"Mark Dillanger."
"Okay, hold on…nothing."
"What?"
"Never worked here."
"He did, I…are there and other records?"
"As far as I can tell, he's never been employed at St. Bart's."
"Surgery reports, prescription forms…anything?"
"Nope."
"Alright," Sherlock sighed, biting his lip. "Don't call me back anytime soon. I'm a bit…preoccupied."
"What?"
"Nevermind, just…thank you, Shannon," he said quietly, hanging up and quickly sliding the phone back into his back pocket. He heard two sets of feet approaching; one a slow, heavy footfall, the other light and quick. The door to Sherlock's room opened, casting a stream of light on the dingy floor.
"Mr. Holmes. Glad you could join us," a man with a thick accent said, dragging a woman behind him through the doorway as he entered the room.
"Please. Please, just let…let me go," she said, breathing heavily.
"Here we are, sweetheart," he said, tossing her to the corner of the room. Her head and shoulders slumped, brown hair clinging to the blood on her cheek.
"See? Look at the mess you've gotten her into," he chuckled, sitting himself down in front of the chair Sherlock was tied to.
"What did you do to her?" Sherlock said, his voice barely a whisper. He gazed at Molly's face, streaked with blood and tears.
"I don't think you're in any position to be asking questions, Mr. Holmes…"
"Answer me!" Sherlock shouted, face full of rage. "What did you do to her?"
"What do you know about Grace Novikov?"
"I don't know! I've never met the woman."
"Come now, Sherlock. Can I call you that? Oh, I haven't properly introduced myself, now have I?" He smiled, reaching out his hand. "I'm…"
"Vladmir Anokhin," Sherlock said, staring at him from his seat.
"Very good. It's a shame you work for those fools at Scotland Yard, no?" He laughed, leaning back in his seat. "Now let me ask you again. Where is Grace Novikov?"
"I don't know." He said slowly, still glaring. "I don't where she is, and neither does Molly."
"It was Mark's idea," he said, motioning towards Molly, who still lay unconscious on the floor. "He thought you might be a bit more…agreeable, if she came along." He gazed at Sherlock a moment as he stood from his chair. "For her sake, you might want to consider a having a different answer when I come back." He gave Molly a quick glance before heading towards the door.
"And I bet you'll have a different question when you come back," Sherlock muttered as the door slammed shut behind him. He struggled with the rope, eventually managing to untangle his wrists from the back of his chair. He stood from his chair, kneeling next to Molly where she lay.
"Molly," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Molly, you have no idea how incredibly sorry I am." He paused, gazing at her soft face, mangled with blood and sweat. She breathed slowly, each breath light and shallow.
"I suppose we've already been through this before, haven't we," he said quietly, placing two fingers on the upper part of her neck as he felt her pulse.
"Yes, we…we certainly have," Molly said, her eyes slowly opening. "I much preferred the hospital bed, though."
"Molly," Sherlock said, a relieved smile crossing his face. He brushed the hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. "Molly, I'm…"
"Don't apologize," she said, as Sherlock helped her straighten herself up against the wall. "If it weren't for my bad tastes in men…"
"Yes, and I'm not talking about Dillanger," he said with a small smile. Molly blushed, looking at the ground.
"It's not your fault, Sherlock."
"Well, it's certainly not yours. That only leaves one of us."
"It was Mark's. He's the one who…" she paused, glancing at Sherlock. "Did you know about…about him?" I mean, that he was in this whole thing?"
"No. No, I don't think he would've made it out of St. Bart's alive if I'd have known," he said, looking at Molly. "How was the pasta?"
"Terrible. Worst place I'd been to in a long time," she said, laughing a bit.
"I'll keep that in mind," Sherlock said half-jokingly as he stood, glancing at the door. "I suppose we should think of a way out of here."
"Do you have your phone?"
"We can't call the police. Never call the police."
"Then what are we going to do?" She said, watching as Sherlock paced the floor.
"Well, if you're feeling up to it," he said, a smile crossing his face as he turned to Molly. "I have an idea."