Chapter 13- Discoveries

Molly opened the flower shop door with Sherlock following behind. The little bell on the door tinged and a moment later Agatha appeared.

"Oh, how wonderful! Charlie said you would stop by today!" Agatha said excitedly. Agatha quickly walked up to Molly and gave her a big hug. "You poor thing! Fell through the bog yesterday. That must have been positively terrifying, especially since it is so cold!"

"I am perfectly fine now," Molly said. "Thank you for the lovely roses."

"I do hope you can stay for tea?"

Molly looked at Sherlock.

"Um, do you mind if I use your facilities?" Sherlock asked.

"No, not at all dear. Go on up." Agatha led the way. Molly and Sherlock saw that a tea service had already been laid out on the table. There were finger sandwiches, scones, strawberries, and biscuits.

"You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble," Molly said. She removed her long coat and set it on the couch.

"Oh, it's nothing," Agatha said with a wave of her hand. "Don't you look lovely? You are such a pretty young lady." Molly blushed, not used to receiving compliments.

Sherlock stopped to look at Molly. She was wearing one of the new dresses he had bought her. This one was a deep green that fell below her knees. It had a boat neckline and three quarter sleeves. The color brought out the gold flecks in Molly's brown eyes. She had finished the outfit off with a delicate gold necklace and a sensible pair of flats. She had left her hair long and loose today since there was no need to pull it away from her face for work. Agatha was correct. Molly did look very pretty.

Sherlock ordered himself to focus. He looked around the room and into the empty kitchen.

"So, is your grandson here?" he asked. "I didn't really get to talk to him too much last time."

"No, he's out with his friends right now," Agatha said. "He's been out so much lately, but then he is young and sowing his oats. Still, I worry about him."

"That's only natural," Molly said.

Sherlock climbed the stairs and began to look into the rooms. He made a point of going into the bathroom and flushing the toilet so Agatha wouldn't know he was actually snooping. Then he flipped on the light switch and popped his head into Charlie's room.

Sherlock's mind absorbed all the details at once. St. Andrews pennants were on the wall. A dirty St. Andrews sweatshirt was lying on the floor. A conversation from two days ago replayed in Sherlock's mind palace. He closed his eyes and listened to Agatha say the words, "He's 27…he was studying history and literature…he wanted to be a teacher…he dropped out in his fourth year…"

Then he replayed the words he had said to Molly on the train to Inverness.

"Serial killers usually work off a pattern. I would have thought the pattern was brides, or women in love, but the single mother stand's out. She clearly does not fit the pattern, so why her? Also, I will need to learn as much as I can about the first girl."

"Why the first?" Molly asked.

"Sometimes, not always mind you, but sometimes the first is personal. The first might not have even been planned, but once done the killer realizes he enjoyed it. Enjoyed it so much in fact that he feels the need to repeat it, to relive the experience again and again."

Next came the text message sent to him from John.

Sarah Goodall, age 27, University of St. Andrews, taught in York

Sarah had been the first. Charlie knew Sarah because they were at university together in the teaching program. Charlie suddenly dropped out of uni, came home in a huff and locked himself in his room. What makes a rational young man getting good grades do such a thing? Having their heart broken of course!

Sherlock entered the room and began to search through the items on the desk, in the drawers, and on the bookshelf. A piece of paper sticking up between the pages of a book caught his attention. He pulled the book off the shelf and opened it. Inside were the newspaper clipping of the four murders. So Charlie felt the need to keep these souvenirs. Suddenly Sherlock spied the college yearbook. He grabbed it and began to flip through the pages. He found Charlie's picture quick enough. Charlie looked much different back then. He wore glasses, had longer hair, and was rail thin, hardly the muscular behemoth he was today. Sherlock quickly flipped though the book scanning the alphabetical names until he saw the one he was looking for. There she was, Sarah Goodall. She was beautiful, way out of Charlie's league. Sherlock flipped to the back of the book, reading all the signatures and well wishes. He skimmed them quickly until he found the one he was looking for.

Charlie, thank you for your help this year.
You have been so kind to me.
Love, Sarah

So, Charlie had helped Sarah get through a difficult patch. He had been her shoulder to cry on. Charlie had obviously hoped Sarah would see what a great catch he was and would fall madly in love with him, but of course she didn't. She used Charlie for comfort, and then latched on to someone more handsome, wealthier, and more sophisticated. Someone, like the son of a man who owned his own bank, who could keep her in comfort and style.

