It was colder than usual for winter in London. Sebastian was thinking about how messed-up everything was. Snow was actually fucking falling. Everything was just perfect now thought Sebastian. He'd been forced back into his own personal hell, dragged himself through all kinds of shit, had his nose broken, watched the man he loved nonchalantly get a blowjob from a whore and was now carting tons of worthless crap around in the fucking snow. He laughed bitterly as he trudged along. He should have left Jim years ago, but was too damn stupid and lovesick to do so. What was he going to get for his troubles? Nothing but more fucking pain, even if Sherlock cooperated, Jim would still be angry that his exact orders hadn't been obeyed. Nothing ever pleased him.
As he turned a corner, Sebastian could see the hospital looming before him. He set Molly down on a bench and rummaged around in his pockets. He still had a few cigarettes left, a small blessing. He shook one out and started to smoke. He watched as Molly twitched a little more, she was starting to come back around. He knelt down next to the rucksack and dug around for a bit. He found a plastic zip tie in a side pocket. He bound Molly's hands together, and then pulled out some ankle restraints. She could walk in them, but only barely. He finished his cigarette and lit another one while he waited for her to wake up. Bitch could walk herself up all those damn stairs.
Back in the House without Doors, Sherlock surveyed his team. He had insisted that Door and Ingress remain behind. Door would help them create a shortcut to the hospital, but was then under strict orders to return home. The Marquis de Carabas was weak from blood loss and would have to be carried most of the way. Richard was nervously cleaning his knife, which looked like an oversized prop from a ridiculous adventure movie. Sherlock felt sure that Richard hadn't a clue about how to use the knife. And to top it all off, Sherlock was still a bit woozy from the cave children's sedative. Never in the history of mankind was there a less likely group to succeed. Sherlock honestly hoped that Moriarty would allow him to surrender himself and let Molly go. Sherlock knew this was also highly unlikely.
Door was touching the exit to her home, concentrating on finding a way to open a door near the hospital. It was possible for openers to open doors to places that were not physically next to each other. It took a lot of energy and focus though. If the opener wasn't paying attention, they could open the wrong door. Sherlock was making a last minute consideration of his weaponry. He had several knives and a sword. It felt silly to be carrying such things, but he had no access to a gun, and no guarantee a gun would work, they often didn't for those in the Underside. Door looked over at Sherlock and nodded. Richard walked toward her and waited. Sherlock boosted the Marquis de Carabas onto his back. Both men were extremely unhappy about the situation, it was so undignified. However, they had little choice. Now that everyone was assembled, Door threw open the passageway and the group walked through. She watched them go, and let the door close when she couldn't see them anymore. Now that they were gone, she let herself cry a little. She turned around and saw Ingress standing there. She tried to smile and be brave for her little sister. She walked to Ingress and took her hand, leading her toward the dining room.
On the rooftop of St. Bart's Hospital, Sebastian Moran had constructed what he felt was a very fucking cozy campsite, thank you very much. He had forced Molly to stumble up the endless stairs to the top of the building. She was still dizzy and disoriented, but Sebastian had always found that a gun was an excellent motivation to pay attention. He wasn't sure if the damn thing would work actually. That was the sort of bullshit he hated about the Underside. It was positively medieval the way technology failed you when you were part of the Underside. At least it had stopped snowing. Jim would probably bitch about that too, like Sebastian could control that.
Sebastian had built a shelter from the tarp and lit a small fire inn an old can. He'd chained Molly's ankle to an exhaust outlet. She was shaking from the cold and terror. Her whole body ached. Her arms were pinned behind her and she was losing feeling in her hands. Molly was also extremely angry at herself. She should have listened to the Marquis; she could practically hear Sherlock tell her how "obviously" it was a trap. She could suddenly feel her death sense awaken; she was no longer able to keep it suppressed. She felt bile start to rise in her throat. Jim was coming.
There was just one hour left till the deadline Sebastian had set when Jim Moriarty strolled onto the rooftop. He paused to check the scene. He was somewhat surprised that Sebastian had listened to his directions. Jim walked over to Molly first. He knelt down next to her and leered at her. "Hello darling. You know, I was so surprised when I figured out that you snuck down to London Below. And a fellow Deathseer too! I really thought you were just a boring stupid girl, but I was wrong! I don't like to be wrong" he grinned at her and caressed her face. He could feel her heart rate jump, it was marvelous. He loved to feel their fear, one of the few things that still brought him enjoyment. He studied her face for a moment. "You know Molly, you could come along with me and Bass, us Deathseers should stick together. I'm sure the three of us could have a bit of fun" he said.
