Chapter 14
Sherlock checked on the still sleeping Molly and then did a quick sweep of the house. It was purely a precautionary measure but Mycroft's news had rattled him. He knew that Molly would not receive this news well either, but that couldn't be helped and he would have to manage it. The house, as he expected, was secure. He went into the kitchen and knocked on the kettle. He sat down at the table and shook his head in irritation. This could be just a loose end, but he hated unexplained details and in this particular case it was unacceptable, because this case had always been personal.
He sighed, irritated, as he thought it through. The 'Jim Moriarty' languishing with dementia in Virginia had, almost certainly, assumed his brother's identity for decades. The question was, why? Like a cuckoo in the nest, he had taken over his life, but had he cast him out of the nest, metaphorically speaking? He had 'taken' his wife and children, but had he also taken his brother's very life? He heard a car pulling up on the gravelled driveway and leapt up and made for the front door. As he reached the it his phone buzzed with a text message. He expelled an amused laugh when he read it. It was from Michael.
I could feel the worry vibes emanating from you all the way to Wicklow town. Let me in, genius!
He opened the door to a grinning Michael. "Jaysus! I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" he quipped, and he strode past a still amused Sherlock into the hall. Sherlock's eyes gleamed because he'd spotted a thick Garda file under Michael's arm. He went to grab it but Michael was too quick for him and dodged nimbly into the kitchen with it.
"Piss off, Holmes. I was dragged out of the bed I'd just crawled into for this, so the least you can do is make me a cup of tea before you disappear into this file." Sherlock smothered a smirk.
"Well, the kettle's on.." Michael shook his head and laughed.
"And the tea doesn't make itself, sonny boy." Sherlock rolled his eyes, and conceding defeat, he pulled out the teapot and mugs and made the tea.
"Aoife rang you?"
"She did. Is Molly asleep?"
"She is. Tell me what's in that file while you're making me do this."
Michael spluttered a loud laugh and Sherlock shushed him, in fear he'd wake Molly, grinning broadly himself. He was glad to see Michael. 'Waiting' was not his forte, so to be able to make even this basic of starts was a relief. Much of what Michael related was not news to him but he appreciated talking it through again. It helped him think. Michael said that Jim Moriarty (Senior) was the eldest of three boys. Next came Sea,n and then Paul. At the moment, they did not know which of the younger brothers had assumed their eldest brother's identity.
"The problem is, Sherlock, that this entire family seems to have gone underground decades ago, before we were computerised. Local Garda knowledge is long gone, unfortunately." He gave a frustrated sigh. "I'm a great believer in community policing. People will talk to a community guard that they know, far quicker than they'll go into a Garda station and make a statement, you know, actually sign anything." He sighed in frustration. "Still, we'll get a 'last known address' for these two boyo's from Aoife's staff in either the Department of Justice, or Department of Social Protection by morning. Actually, both Departments will be useful in this case. Logically speaking, the brother we cannot trace too easily will emerge as the biological father."
Sherlock looked appreciatively at his friend. He knew Michael was smart but he was displaying a level of astuteness and savvy that was rare. He was going to be vital to this investigation because his knowledge of Irish systems and customs was faultless. He grinned at him as he plonked his tea down unceremoniously in front of him.
"I suppose you've earned the tea! What else is there in the file?"
Michael was deep in thought and just passed the file over to him across the table. Sherlock watched him speculatively.
"What is it Michael?" Michael looked at him with a little glint in his eye.
"I was just thinking there that we could really do with a photograph of the two of them. If either of them are claiming welfare, we'll have a photo of them in the system. If they've ever been arrested, we'll have a photo, or.." Sherlock grinned as he finished the sentence for him.
"If they've ever applied for a passport, we'll have a photo of them!"
Sherlock heard the soft padding of footsteps in the hall but it was too late to warn Molly that they had a visitor. Molly's sleepy voice called him as she opened the kitchen door and came straight in wearing a very short silk vest, matching knickers, and nothing else.
"Sherlock, are you on the phone? Michael? Shit!..." Molly ran back out the door as Michael choked back a laugh and politely averted his eyes. Sherlock spluttered out laughing too and then winced at Michael.
"Excuse me for a minute.." He darted out of the kitchen and Michael chuckled to himself, thinking that he wouldn't fancy being in Sherlock's shoes right now. He pulled the file back across the table to have another look. Sherlock could be a while.
By the time Sherlock caught up with Molly she was back in their bedroom and rummaging in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers for something to wear. He found the sight highly delectable but was wise enough not to say so. She slammed that drawer shut, exasperated, and reefed open the next one.
"Molly..."
"I can't find my track suit Sherlock!"
"Em, Molly.."
"It should be here!"
Sherlock sighed quietly and opened her suitcase, pulling out running gear.
"Wear this one Molly," She spun around to face him, hands on her hips and tears of anger pooling in her eyes.
"He's not here for a cup of tea, is he?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Four hours, Sherlock. That's all we managed. Four fucking hours." She sat down on the side of the bed, gripping the sides tightly. She was breathing rapidly and stray tears fell down her face. Sherlock looked placatingly at her.
"It may be nothing Molly, really. Nothing's changed darling. We're staying here!"
She took deep breaths and twisted her hands together. Staring down at them, she whispered so quietly that he barely heard her.