Yes, it was all so clear now. Charlie would have been devastated when Sarah passed him over. So devastated that he left school and returned home. Then Charlie set about changing his physical appearance. He worked out, traded his glasses for contacts, changed his hairstyle, all in an attempt to make himself worthy of her, but he was missing the most vital thing that would have mattered the most, money.

Charlie spent years pining over the beautiful Sarah Goodall, only for her to show up here, in his hometown, to plan a beautiful and lavish wedding to someone else. Charlie had even called Sarah right after the wedding on her cell phone. A call had been placed after the ceremony but before the reception. That night after the reception Charlie would have shown up at the cottage. He would have gotten Sarah's attention. Sarah would have gone outside to get Charlie to go away, not wanting her new husband to come face to face with the man who refused to get over his crush. As Sarah told Charlie to leave, he would have finally snapped. Her betrayal of his endless love was all too much. He grabbed her by the neck to silence her telling him to go away for the last time. Sherlock could now see it all so clearly.

Sherlock tossed the clippings and the yearbook on to the bed. Next, he lifted up the mattress. There was nothing there. He walked around the bed to search the other side and again found nothing. He looked at the floor, the hard wood floor. Sherlock got down on his hands and knees and began to look closely for loose boards. He smiled widely when just thirty seconds later he found what he was looking for. He pried the two loose boards off the floor and found a shoebox that had been hidden in the floor between the bed and the wall.

Sherlock pulled out his handkerchief and lifted the lid off the box, careful not to contaminate the evidence. Inside the box he found three locks of hair. A simple piece of tape had been used to secure the locks at the top. Also in the box were three pieces of fabric, roughly six by twenty centimeters in size. All of them had frayed edges and were irregular in shape. The material had obviously been torn off larger items. Sherlock closed his eyes and visualized the crime scene photos. Suddenly he knew what he was looking at. Charlie had actually collected pieces of the women's nightgowns. One was white with little pink roses on it, the second was pale blue, and the third was plain white. The next moment Sherlock imagined a piece of yellow brushed cotton that almost joined the collection. If Molly had opened the door last night would a piece of her nightie be in the box right now?

Molly! Dear god, Molly! She was downstairs in the home of the serial killer. Sherlock raced from the room and bolted down the stairs, startling both Molly and Agatha.

"Good gracious," Agatha said. "Is everything all right?"

"Molly, we need to go," Sherlock said. "There is an emergency."

"Oh, John and Rosie?"

"I'm not entirely sure but we must be off. We will get all the details once we arrive." Sherlock grabbed her ivory coat and helped her into it.

"Must you leave so soon?" Agatha asked.

"Yes, I am afraid we must. Good day to you," Sherlock said curtly. He was already pulling Molly towards the door.

"Sherlock, my purse," Molly gasped. Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached back to grab the bag, spilling the contents all over the floor.

"For crying out loud," Sherlock grumbled. He quickly scooped up the assorted items and shoved them back into the bag and handed it to Molly.

"I do hope you can come another day," Agatha said.

"We'll see," Molly said noncommittally. She could clearly see by Sherlock's frantic movements that he had solved the case, and once revealed Agatha was going to be devastated.

Sherlock held Molly's hand in a firm grasp as he led her across the street back to the truck.

"It's Charlie, isn't it?" Molly asked.

"Yes."

They were halfway across the street when suddenly a white work van pulled out of the post office parking lot and floored it right towards them. Molly gasped and froze but Sherlock's reflexes kicked in at once. He grabbed Molly around the waist and physically lifted her feet off the ground as he whipped her around towards their truck and out of the path of danger.

Sherlock saw the gun being pointed in their direction and acted accordingly. Molly hit the ground first with Sherlock landing on top of her, shielding her with his own body. A gunshot rang out and Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his left arm. A second shot fired and Molly screamed when the bullet struck the ground mere inches from their heads.

Sherlock climbed off of Molly and pulled her along to the other side of their truck so they would have some cover. Luckily the white van raced off down the street and out of view without firing any more shots. Both of them were breathing hard from the adrenaline and the shock. Sherlock quickly turned to Molly to look her over. There was a small scrape on her cheek from hitting the curb, and the palms of both her hands were raw and bleeding. A long river of blood was running down her left leg from a large gash in her knee. Her ivory wool coat was covered in dirt. Other than that she seemed to be fine, though, clearly in distress as she was shaking like a leaf.

"It's okay," Sherlock said. "It's over. You're safe."

Molly shook her head in the affirmative and forced the tears swimming in her eyes not to fall. She took a deep steadying breath and then looked at him.

