had been inserted into the ground next to a fairly large boulder, obviously for the constables to mark the location where the body had been found. Unfortunately there was little else to show that any crime had taken place here. He grew ever more angry at the realization that the wind and rain had eroded away anything even remotely like a footprint or signs of a struggle.

"Blasted rain," Sherlock cursed.

John and Molly had also begun to fan out scouring the ground for any kind of evidence at all. Duncan followed Molly, pretending to be looking out for her.

"How are you doing?" he asked her.

"I'm okay, but it is freezing out here."

"I'm used to it. The cold doesn't really bother me," Duncan said.

Molly continued to examine the ground closely. "Do you miss her?"

"Miss Lorna, you mean?" Duncan asked.

"Yes," Molly answered.

"Lorna and I weren't really that close. She was a bit stuck up. Thought she was too good to associate with the household staff."

"Did you two ever go out? Like on a date?" Molly asked.

"No," Duncan said. "I asked her out once, but she shot me down in half a second. I never bothered trying again."

"I saw her photo. She was very beautiful."

"A pretty face doesn't mean all that much if a woman's heart is as cold as ice," Duncan said. "Take you for example. You might not be as pretty as Lorna was, but you seem to have a heart of gold. That makes you far more beautiful than Lorna could have ever been."

"You barely know me," Molly said. "You can't possibly know what kind of heart I have."

"I'm a pretty good judge of character. I may not be as smart as Sherlock Holmes, but I know a beautiful person when I see one." Duncan suddenly took Molly's hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Molly quickly pulled her hand away. Duncan was being entirely too forward. Molly wasn't so naïve that she didn't know Duncan was hitting on her.

"Molly," John said. "Why don't you go see if Sherlock needs any help?"

"Y-yes," Molly said and moved away from Duncan to go over to Sherlock.

Duncan was about to follow when John stepped in front of him and put a hand on their guides chest. "Listen, mate. I'm not a fool, and neither is Molly or Sherlock. Back off. Leave Molly alone."

"Or what?" Duncan asked.

"You do realize that Sherlock and I solve murders for a living. We have seen some of the most amazing, terrifying, and potentially unsolvable deaths ever to happen. They were only solved because Sherlock is a high functioning sociopath who knows how to think like a murderer. No one understands murder better than Sherlock Holmes. No one. So before you continue to try to get into his fiancé's pants you might want to keep that thought in the front of your mind." Duncan stared at John for a moment before finally turning and walking away.

After ten minutes of fruitless looking Sherlock finally gave up. "This is useless," he stated.

"Even if the killer did drop something behind," Molly said, "it's long since been buried in the mud."

"Right, then I'll lead you all back," Duncan said. "Follow me. Stay close! With the fog this thick it is hard to find people even when they call out." Duncan didn't wait for them to respond. He was pissed at being thwarted by the damn doctor. He turned and started walking back to the house.

Sherlock was deep in concentration mulling over the facts of the case and the information he had so far. All the bodies dumped on the moor, the weather affecting the distance from Roane Hall, except for Veronica Marsh, who was dumped behind the cathedral. Veronica was dumped behind the cathedral, not Roane Hall. There had to be a reason for that. Of course, Veronica was supposedly in love with Father Clark. The village gossip was that Father Clark was going to propose. That would make her a bride to be. Why hadn't he seen it before? The serial killer wasn't just murdering brides. He was murdering love itself! The two brides and Lorna had been dumped at Roane Hall because the house was a representation of love for them, but for Veronica Roane Hall meant nothing. Father Clark and the cathedral was where her love lay, so the murderer made a point of dumping her body there, desecrating the ground, the cathedral, and Veronica's and Father Clarks love!

He now had the motive for the killings, which could help him track down the murderer. It was obvious that the murderer was someone who had been burned by love; someone who had offered his heart and had it ripped apart and thrown back into his face. He was so deep in thought and paying attention to staying on firmer ground that he had not noticed Molly falling farther behind.

Molly tried to keep up, she really did. Duncan moved so quickly, and Sherlock's long legs made it easy for him to match Duncan's pace. John was moving a little slower but not much. It wasn't long before Molly was falling behind even though she tried to run. She was huffing and puffing from physical exertion.

Suddenly the light drizzle that had been falling all morning became a steady downpour. The rain mixed with the thick fog and hampered visibility even more.

Molly had stopped for just a moment to catch her breath. She bent over double and placed her hands on her knees to draw in a few icy cold lungful's of air. She couldn't believe how much work it was to constantly jump from one firm patch of ground to the next. Plus the wind and the rain were numbing her small frame very quickly. The heavy rain penetrated her clothes and she was insanely cold. Finally having caught her breath she was ready to keep going. When she looked up again to continue on she felt a moment of panic. The others were nowhere to be seen. She was completely enveloped by the fog.

"Oh god," Molly mumbled. "SHERLOCK! JOHN! SHERLOCK!"

John was the first to hear Molly's cries of help. "Sherlock! Molly's gone!"

"What?" Sherlock said coming back to the present. He looked around frantically. "Where is she? MOLLY!" He immediately began to retrace his steps. "MOLLY!"

"Be careful," Duncan ordered, now following from behind instead of acting as leader.

"Here! I'm here!" Molly was afraid to move for fear of wandering off in the wrong direction. She could hear their voices but in the blinding fog it was difficult to tell where they were coming from. She figured if she just stayed put they would find her. Molly was unnerved by how alone she felt, how isolated. "Sherlock!"

"MOLLY!" Sherlock shouted. How could have been so stupid as to let her fall behind? Molly was supposed to be his first priority and two days into a case he abandoned her out on the moors. John had specifically warned him not to do this. "MOLLY!"

"HERE!" She heard his voice loud and clear now and knew from which direction he was coming. Molly began walking in the direction of Sherlock's voice. "I'm here!" She started to move faster, wanting to be reunited with him and John. "Sherlock!" Molly was no longer paying attention to where she was walking, so focused on Sherlock's voice. The next thing she knew the ground under her feet gave way and she was suddenly submerged under the icy water. She flailed her arms wildly trying to push herself up towards the surface.

Sherlock had seen Molly through a small clearing of the fog and was almost to her when she suddenly disappeared from view. His heart dropped into his stomach as he realized Molly had fallen into an opening in the peat.

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