Molly stared at him in horror, was he really suggesting that? He laughed and tweaked her nose. Then he stood up and stretched his back. "Oh I know, you'd never do it, such a goody-goody. No wonder our little office romance didn't work out" he sneered.
Molly watched as Jim walked over to Sebastian. The two men stood whispering for a moment. Then Jim laid his head against Sebastian's chest and yawned. Sebastian wrapped an arm around him and kissed the top of Jim's head. They stood together like that for a while. Molly was fascinated and repulsed by this odd bit of tenderness between the two killers. She shivered and dropped her head down. She tried to test the restraints again. She had been surreptitiously been searching for a weak point ever since Sebastian had chained her up. She wasn't having any success, though now the plastic was cutting into her skin. She could feel blood running down her hands. If she were as clever as Sherlock, she'd probably have found a way out by now. Her heart hurt at the thought of Sherlock. She knew that he was her only chance of rescue, but she also wished he would stay away and keep himself safe. She knew he would never do that. He might not care for her, but he wouldn't abandon her. She started crying again, scared of what might happen.
The passageway Door had opened took them to back door of an abandoned restaurant. After three visits, the health department investigators decided that if they hadn't gotten rid of the mice by now, they never would. The back door opened for the first time in nearly a year. Richard stumbled over a greasy trashcan as he walked through the door. He swore softly as he knocked over some bottles that had been abandoned in the alley. Sherlock was once again very dubious that this man was any sort of a warrior. He could barely manage to walk properly.
There was a light dusting of snow on the ground. Sherlock readjusted the man who was currently clinging to his back. The Marquis' breathing was growing more labored. He tightened his grip around Sherlock's neck and prayed they didn't run into anyone he knew. If he had to die, for a second time, he wanted to die with some dignity. They walked in silence toward the hospital. Sherlock's mind raced, he wasn't sure what he was going to face on the rooftop. Jim would be there, along with his blond assistant who could produce the mysterious glamours. Sherlock still had difficulty accepting such magical nonsense, even after all the bizarre things he had seen. He had no idea how to defeat someone who could completely overrule his senses. The experience of seeing Mycroft on the rooftop still deeply affected him, even though he knew it was an illusion.
Sherlock refused to carry the Marquis up those many flights of stairs to the roof. So he waited for someone to enter an elevator. Richard kept looking around nervously, like he expected someone to suddenly notice them standing there. It was hard to break the lifelong habit of being worried what other people thought. A janitor finally came by, pushing a mop and bucket and whistling aimlessly. The men followed him into the elevator. They had to share the unpleasant experience of watching the janitor scratch an itch in a very private place while the elevator ascended.
At the top of the hospital, they quickly found the roof access door. Sherlock was surprised that the lock to the door had remained unchanged. He had expected that after his very public suicide, some changes would be made. Once this was all finished, he intended to write a stern letter to the trustees of the hospital. That is, if he was still alive. He was prepared to sacrifice himself if that was what it took to save Molly. He owed her that at least. Sherlock paused before he opened the rooftop door. He looked back at Richard and debated telling him to leave, but Richard shook his head before he could get the words out. Sherlock nodded, and then opened the door.
Jim could hear footsteps coming up the stairs toward the roof. He grimaced; more than one person was walking up the steps. He pulled away from Sebastian and put his hands in his coat pockets. He lightly ran his fingers across the gun stowed in his pocket. The footsteps were louder. Either Sherlock had brought help along with him or some bumbling idiots had made a very poor choice of times to visit the roof. He looked over at Molly who lay shivering on the roof. He smirked at her, which made her shudder. He chuckled a little, and then turned back to see who came through the door.
Sherlock threw open the door and strode through like he owned the building. He gently set the Marquis de Carabas down near the doorway. Immediately he took in every detail of the scene before him. Someone had put up a makeshift shelter, complete with crackling fire. Molly lay in a heap on the rooftop, her hands bound behind her back, one ankle chained to an exhaust pipe. He was relieved to see that other than bruising, it appeared that she had no major injuries. Jim was grinning manically, hands in his coat pockets. A tall blond man stood behind him. Sherlock studied him closely, as he was largely unknown. This man was supposed to be able to create these glamours, make others see things that didn't exist. It was obvious that the man and Jim had an intimate relationship, and that the blond man was more heavily invested in the relationship than Jim. Sherlock was pleased to see that the man's nose was freshly broken, he was proud of Molly for that. Sherlock's observations came to a halt as Jim began to speak.
