Molly sat staring at the door through which Jim had left. She was in shock. Was the old James Moriarty back? She had taken a bit of psychology, and the studies mentioned how well a psychopath could deceive others. James had certainly done so to Kitty Riley. But had everything been an act? Was she simply another Kitty Riley to Jim?

But no, she couldn't place all of the blame on him. In this case, she had deceived herself. She had always held in her heart the dream of Jim, a perfect man who valued her for herself, found her attractive, and was, if she were to be totally honest, a little bit domineering. James Moriarty wasn't this man. Neither was he mild mannered Quincy Hoehn. She had made the mistake of seeing with her hopes instead of with her eyes. Had she ever seen the man at all?

Being bound up in the room gave her ample time for reflection. She remembered all of the times that she had overlooked danger signs to see what she had wanted to be true. As a doctor and a scientist, she should have known better.

After what seemed like a very long time, the door opened and John Watson peered in holding a gun. He left the door cracked as he entered looking around the room for threats, before walking over to her and attempting to remove the shackles. He searched around for a switch but couldn't find one.

"Molly," he said. "Do you know where the keyhole is? Sherlock taught me how to pick locks."

She shook her head. Then John swatted at his neck. He pulled back his hand to look at it, and then said, "Oh no!" before falling to the floor.

She caught a glimpse of something silver in his palm as he fell. Then a man entered and stood over John. He was a short dark-haired man in a grey suit whom Molly had never seen before. He had been concealed behind a curtain.

The man dropped to his knees and giggled maniacally. He was holding a blowgun in his hand which Molly found remarkably like the crime serials that she had watched as a child. He turned John over onto his back and pointed the gun toward him about to give him another dose when he fell dead after a quiet whooshing sound. Molly jumped in shock as his body hit the floor, trying to push herself to her feet, but being prevented by the chair. Then she looked up at the door to see Mary Watson. She was nine months pregnant and holding a gun with a silencer.

She checked the throat of the man she had shot, before rushing to John's side. She picked up the pin and sniffed it, wrinkling her nose.

"Hmmmf!" Molly said her mouth still gagged.

"He's okay," Mary said. "It was a tranquilizer not a poison."

She put her gun down on the floor beside John, and then leaned over to untie Molly's gag. "There will be others, so we must hurry, although we won't have so much to fear now that Moriarty is dead."

Molly stretched her dry mouth spitting out a bit of cotton before saying, "That isn't Moriarty!"

Mary turned suddenly and there in the doorway was Jim with a large silver gun. Mary looked down at her own gun on the floor, but Jim pointed his firmly at her abdomen and said, "Do you actually want to have that baby, Mary?"

Mary froze, glancing down at the speakers built into the chair where the voice had come from. Moriarty rolled forward as four other men poured into the room. One picked up the guns, and the others stood around Mary.

"Take Mrs. Watson to the small cell," he said. "John Watson can be placed in the white room until I need him."

Mary was escorted out, and John was dragged from the room. Jim rolled forward then and looked down at the dead man, "Pity. I went to a great deal of trouble to find the right actor to play me. We had an entire script worked out for Sherlock. Shame the little assassin had to off him first."

"Why are you doing this Jim?" Molly demanded. "You had a new life?"

"What life?" he said. "A pathetic cripple in an assisted living flat teaching part-time between visits by a randy spinster? That's not a life. Someone of my talents deserves much better. Then again, my former life was not ideal either. So much that I had to prove, so much effort! I have bigger and better plans now."

He pushed a button on his chair, and Molly's wrist shackles detached from the wall. She fell forward, and then realizing that she was free, she rushed toward the door only to be stopped by a hulk of a man who picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

"Come, Molly. Let me show you my new flat."

Molly was carried out to a van and strapped into the back. She listened as a wheelchair ramp was raised and Moriarty strapped himself in.

While the others were occupied, she tried to remove the shackles from her wrists, but they wouldn't budge. The van door was closed, and they were alone in the back. Molly looked at him.

