Chapter 12...a bit dark, implied torture...beware
Sherlock Holmes sat contemplating Richard Harris and though Holmes had an air of leisurely fastidiousness, Mycroft knew his brother better than that. The elder Holmes could see the precise coldness within the set of Sherlock's eyes and noted how his left hand, which was dangling freely, would clench repeatedly into a fist as he spoke.
John and Henry stood beside Mycroft, ready to help subdue both Sherlock and James if the need arose.
"And of course you had no prior knowledge of the kidnaping?" Sherlock asked Richard with a deceptive calm. Henry fidgeted nervously, wishing Chief Inspector Lestrade would hurry and make an appearance.
"No sir," Richard said. "I swear, sir. I had no idea that he was planning anything with your Missus."
"I see," Sherlock said. But it was not Sherlock whose pretense of calm broke first. It was Molly's brother, James, who moved across the room and snatched the man up by his collar. His hands made their way around Richard's neck before any of them had a chance to react.
James slammed the man onto the floor, his head making a sickly crack. Richard's eyes bulged comically as his air was cut off. His lips opened and closed as a fish out of water as he tried, but failed in making a sound.
Sherlock reached James first, grabbing him about the shoulders. James took one hand from Richard and shoved Sherlock away. Richard took this opportunity to breathe as deeply as he could before James' left hand joined his right in strangling him.
"James," Mycroft shouted. "Good God man, stop it! He's our only hope at finding the blasted devil. If you kill him, you kill your sister."
But in his despair, James Moriarty was beyond reason. Sherlock recovered and grasped James' left arm while Henry grasped his right. John grabbed him around his waist and all three men gave a great heave, pulling James backward and Richard right along with him. Mycroft grabbed James' hands, trying to pry his fingers away from Richard, whose face was blood red with his fleshy lips turning an odd bluish tint. His eyes had glazed over and John's could see the pupils dilated and filling with blood from the broken capillaries.
The door to the study swung open and Lestrade gave a startled cry before rushing to help Mycroft. With tremendous effort, the five men were able to pry James away from Richard.
Richard fell back against the floor coughing and clawing at his neck. John attended him instantly, loosening his collar to try and help the man breathe. Jim struggled and broke free of their hold once, but they quickly subdued him. He continued to struggle and rage against them until Sherlock grabbed his face roughly.
"Stop it, Jim," Sherlock hissed. "You must stop this! We need this pathetic slug to find Molly." James' eyes were glazed and had a desperate look. In his anger and fear, he did not see or hear Sherlock speaking to him. "Jim!" Sherlock shouted as he slapped him soundly across his face. James' eyes met Sherlock's and began to clear, but his body stayed coiled like a tiger about to spring on its prey. Henry, Mycroft, and Lestrade kept their hold.
Sherlock tried again. "We need him, Jim," he said. "And Molly is running out of time. Please, help me."
James' body slowly began to relax under their hold, though his breaths came out in strangled gasps. He looked from Sherlock to the man he had almost murdered.
"Alright Sherlock," James whispered dangerously. "We will do this your way." He turned to look at Lestrade. "And God help you if you try to stop me from killing Magnusson."
Lestrade said nothing and moved to help John.
Molly lay on her stomach, her arms and legs stretched painfully and tied to the bedposts. She didn't dare move for fear the pain would be worse. Her thighs and backside were bruised horrendously and her shoulders ached almost more than she could stand.
Her cheeks were stained with tears that had dried a few hours before when her nightmare had begun. Sir Charles had used a strap on her and never had she felt such pain before in her life. She felt as if her skin might break apart under his blows.
He had told her in explicit detail what he was going to do to her. He had whipped her twice now, but had not touched her in any other way. He had told her he was waiting for Sherlock and James to do that. He wanted them to there to see her defiled.
She bit down on the pillow to keep from crying out when she heard the door open. She didn't need to see to know who it was.
"Filthy little whore," Sir Charles said. "If your Sherlock could see you know or better yet, Nathanial. If he could see his precious little granddaughter lying naked and spread open for me."