"So, you're not sending me away again, then?" Sherlock's heart broke in his chest and he lunged forward and fell to his knees before her, grasping her hands in his.
"God no, Molly! Nothing like that!"
Sherlock had not realised just how insecure the sudden exiling of Molly had made her. It had affected her far more detrimentally then he imagined. She'd been acting so tough since their reunion that he'd overlooked the bloody obvious. She'd been frightened, distressed and very lonely during her exile, and that had naturally taken it's toll on her, and would take her a little time to get over. No wonder she'd assumed the worst tonight. She lifted her head and looked at him, tears still pooling in her big soulful brown eyes. A weak smile hovered on her lips.
"I feel a little silly now..." Sherlock shook his head at her and kissed her hands repeatedly.
"No Molly. It's a natural reaction. I'd have filled you in, but this just kicked off and you were asleep. It may be nothing." He sighed and wiped her tears with the back of his hand. He smiled kindly at her. "Come, love, and I'll explain what's happened." She breathed out a deep sigh of relief and leaned across and hugged him tightly. Then she ruffled his hair, much to his amusement.
"It's the DNA sample you gave Mycroft to test. It's not him, is it? You go on back down to Michael. I'll be down in a minute." Sherlock gaped at her in astonishment and she broke into a smile.
"Well, why else would Michael be here tonight with a Garda file?" He grinned lasciviously at her. Standing up, he pulled her up with him and then he gripped her around her waist with one arm and her buttocks with the other, lifting her, and she squealed in surprise and then giggled into his ear.
"God, you're hot, Molly Hooper," he growled into her neck and she grabbed his shoulders for balance and wriggled under his hands.
"Sherlock Holmes. Put me down. Michael is waiting in the kitchen!" She could feel his chest shaking with laughter as he kissed behind her ear and she began to really laugh herself. He sighed exaggeratedly, ever the consummate play-actor.
"If you insist." He dropped her gently to her feet and smiled down into her face. "I'm sorry you got a fright my love." She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugging his chest, she murmured,
"It wasn't your fault. I overreacted. I guess I just panicked, I'm sorry." He kissed the crown of her head and then stroking her cheek he replied,
"We can talk about it later, and will, but let me reassure you now Molly, that if I ever do have to 'send you away' again it would be a very last resort, alright?" He laughed ruefully. "I don't do well..., I'm lost without you, my darling girl."
She stood on his toes, reached up and grasping his face, she kissed him tenderly on the lips. "God knows, I'm lost without you too." She pushed him playfully on his chest. "Now, go on you, go down to your friend. I'll be down in a minute." He smiled at her lovingly, and then pursing his lips, he replied docilely,
"Yes Molly," and left her to it in the bedroom.
Michael laughed out loud at Sherlock as he strode nonchalantly back into the kitchen, making a big pretence of examining his fingernails.
"Jesus, look at you, English, you're like the cat that got the cream!" Sherlock smirked at him gleefully but did not comment. He poured out a cup of tea for himself and took out another for Molly.
"Right, where are we?" He asked Michael and Michael rolled his eyes.
"We may need a white board for this. It's like an episode of 'Who Do You Think You Are?" Sherlock looked at him quizzically. Molly laughed as she came into the kitchen.
"It's a TV programme on the genealogy of celebrities." She leaned down and kissed Michael on the cheek in greeting. "Hi Michael, sorry about flashing you earlier." He grinned mischievously at her.
"Oh, I'm not!"
Molly sniggered at him, eliciting a frown and pout from Sherlock.
"That's quite enough of that, you two."
He poured a cup of tea for Molly and passed it to her as she took a seat beside him. He stretched a long arm across the back of her chair possessively, and Michael hid an amused smile behind his hand as Sherlock began to fill her in. "Edited version Molly. The old git in Virginia is the 'terrible triplets' uncle, the rest, because you're as smart as a whip, you've already guessed." He grinned proudly at her and she preened. Michael smiled affectionately at the two of them before Sherlock turned his attention back to him.
"Actually Michael, that's a good idea. Lets do a 'family tree' and figure the various actors out."
He flicked through the file and then began to draw on the inside cover. He started with the two parents. The mother was definitely deceased. They'd disinterred her body and proven it. He drew and X through her name. Beside her he put the three brothers' names, with question marks over two. Over one, he put 'Uncle' and a question mark, but linked him to the mother. From the mother only, he drew a vertical line and then filled in the names of her three offspring, with an X through all three, because they were dead too. He paused then and frowned. The other two got it immediately but he drew the lines anyway. Under the three brothers he drew down vertical lines. He looked then at the two of them.
"Not only do we not know where two of these brothers are; we also don't know what offspring, if any, they all have." Molly shook her head despondently .
"You were right about Jim Moriarty from the beginning. He really is a spider and there's his web, right there."
Michael looked kindly at Molly and answered her, with silent permission from Sherlock.
"That web has already begun to decay. They're no match for the combined resources of the lot of us Molly. That's not hubris. That is fact. You needn't worry. You're quite safe." She smiled sadly at him.
"Oh, I know I'm safe, because we're not talking about a lover, out to cause ultimate pain, now are we? We're talking about a father, a father who's three children have died, primarily because of Sherlock Holmes. You're quite right though Michael. He won't come after me, but, if he's still alive, he will, sure as hell, come after him."