Good reception from you all so far. Thank you for the reviews and follows and favourites. Let's crack on with the next instalment. I should perhaps make this clear that whilst it's set after his non-existent exile it was mostly written before the Christmas Special so there won't be any references to his almost overdose.

Chapter 2

Molly felt like maybe she was going a little mad as she made her way back to her flat, ringing Mike from the cab as she went. He was shocked at the short notice but he was always nagging at Molly to use her leave so after they'd discussed a few outstanding pieces of work he'd agreed to her taking a week off possibly two. Molly promised to ring him again in a few days' time to confirm it one way or the other.

As she walked into her flat and Toby wound himself, kamikaze style, around her ankles threatening to trip her up she suddenly started to panic a little. She picked him up and ruffled the fur on the back of his neck hearing him start to purr loudly, 'oh Tobes, what the hell am I doing? This is ridiculous. I can't go away with Sherlock; I'm bound to end up either making a fool of myself or more in love with him than I already am.'

She remembered back to that cheeky wink and smile he had given her. Damn him he had known exactly what he was doing, he knew she wouldn't put up as much of an argument if he gave her hope. He was manipulating her all over again and more fool her but it was working.

She pulled out her suitcase and ransacked her wardrobe trying to decide what to take. She had no idea what he was planning or how long they were even going for. In the end she decided to take things that would mix and match as much as she could. At least she was packing for warmer weather which was easier than for cold.

The last, but not least thing, on her list was hoping beyond hope that her elderly neighbour was in and would be happy to look after Toby. She hadn't even had time to go and buy enough food but Mrs Tyler was more than happy to keep an eye on him and didn't mind buying whatever was required, telling Molly not to worry even as Molly pressed some money into her hand to cover any costs.

A quick shower and a change of clothes later and she found herself stood near the ticket offices on Marylebone station nervously looking out for her travel companion whilst glancing at her watch.

He was easy to spot when he did arrive; his height, his curls and his confidence as he strode towards her all helping him to stand out. Molly couldn't help the way her stomach flipped over at the sight of him. His Belstaff coat just served to emphasise his presence as it billowed out behind him as he walked.

'Good you're here. I'll just get the tickets. We're leaving from platform 4.'

Molly looked around, 'where are your bags? Have you not brought anything?' She suddenly got a bit embarrassed about her own. Had she misunderstood what he'd meant?

He waved his hand towards the barriers to the platforms as he waited for their tickets to print out, 'I commandeered one of the staff to take my bags on ahead.'

Of course he had. Only Sherlock, and possibly his brother, would have the force of personality to not only find one of the almost non-existent attendants but have them transport their luggage about.

He was at least gentlemanly enough to relieve Molly of her suitcase as he guided her towards the train leading her up to the first class carriage at the front. A chap in a network rail uniform was stood waiting at the door, 'your bags are on board sir.'

Sherlock palmed some money across to him and thanked him as they clambered on board. The porter had obviously alerted the steward to the possibility of a tip because almost as soon as they had sat down they were being offered drinks and other refreshments.

Sherlock shook his head but Molly ordered herself a sandwich and a cup of tea. As the young chap moved away to go and get it Sherlock smirked, 'really Molly, food on a train, bound to be over-priced and underwhelming.'

'You're probably right but I'm starving. My lunchtime companion didn't offer me any food at his flat.' She raised an eyebrow at him smiling slightly.

'Touché, I promise I will next time...well, if I have anything edible to offer.'

As the train pulled out of the station Molly took a bite of her frankly disappointing lunch before turning to Sherlock who was seemingly engrossed in the view.

'So, what exactly is going on?'

He frowned as he looked back at her, 'I thought that was obvious!'

Molly suddenly felt like John, 'maybe to you but not to me. I haven't got a clue what's going on other than the fact that we seem to be winging our way to the village that Lily Bennett is from.'

Sherlock glanced at his watch, 'Shepherd, she's Lily Shepherd. Her mother remarried. We should be there in just under an hour. We can hopefully stay at the pub in the centre of the village.'

'Yes, that's great. But what is actually happening Sherlock and what were those events or dates you were reading out earlier?'

He settled back in his chair and looked over at Molly as he spoke. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying rather than the startling blue of his eyes, they were so changeable sometimes blue, sometimes green, she could never quite pin it down.

'It was all in the diary you see, on initial reading it all just seemed to be her friends, school and boys. Boring. But as you were reading out those passages it became apparent that she was referring to someone else. Someone other than her friends or her boyfriend. Someone who was encouraging her to stay a virgin, someone who was quoting Aleister Crowley to her.'

That name was familiar to Molly, 'what, you mean the guy from Supernatural, the King of Hell? I love that show, most people seem to prefer Dean but I've always had a thing for Sam. He's all slim and muscular, perfect...mmmmm.'

'Molly, what on earth are you talking about?'

Molly jumped; suddenly realising she was talking to Sherlock and not one of her similarly obsessed female friends. She knew she was blushing as she cleared her throat, 'well, you mentioned Alistair Crowley and he's in the show. He's a demon. Is that not who you were referring too?' She asked the question even though it was becoming painfully obvious to her he was not. She had a sudden burst of recollection. 'Oh, do you mean the Satanist guy from the 1900's?'

'Yes, Molly, that's "the guy" I meant,' he air quoted, speaking slowly as though to emphasise how slow on the uptake she had been. 'Though he doesn't actual appear to be a Satanist even though he's become the poster boy for the occult. He developed his own religion called Thelema and one of its principles was 'do what thou wilt'.