"What is all of this, Jim? Your inventions couldn't have got you this much money this quickly?"

"Let us just say that I have acquired new friends who are very generous."

"But why the message? Why broadcast on all of the tellys in London?"

"London?" he said offended. "It wasn't just London. It also covered Western Europe, Australia, much of North America, China, Korea, India and Hong Kong. There was a glitch in Japan. Made it show a whisky commercial instead. Annoying screw-up that."

"But Jim, why? What is it all for?"

"It is the announcement to the world of my candidacy."

"Candidacy for what?"

"Why, World Strategos of course. I used to think so small, helping idiots do crime. I was a fitting foe for Sherlock perhaps, but Mycroft has the real power in that family, and now I shall surpass him. I evaded him in his own city and revealed a glimpse of my reach and understanding. Now people all over the world are remembering me and how I made miracles happen, and they want me. They want me to help them rule the world."

"Help them rule? What? Do you mean ...rival governments?"

"Yes, and others who have resources but lack the knowledge of how to use them. It is the twenty-first century. It is about time we had a world government don't you think?"

"You want to rule the world?"

"No, I want to help someone else rule the world. All that I have to do is wait for them to come to me. They can have the fame and the name in the history books as long as I have puzzles to occupy me, and wealth and comfort for the rest of my life."

The van stopped and Molly was escorted into a luxurious rooftop flat with a garden. They went up an elevator into a private suite of rooms. There was a large round bed in the center with a white fur bedcover on it. Around it were couches, all in white, and a curved glass window looking down on the private garden.

"Jim, how did you get all this? Moriarty's assets were frozen, and you haven't built up enough of your own money yet."

"I told you dear, I have new friends. This is all on loan for future favors to be rendered. Its previous owner won't need it anymore, and those who hold the keys need someone with the power to keep the money rolling in. Have a rest. Sherlock won't find us for hours yet. I led him and Mycroft on a merry chase.

When Jim rolled off into the bathroom, Molly tried to escape through the elevator. She pushed every button, but it required a key. The windows did not open, and no one could be seen in the garden below.

"There is no escaping this place, Molly. The man who once owned it, designed it well. Very few of the women he took actually wanted to be here."

"Is that what you plan to do? Take me... against my will?"

"Oh Molly, you know that I have no need to take what you will freely give."

Jim rolled over to where she was sitting on the immaculate wood floor. He grabbed her chin with his hand and pulled her head closer as he whispered right into her ear. "You're thinking about it now, aren't you? How I would feel pounding into you on top of those furs. You've been wanting it since the moment I put those shackles on your wrists. They're magnetic. I've put a metal strip on the headboard of this bed. I could stick you there and have my way with you. I know what turns you on, Molly. After all this time, you still can't resist a man who is, just a little bit, bad."

Molly pulled away from Jim and he laughed that eerie, mechanical laugh as he rolled away. She stared out of the window looking for Sherlock, or anyone, to come and rescue her, but there was no one.

When Jim returned wearing tan silk pajamas, he stroked her head fondly. "No one needs to know that you said 'Yes', Molly. John and Mary saw how you were being held against your will. I could say that I forced you. Maybe give you some scratch marks on your thighs. You like a little force from time to time, don't you dear?"

"Stop!" Molly said pushing herself to her feet.

Moriarty laughed again. "Nighty, night love."

Jim climbed into bed then and slept. Molly spent hours looking for a way to escape before considering killing him with a pillow. She looked down at his sleeping face, slack and trusting. There were so many ways to kill a person, but she wasn't a murderer.

It made her sad that he thought so little of her, that he wasn't even afraid to sleep in her presence. This was all her fault. James Moriarty was back, and people would die. One man had already died! If only she hadn't been so wishy-washy. If only she had left his body to die, or told Mycroft Holmes, or had not believed him when he said he didn't remember. Tears flowed from her eyes, and she dropped down onto the floor staring out of the window at the garden until she fell asleep.