Chapter 7

Disclaimer:I don't own Sherlock, John or anyone you recognise...sadly.

Authors note: Hello! So, chapter 7, didn't expect to get this far. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, i'm so glad you like this story. I'd like to give a thank you to nnildred for suggesting a very good idea, which I have used :) Hope you enjoy this chapter :D

It was ten minutes later when Mycroft replied. Sherlock had finally sat down with a lot of persuasion and most of the students had left, their party ruined. The text consisted of an apology and filled Sherlock with disappointment.

I couldn't track her down, brother. Sincere apologies. I'll try to do all I can – MH

The hate that filled the detective at that moment was staggering. He hated Moriarty. He hated Mycroft. He hated that bastard with the match who was burning his heart alive. He hated everyone and everything. Apart from Molly.

His phone alerted again and he opened the text.

Surprised you ran to your big brother for help, Locky. I'm quite disappointed actually – M

The only party-goers who had stayed were Kathy and Aaron. It turned out that the latter had nothing to do with Toby's death. Sherlock couldn't think straight. With no leads he felt useless.

"Any ideas?" John asked.

"Molly had been gone for ten minutes when the screen turned on. Shows that she can't be far away. That's all I have," The detective answered without emotion.

"She could be at that Barts place," Kathy suggested, "There's lots of rooms in there, and it's not far,"

"Too dull for Moriarty."

"It couldn't hurt to look," John urged.

The detective agreed and soon him and John were sat in a cab. Lestrade had been contacted and along with Naomi and Mycroft he was searching through CCTV footage of all the public buildings nearby.

John looked over at the shaking man beside him and shook his head.

How could anyone - even someone like Moriarty- do this to them? Molly had become Sherlock's heart, and now it's literally being burned into ashes.

"It's weird," John stated, "I feel like I recognised the room she was in; like I'd been in there before."

Sherlock's head snapped up and his eyes searched John's.

"Think John. Where? Try to remember!"

"I'm trying Sherlock. I really am."

"Not good enough!" He shouted as he put his head in his hands.

When they arrived at St Barts the detective ran downstairs to the morgue and barged into every room; and in every room he came out with nothing. When they reached Molly's lab they found a note.

You really should use your imagination more. The morgue? Boring! You should hurry up before things get explosive – M

Sherlock turned to John.

"He knew we'd come here. I hate him John. I HATE HIM!"

The detective punched to wall beside him with everything he had. John winced and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We need to stay calm, Sherlock. We still have two and a half hours left."

"Stay calm?" The detective asked with a deadly calm voice.

"Yes, Sherlock. Don't worry, I understand."

"No you don't! " Sherlock yelled in frustration, "You can't understand! Don't you see? If I can't understand then there's no possible way that you can. I've never felt this way about anyone, John…anyone! I've spent my entire life locking up my feelings because I was scared to face them. But then, some things are too big to keep hidden inside a room in your mind, and love…love is definitely one of them. So, now I'm here, with the one person that I've ever loved being burned alive and I don't know what to do; my mind can't focus when I'm like this."

Sherlock's phone ringtone went off. He pressed the mobile to his ear. Lestrade.

"We've found CCTV footage of a girl being pulled into a large building on Stafford road."

Sherlock hung up and left the lab, John following closely behind.

Molly opened her eyes. She saw nothing. She heard nothing.

She was surrounded by nothing.

This is it, she thought, I'm dead… I must be.

She groaned in pain as she tried to move. Surely death shouldn't hurt this much. She felt an aching in her head, and blood dripping down her upper arms. The air was cold, and she could tell her wrists were tied together behind the uncomfortable chair she sat upon. It took a few minutes for Molly to begin thinking straight.

Then it all came rushing back to her.

Party. Outside. Moriarty. Fire. Pain. Heartbreak. Sherlock. A tear fell down her cheek as she remembered the torture she had suffered. Sobbing quietly, she lost track of time. After an eternity, the pathologist heard a door open, and looked up to be blinded by a source of light. A silhouette appeared in the doorway, and the light switch was turned on to reveal Jim Moriarty, his suit pristine and his usual smirk on his face. She saw his expression soften for a second at the sight of her, but the smirk was in place before she could know if it was real. She sat in a large storage cupboard filled with dust, dirt and of course, herself.