"Lovely to see you again Sherlock. Congratulations on not being dead. You know, you and Molly almost had me fooled for a while" said Jim cheerily. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he smiled.
"I'm here now. Let Molly go" said Sherlock. He felt his hands clench as he looked at her. His chest ached with a sharp pain and he closed his eyes briefly.
Jim studied Sherlock for a moment, and then looked back at Molly. He began to giggle. "Ooooh Molly! You naughty girl! Good job! It's about time someone popped his cherry! I'll have to think of a new nickname for you, Sherlock." He leered at Molly, licking his lips. His eyes lit up and he clapped his hands in delight. He knelt down next to her and in an exaggerated whisper said, "Tell me, Molly, just between us girls, was it gentle and romantic or does he like it rough? Did you spank him a little? Did he lick your sweet cunt and make you come?"
"Stop that! Don't speak to her" shouted Sherlock. He was furious now.
Molly blushed and hid her face. She was going to start crying any second now. She was so scared and so tired. Jim smirked at her and then turned his attention back to Sherlock.
"What's the story with your friends Sherlock? Didn't you know that you were supposed to come alone?" complained Jim.
"I was not informed of that" answered Sherlock. He wanted to pound Jim's smiling face into a pulp.
The Marquis decided to be helpful. He pulled himself up a little and called out, "Actually, the blond gentleman over there neglected to give any instructions other than when and where to meet. He definitely didn't include the provision to come alone."
Jim glared at the new arrivals. He spun back to Sebastian. "You didn't tell him to come alone? Damn it Sebastian, you're such a failure. You're always supposed to tell them to come alone, that's practically a given. How many decades have we been doing this? I'm really very disappointed in you."
Jim sighed and shook his head. He wondered what was wrong with his Tiger; he could barely do a simple job right anymore. Jim studied the two men that Sherlock had brought along with him. The one slumped down by the door was already largely out of commission, having lost a lot of blood already. And the other one? He looked like he just left a shitty office job somewhere and took the wrong way home. Jim could see the fear in the man's eyes and the tremors in his hands. Maybe Sherlock was really insane, why the hell else would he bring such losers?
"Right. Well, this was just supposed to be a private chat between old friends. I just want to speak with Sherlock and Molly. So, it was lovely to meet you, but I'm afraid you'll have to be going now. Bye-bye!" sang Jim in a childish tone. He frowned and looked at Sebastian. "Kill them both. And hurry up, I'm getting cold."
Sebastian nodded. Jim turned away and walked toward Molly. Richard stepped closer to the Marquis. Sherlock kept glancing between Molly, Jim, Sebastian and Richard. Sebastian was calmly walking toward Richard and the Marquis. Just as Sherlock was about to decide where to go first, Richard bent low and pulled his knife from its sheath. With a feral growl, he leapt forward, throwing the knife. Hunter's knife was not meant to be thrown; it wasn't designed to be aerodynamic. Yet such was the Warrior's skill that the knife flew true, striking Sebastian Moran directly in the heart. Moran looked down, shocked. He too had falsely assumed that Richard was harmless. Jim had been ignoring the scene, till he heard the dull thud of the knife entering Sebastian's chest. Sebastian looked back to his lover and managed to gasp, "Jim" before collapsing.
Jim's eyes went wide as he rushed to Sebastian's side. Blood gushed forth from his chest, an endless torrent from the killer's heart. Sebastian tried to breathe. He managed a few panicked gurgles before blood began to bubble from his lips. Jim wailed in agony, calling "Bass! No!" He frantically ran his hands over Sebastian's chest, desperate for some way to stop the bleeding. He was screaming his lover's name, tears beginning to fall. Molly watched it all, horrified. Jim's grief was palpable; she had never seen him look so human. She was sure any second now he would attack the other men on the roof. A desperate idea struck her then.
"Jim! Bring him over here! I can heal him!" she cried, yanking the chain that bound her to the pipe. Jim looked up at her, hands and face covered with blood. He stared at her, realizing that as a Deathseer she had the ability to heal. He leapt to his feet and dragged Sebastian's body next to Molly.
"Free my hands, I need to be able to touch him" begged Molly. Jim drew his pocket knife and sliced the zip tie. He knelt down next to Sebastian's head, whimpering and keening in his agony.