She felt the bed shift under his weight as he sat down beside her and began to stroke the abused skin on her bottom gently. "You liked what I did to you, didn't you?" he asked quietly. "You liked being dominated? Put in your place, you little cunt. You wish Sherlock would do this to you don't you?"
When she said nothing, he brought his hand down on her hard. She cried out and whimpered. He continued stroking her gently. "I'll give you a few days to heal," he said softly. "After all, this is just a bit of fun to pass the time for the real game."
His hand left her body to grasp her hair painfully. He jerked her head toward him, forcing her to crane her neck painfully to look at him. "Your brother, husband, and grandfather will sit in this very room, Mrs. Holmes. They will sit there and watch as I destroy your filthy cunt and ass. It will destroy them to hear you moan like a whore, because you will. In the end, you all do. Filthy little sluts…you always want it in the end."
Lestrade had said nothing when Mycroft had had Richard taken away. He didn't know where Richard was being taken, but he knew what would be done to him if he refused to talk. The Chief Inspector was beyond caring how the information was retrieved, just as long as it was. There were men of much higher station and importance than Chief Inspector Lestrade that also didn't concern themselves with how the information to stop Magnusson was extracted.
Magnusson's evil had spread across Europe like a plague. If the head of the snake could be cut off, the body would squirm and fall apart. He had to be stopped, no matter the cost.
Lestrade startled slightly when the phone rang beside him. He sighed and reached for it, lifting it from its cradle. "Yes Mycroft?"
He listened as Mycroft informed him of where they would find Magnusson. He didn't bother to ask if Richard had lived through Mycroft's information extracting process. He grunted his responses as Mycroft spoke and wrote down the information. With a final grunt of affirmation, he placed the phone back on its cradle.
Of course Magnusson would be waiting for them, but that didn't concern him much. If he and his men killed a few of Magnusson's men in the process of getting to him, Lestrade knew he would still sleep just as soundly at night. If he lost a few of his own men however…he sighed deeply as he ran his hand over his face. His men knew what they were getting into and felt the same as Lestrade. If death was the cost of stopping Magnusson's horror and saving countless of innocent women's lives, the cost was well worth it.
Magnusson was desperate and in his desperation, he had taken Molly, probably as his last attempt at a final revenge. He knew he was done for and probably had no intention of coming out of this alive.
Once the word was out that Magnusson had gone into hiding and that police raids were already being conducted on some of his properties, so many others came pouring out of the woodworks in an effort to save themselves. Bank books, journals, accounting records, lists of names of those involved, places where the disgusting business was being carried out, and accounting books came piling into the Yard.
As Lestrade had looked over some of the names involved, he had become physically sick, emptying the contents of his stomach. Some of these men he had called friends. Many of these men were husbands, fathers, and brothers. The level of depravity knew no bounds.
He felt deep pity for the wives and families of the men who held positions in parliament. They scandal would not only destroy the guilty men, but their innocent family as well.
He looked to his left noting the time of the clock on his wall. Mycroft had said that Sherlock had asked for one hour before Lestrade was to come with his men. He nodded to himself and sat back in his chair, his hands resting on his desk to wait.
James and Sherlock stood hidden in a brush that surrounded the old, decrepit house. The lower level was bright with light, but only a single room on the upper level was lit. Sherlock glanced at Jim, gaging how well he was holding himself together. Sherlock could barely hold himself back from barging in and he didn't know if he could be strong enough for them both.
"James, I need you with me on this," Sherlock whispered.
"Don't concern yourself, Sherlock," James said, his voice flat, but steady. "I have control of myself. I'll not lose control of myself outside of the vipers nest."
"Not until we have rescued the lamb," Sherlock said softly. "Jim, what do you want to do to him?"
James turned to look at him and Sherlock could just make out the cruel smile on James's face under the soft light of the moon. "I want him to scream, Sherlock," he said. "Long and loud…in absolute agony."
Sherlock's face took on a cruel expression. "Then we are in accord," he said.
"Oh yes," James agreed. "Oh yes, indeed, Sherlock."
"We have an hour before Lestrade comes," Sherlock said with a smile. "More than enough time…"
Sorry it's been awhile. I haven't been in the mood to write in a ling time. If you're still here, thanks for reading. Hope 2017 is a great year for everyone :)