"You've been shot!" Molly cried. "Let me see!" She was pulling at his coat trying to remove the sleeve on his left arm. Sherlock removed the coat sleeve and then his suit coat. The sleeve of his white shirt was covered in blood. Molly quickly put her fingers in the bullet hole in the sleeve and ripped the fabric open to get a better look.

"It's just a graze," Sherlock said. The bullet had torn through his coats and shirt but only managed to graze his left arm. "It's not serious."

"Not serious! You were shot! We…we were…he tried to kill us!" Once again Molly was shaking. Sherlock used his good arm to pull Molly into an embrace.

"Do you two need help?" a man asked.

"Yes, please call the police. Tell them Sherlock Homes has solved the case. Tell them to come to the florist shop at once!"

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

Sherlock was sitting on the back of an ambulance while the paramedic wrapped his arm with sterile gauze. The sleeve of his white shirt had been completely cut away.

"Luckily you won't need any stiches. Just keep it clean and if it starts to look infected get to the doctor," the young woman said.

"No worries," John said. "I'm his doctor. I'll look after it."

Sherlock gently pulled on his coat, ignoring the blood and the bullet hole in the sleeve. He looked across the street to where Molly was sitting with Agatha. The older woman was inconsolable with disbelief and grief.

Molly had already had her wounds tended too. Sherlock had insisted the paramedics take care of Molly first. Luckily they were mostly superficial, except the gash on her knee. It had required three stitches, which John had already taken care of.

"How did Charlie know you were here?" John asked.

"That's obvious. He had been following us."

"But you didn't notice?" John asked.

"It's a small town," Sherlock said. "It was fairly easy to keep tabs on us without getting too close. Think about it, Charlie arrives to bring flowers to Molly while you and I just happened to be interviewing Father Clark. He was keeping tabs on us. Luckily for Molly Lady Thurgood just happened to be at the house when Charlie arrived, or he may have tried to kill her then."

A Mercedes pulled up and Dickey got out of the car. "You solved it! You really solved it!"

"Yes, but unfortunately our killer is still on the loose," Sherlock said.

"Who would have thought it would be Charlie? He has been to Roane Hall dozens of times to set up for the weddings, make deliveries, even arrange the bouquets inside the main house."

"That would explain a lot," Sherlock said. "He knew the layout of the house, the cottages, and growing up here he knew the moors, probably as well as Duncan."

"I get all that, but its still a shock to learn that someone you knew, someone who was in your home, is a serial killer."

"Dickey, Agatha is going to need a place to stay tonight, possibly for the next several nights since her home is now a crime scene. Can you take care of that?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, yes of course. Poor old woman, this is going to break her heart. Charlie was the only family she had left."

"Excuse me," Sherlock said and walked across the street. He made his way to Molly and Agatha, who was siting with her legs sticking out of a police cruiser.

"Agatha," Sherlock said. "I spoke with Dickey."

"Dickey?"

"Richard Thurgood. He is going to let you stay in the cottages at Roane Hall for several days. I will make sure to have the police get whatever you need from the house."

Agatha nodded her head as more tears slid down her face. "That's very kind of them, considering."

"Agatha, none of this is your fault," Molly said. "Charlie made his own choices."

"Can you think of any place Charlie might go to hide?" Sherlock asked. "It would be much better for Charlie to be captured safely, as opposed to him possibly trying to run, getting injured fleeing the police."

"I really don't know," Agatha said. "I know he sometimes hangs out with Duncan. He works at Roane Hall. Charlie had even tried to get a job working there. We don't make a lot of money here at the flower shop. I can't see Charlie going to Roane Hall, though. Duncan won't want anything to do with Charlie once he learns of this."

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

An hour later Sherlock, John and Molly returned to their cottage. Rosie was still with Ms. Poole. Sherlock had covered the sitting room floor with the files John had printed out. Also front and center were the crime scene photos of the dead women.

"What are you looking for now?" John asked.

"Something is wrong," Sherlock said.

"Well of course, Charlie is still on the run. That means Molly is still in danger until he is apprehended," John explained.

"Yes, but there is something more," Sherlock said. "Charlie kept souvenirs of all his kills. Locks of hair and even pieces of their clothing. Here, Sarah's nightie, Jessica's nightie, and even a piece of Veronica's blouse," Sherlock insisted, holding up the photos to emphasize his point, "but where is Lorna's lock of hair and her nightgown? Of all the women Lorna had the longest hair, half way down her back. She was also wearing the most luxurious nightgown. It was a beige silk. To a serial killer who had already committed three murders collecting Lorna's tokens would have given him the most satisfaction, yet he didn't, why?"