"Save him Molly, please" he pleaded, his voice shaking. For a split second, Molly's heart hurt for him. Right then, he was Jim from IT again, a sweet man who once held her hand while watching TV. She pushed that image away, this was Moriarty, not Jim her old boyfriend. That man had never existed. She put her hands on either side of Sebastian's chest and closed her eyes. She knew before Jim dragged the body over to her that there was nothing she could do, the man was dead. No amount of her magic could repair the gaping hole in his heart. She took a ragged breath and tried to steel herself. She desperately hoped her stupid idea would work. As Jim cried over his fallen love, Molly grabbed the knife with both hands and pulled it from Sebastian's chest. The blade made a dreadful sucking sound as it exited the man's chest. The handle was slippery with blood. She gathered all her strength and lunged at Jim. She had hoped to stab his heart, but missed, plunging the knife into his right shoulder, just below the collarbone.
Jim realized what she was doing a second too late; he was unable to move far enough away. He screamed as the knife entered. Filled with rage he leapt to his feet and yanked the knife out of his chest. Molly tried to scramble backwards, but was still chained to the exhaust pipe. Jim flew at her, swinging wildly with the knife. Molly curled up into a ball as the knife sliced her shoulder. She shrieked in pain. Jim grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. He held the knife up, light catching the edge of the blade and he prepared to slit her throat. But before he could finish his killing blow, he was tackled from behind.
Sherlock had watched everything happen in a state of shock. It could only have been a minute since Jim ordered Sebastian to kill. He was stunned to watch Molly claim she could help the fallen man. He didn't know what she was planning till she lunged at Jim. As Jim attacked Molly, Sherlock raced forward, desperate to save her. He couldn't believe that Molly had done something so foolish, and yet he was proud of her. As Jim raised the knife, Sherlock grabbed him from behind, wrestling him away from Molly. They rolled across the rooftop, fighting for control of the knife. Richard ran to Molly's side. Sherlock pounded Jim's hand against the ground, causing him to lose the knife. Jim batted it away with his other hand and grinned crazily at Sherlock. He stood, pulling Sherlock along with him. Sherlock realized they were near the edge of the roof. Jim was trying to drag both of them to the edge.
"Come on, let's end this" hissed Jim as they struggled. Jim tried to wrap his arms tightly around Sherlock. Sherlock thrashed and fought back as he was pulled toward the edge. Jim was laughing the whole time, a hideous, crazy sound. Sherlock tried to push Jim away, but Jim bit down on his hand. Jim stood on the edge of the roof now. He grabbed both of Sherlock's wrists. Sherlock could hear Molly screaming somewhere far away. He could see over the edge, the street below dark. Jim was leaning back, throwing all his weight off the building. Sherlock felt himself be pulled to the edge. Jim shrieked with insane glee as they started to fall.
Sherlock had already accepted that he was likely to die. His last thought was one of relief that Molly was safe. His feet caught on the edge of the roof, but the weight of Jim dragged his upper body off. He was hanging upside down, his face smashing against the side of the building. Jim still had a death grip on his wrists. Sherlock became aware that someone was holding his legs and calling his name. He looked down at Jim's crazed smile and felt his right shoulder become dislocated. He howled in pain. Jim's hands were slipping. Sherlock could feel Jim furiously trying to pull him down. The pain was so great, Sherlock nearly gave up and let Jim win. But then he heard Molly calling him, begging him to survive. Sherlock took a deep breath and allowed his other shoulder to become dislocated. The pain was nearly unbearable, but the jolt it gave Jim was enough to end it. Jim's grip finally failed and he fell screaming to the street below. As Sherlock heard the impact of his enemy striking the ground, he passed out from the pain.
When he came to, he was laying on the rooftop, surrounded by Richard and the Marquis. Both men were panting; they had been the ones to grab his legs. He looked for Molly, but then realized that his head was lying in her lap. She was sobbing uncontrollably. In the haze of pain, he thought that he had upset her again. He tried to reach up and touch her and didn't understand why his arm wouldn't work. He closed his eyes and whispered "I'm sorry Molly, please forgive me."
He really didn't understand why this made her cry harder. Women were so difficult to comprehend. Maybe he'd devote sometime to studying them when this was over. He felt himself drifting away again and briefly struggled to stay awake. He felt Molly's hands caressing his face gently. He could feel her bend over and press a kiss on his forehead. She whispered "I love you" as her tears fell on his face. He smiled a little and then passed out again.