"Hello Molly, dear. How have you been?"

She sat silently, her eyes filled with hate. Jim knelt before her.

"Oh, Molly. Don't look at me like that."

"What do you want?" She demanded coldly, watching a smile creep onto his face.

"Well, Sherlock thinks I have you here to send him on a wild goose chase, but would you like to hear a secret?"

Silence greeted him, so the psychopath continued.

"He's right. I am going to send him on a wild goose chase; but then I'm going to kill him, and you and I can finally be together."

Molly's eyes widened at his statement. His words wouldn't sink in, and she felt herself becoming extremely confused.

"You and I?"

"Of course. At first, I only met you to squirm my way into Sherlock's life. But Molly, my sweet, amazing, beautiful Molly, that completely changed when I first laid eyes on you. You introduced the idea of love, and I knew I had to have you."

"You pretended to be gay."

"Oh, that was just for fun," He replied with a laugh. He cupped her cheek in his large hand and stared intently into her eyes.

"I knew why you ended it – you thought I was gay. But then I realised the other reason, you were in love with Sherlock Holmes. I thought nothing would happen, because that excuse of a man couldn't love anyone. But then he started falling for you. Now this hurt, because I'm so much better. Sherlock would ruin your life and make you miserable. Me, I could make you rich and happy. We could spend the rest of our lives together , Molly. I love you."

"This is a pretty messed up idea of love," Molly said, glancing around herself.

Jim laughed again.

"I guess it is, isn't it. I'm sorry for burning you, sweetheart, but we had to show something to the camera, didn't we? I created a case for the detective, knowing I could get him to take you out, and can I just say- you look gorgeous." He exclaimed, smiling at her bruised and bloody arms.

Molly scoffed, and Moriarty stood from his knelt position. Stepping behind her chair, he untied her wrists, before kneeling in front of her once again.

"Are you ready to spend the rest of our lives together?"

He waited for a matter of seconds, and watched as Molly smiled brightly before leaning in to whisper five, simple words.

"Not in a million years."

The cab turned onto Stafford Street. Sherlock's heart was pounding as they got out of the vehicle. Although he was anxious himself, John gave a reassuring pat to his friend's back. This calmed neither of them. It had started snowing again, and white slush covered the men's shoes. Without hesitation, Sherlock ran at the double doors, no time to pick the lock.

They were surrounded by darkness. Fingers trembling, Sherlock's hand felt a wall, and soon found what he was searching for. The light switch. The brightness that hit them revealed an immense hall. Scattered crates covered the begrimed floor and the walls were windowless and grey. The hall reminded John of the first time he had met Mycroft, but he knew it wasn't the same place. Sherlock started searching around, looking for Molly between the crates.

He came back with nothing.

John put his head in his hands whist Sherlock kicked the nearest box. A scrap of creamy white paper peeped out underneath.

Oh Locky, it was too easy to fool you. Pick up a drunk brunette, show her off to your brother's precious cameras. Simple. Speed up Locky, my interest is starting to drown…

John read the note over Sherlock's shoulder, frowning at the psychopath's strange choice of words. Shock covered his expression whist the detective turned to him hastily with a look of complete agony. This was the moment when John knew.

He knew Sherlock wasn't a sociopath, he knew he was truly in love and he knew the detective wasn't upset because he was losing to Moriarty…he was upset because he was losing Molly. This was enough to make John's blood boil. He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders spoke firmly, his military state of mind kicking in.

"Listen Sherlock, we are going to find Molly even if it kills us. We're not going to back down, and we're definitely not going to lose to some psychopathic bastered. I promise you Sherlock, I PROMISE you that before the clock strikes midnight, Molly will be alive and safe."

Sherlock had listened intently to every word, and he nodded. They hurriedly exited the building and got a cab. A cab to Baker street.