'Ahh, the words in Lily's journal.' Molly was starting to see where Sherlock's mind had gone.

'I'm concerned that whoever she was referring to as having said those words has been influencing Lily, endeavouring to keep her a virgin for a special date in the diary. The last entry wasn't about her planning to run away as everyone else seems to have assumed; it was about her planning to lose her virginity and I think she was abducted because of that.'

'But I don't understand why is it important that she stay a virgin?'

'I think somehow, our Lily has become mixed up in with some kind of cult or cabal, there are still people, groups out there who believe in human or virgin sacrifice on certain dates in the occult calendar. And the one coming up is one of the biggest in their year, at the end of this month is the Betaine Festival otherwise known as Walpurgis Night, 30th April.

Molly sat shell-shocked for a moment, 'so...oh God...you think she's being held somewhere so someone can rape her on that night?'

Sherlock nodded and looked back out of the window, 'if not worse, chances are it wouldn't just be one person but many plus historically there have been instances of actual human sacrifice. I've already asked Greg to send me a list of any similar cases and or murders which might tie in.'

It was a sign of how seriously Sherlock was taking this case that he'd used Lestrade's actual first name. Molly knew he got it wrong on a regular basis just to wind the Detective Inspector up.

They were silent for the rest of the journey Molly feeling a sense of foreboding over the coming days, hoping beyond hope that either Sherlock was wrong or he would be able to find the girl before anything more happened to her.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

It was just after four when they pulled into the small station at Almsbury. The weather had started to turn somewhat; looking overcast and ominous and Molly wondered if it was some kind of sign before internally berating herself for being so susceptible. She was a woman of science, a doctor, she should know better. But she couldn't help it she had always had a fascination with ghosts and the supernatural and on first inspection if there was going to be anywhere in England with superstitions it was going to be here in this small and isolated location. As they took an old, battered cab into the centre of the village Molly saw not only numerous old, thatched cottages but even various standing stones dotted around the outskirts.

They pulled up in front of the pub, which sat right on the edge of the silent village green and Molly almost laughed at the cliché, the pub was called The Witchfinder General. She turned to Sherlock, 'witches...really and standing stones, can this place be any more spooky?'

He smirked as he picked up their luggage, 'not afraid of ghosts are you? Come on, let's see if they've got rooms.'

The pub itself was advertised as having been built in the sixteenth century and it matched its credentials; Sherlock had to duck to get in through the door although Molly was just about OK. Once inside the ceiling and the ancient beams were quite low but just high enough that Sherlock could move around safely. As they walked towards the bar Molly was surprised to see an old well actually built into the middle of the pub. She'd never seen one inside a building like this before.

She glanced over the edge, there was a metal grating about three feet down but beyond that she couldn't see the bottom. A small plaque pinned on the side told her that it was built long before the pub and was over sixty feet deep. There was also a paragraph about it being used in the witch trials in the 1700's with the rumour that the bodies of five women were still lost in the bottom.

Molly shivered in disgust and hurried to catch up to Sherlock who was ordering a drink for them both at the bar and asking if they had a couple of rooms free.

The woman behind the bar nodded happily, 'oh yes, we only have three room in total but they're all available. Is it one or two you need?' She said cheerfully as she looked appraisingly at the two of them.

Molly blushed and smiled shyly at the thought of someone pairing her up with Sherlock but was brought back down with a bump by Sherlock's immediate and resounding, 'two, definitely two!'

'OK, well if you'd just like to fill out this slip I'll get you your keys. I can show you up when you've had your drink. Adrian can take your bags up now though. How does that sound?'

'Perfect, thanks,' answered Molly bending her head to fill out the form that Sherlock had pushed her way.

'Do you know how many nights you'll be here?'

Molly looked to Sherlock who answered, 'three initially but maybe longer. I'll pay in advance.' He then handed over what looked suspiciously to Molly like an American Express black card. She knew Sherlock had money but you had to be seriously loaded to get one of those cards.

A guy about their age came out from the kitchens when called and introduced himself as the afore mentioned Adrian. Molly took a real shine to him, he was very friendly and obviously gay. He chatted away happily asking where they'd travelled from and what brought them to Almsbury.

Molly was surprised by how verbose and open Sherlock was, he mentioned they were there for work but didn't say what and asked a few questions about the village and how long Adrian had lived there.

'God, all my life for my sins. I run the local drama school and work here part time. Meredith, the landlady runs the place and lets me hire a room as well. Couldn't be living at my parents in my thirties could I? Well, you can't if you want a sex life. Not that there's much going on here. I sometimes feel like the only gay in the village. You'll have to tell me all about yourselves, I get bored talking to the same old people, we need some fresh blood. Anyhoo, I'll take up your bags and leave them in your rooms.' He turned to Molly and winked, 'I'll give you the best one hey seeing as he's grumpy enough not to share with you...at least not yet, he will though, he will, just you mark my words. I'm renowned for my premonitions and I'm getting a strong one about the two of you.' He wagged his index finger back and forth between the two of them before he smiled again and then made his way to the small staircase at the back of the bar with their bags.

Molly was a little stunned by his meandering one-sided conversation but when she turned to Sherlock he just rolled his eyes. 'Before you even ask Molly I don't believe in clairvoyants, as I'm sure you don't. I got you a white wine and soda I trust that's satisfactory.'

Molly took the drink gratefully, already feeling like she needed it.

Still setting the scene. Hope you like it, let me know.