"Perhaps he was interrupted for some reason and ran out of time," Molly said.

"No, definitely not. Even if people here at the house had noticed her absence, he had already dragged her out onto the moor. He would have had plenty of time and privacy to cut a lock of hair and tear off a piece of fabric."

"Perhaps he stored them in a different location?" John offered.

"No, he would have needed the items close to him. Serial killers relive their kills by looking at their collections, fingering them when no one is watching. He wouldn't divide the collection," Sherlock insisted.

All further discussion was halted when there was a knock on the door. John opened it and in walked the Inspector, Dickey, and Duncan.

"Mr. Holmes, I am Inspector Berk. It is a pleasure to meet you." He reached out his hand and gave Sherlock's a firm shake. "I wanted to personally thank you for your assistance on this case."

"We wanted to let you know that Charlie is no longer a threat," Dickey said.

"You captured him?" John asked.

"I'm afraid Charlie pulled a fire arm on myself and Stewie as we tried to apprehend him in a shed near the kirk. He fired off three rounds. We returned fire and Charlie was struck in the chest. It was a fatal wound."

"Poor Agatha," Molly said sadly.

"At least the nightmare is finally over," Duncan said. "I've known Charlie for years. I can't believe he was secretly a monster. What he did to those women was disgusting."

Molly couldn't stop the slight shiver that ran through her.

Inspector Berk, Sherlock, John and Dickey walked into the sitting room to discuss the case further. Molly stayed in the kitchen. She didn't want to hear anymore. Duncan stayed in the kitchen as well.

"I heard Charlie tried to kill you and Mr. Holmes."

"He almost ran us over, and when that failed he tried to shoot us."

"You have been through a lot these last few days," Duncan said. "What happened on the moor, nearly killed in the middle of the road, and the scare you had last night."

"Yes, it has been rather frightening at times," Molly agreed. She sat down at the kitchen table and rested her hands on top of it.

Duncan also had a seat and placed his hand on top of hers. "At least you are safe now. Charlie is dead and no longer a threat to you."

"While I am glad to be out of danger, I feel so terrible for Agatha. I wish Charlie was still alive for her sake."

"You are amazing, Molly," Duncan said, giving her hand a squeeze. "He tried to kill you and yet you sit here and wish he were still alive. Most people would view his death as good riddance."

Molly pulled her hand away from Duncan and placed it in her lap. "Well, I am not most people. His death is going to cause Agatha pain for the rest of her life. Plus, his death means that the families will never have the opportunity to find out why and have their questions answered."

"True," Duncan said. "Still, I am sure that the families will take comfort in knowing that the murderer of their loved ones is now dead and gone from this earth. At least they have justice. Plus, I for one am glad to know Charlie can't hurt you now. You are too good a person to have suffered that fate."

Molly didn't want to talk to Duncan anymore. The way he touched her and looked at her was making her incredibly uncomfortable. She wished he would go away. Her eyes went wide as Duncan reached his arm over and ran his thumb across the scrape that was on her cheek.

"Is it very painful?" he asked. "Hopefully it won't leave a scar."

Molly shot up out of her chair, moving so quickly the chair actually fell over with a loud bang.

"Excuse me," Molly said. She turned to see all eyes in the room on her. She felt self-conscious and suddenly couldn't stand to have them all looking at her. She quickly walked to her bedroom and shut the door, not even bothering to pick up the fallen chair.

Sherlock looked at Duncan will cold hate in his eyes. He had missed what had transpired between the man and Molly, but he had no doubt Duncan had done something to upset her.

"Is she okay?" Dickey asked.

"Yes, she is just a bit shaken from today's earlier events," Sherlock replied.

"I can't say I blame her," Dickey said.

"I think we should wrap this up," John said. "The case is over. We will be leaving soon."

"The next train back to London doesn't leave until ten o'clock tomorrow morning," Dickey said. "Why don't you all come to the house tonight for one last dinner. I know Ainsly will want to thank you personally."

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. All he wanted to do was have a quiet evening with Molly. The three of them could watch crap telly and play with Rosie.

"Oh come on, please. My wife loves to have an excuse to entertain. She will want to hear all the details of how you solved the case. Plus, I can write you your check for the final amount at that time."

Sherlock sighed. "Very well." At least he wouldn't have to put up with the unwanted attentions of Angelica since she was still in New York.

Author's Note: Hmmm…why was there only items from three of the four victims in the shoebox? Stay tuned! ;)