Just to clarify, after my last chapter, when I mentioned the end of the school holidays I mean my kids going back to school not me...unfortunately I'm a little too old for that :).

Chapter 12

As Molly followed Sherlock up the small loft ladder she was completely unprepared for the sight she was about to see. The sadly recognisable smell of death meant she knew there was a body up there but she had never seen one in such unusual circumstances.

The attic seemed to run for most of the length of the house although the eaves sloped sharply meaning that Sherlock could only stand upright in small portions of the space. He moved forwards slowly with his arm held out to warn Molly not to go past him.

Most of the sides of the room were filled with boxes and bags, Molly could see Christmas tinsel spilling out of one box and 'winter duvets' written on another. One space however was completely clear. In the centre of the attic was a space about twelve feet in diameter. In it, painted on the floor with what looked like red paint, was a five point star. The word pentacle floated through Molly's mind and seemed to be borne out by the rest of the scene. The point of each star had a burnt out, white candle and the valley's seemed to have silver bowls filled with a clear liquid, possibly even water.

Around the outside of the star was a circle made up of a white powder although one part was broken and the powder had blown across the star. There were also various symbols painted in white and red between the star and the circle. They looked, to Molly's inexperienced eye, like astrological symbols. As Molly took it all in she felt a strange sensation ripple up her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She kept glancing back at the gaping hole down to the main body of the house as though she expected to see something rising up through it.

The place felt wrong, evil somehow and it certainly wasn't helped by the body of the very dead Rev Tucker lying with his arms and legs stretched out like a grotesque Vitruvian Man; one hand holding a cross so tightly that blood had trickled down across his wrist. His hair was unkempt and he looked as though he hadn't shaved since their last meeting just a couple of days ago. His mouth was open in what looked like a scream with dried spittle and saliva on his chin.

It was his eyes that chilled Molly the most though. They were open; staring and bloodshot. He looked as if he hadn't slept for days and maybe he hadn't. There was an expression of pure terror in them and if Molly hadn't been a woman of science, a pathologist, she would have speculated that he had died of fright.

Sherlock was talking as he circled around the space occasionally using his phone to photograph a symbol or look something up. Once he'd finished with his photos he asked Molly to examine the body.

As she stepped into the circle and then the star she found herself feeling such a heavy sense of dread that it was all she could do not to just turn and run. It was only her desire to not let Sherlock down or let him see her fear that kept her focused and moving forward. She bent and examined the body testing the muscles for rigor mortis. She had to swallow heavily before she could speak to inform Sherlock that he had been dead for between eight and twelve hours, 'most of the muscles are now in rigor but not all so definitely not more than twelve.

As she stood back up and moved away the heaviness lifted a little but didn't go completely. She found herself feeling hot and claustrophobic with sweat starting to prickle down her back. Sherlock was talking and she forced herself to concentrate on his voice to distract herself.

'He was frightened, we already knew that, but what turned that fear into this. He seems to have tried to set up some kind of astral defence system, the pentacle, the candles, holy water and cabalic symbols. This is someone deeply entrenched in satanic rituals. Whatever was going on here he believed it and he believed he was no longer safe. Maybe he was having second thoughts, maybe he was going to tell us something and he knew the consequences.'

He touched his finger to the white powder and tasted it before Molly could stop him, 'Salt, another symbol of protection from demonic forces. This gap here though shows that he was disturbed, something or someone came to him and disturbed his protection, broke the 'spell'.' He air quoted as he moved around the space, 'I suspect you'll find he died of a massive heart attack Molly. The brain is an amazing thing but it can work against us sometimes.'

Molly frowned at Sherlock from the other side of the circle, 'so what, you think he actually did die of fright? That's ridiculous.'

'Is it Molly? You know the effects of stress on the heart. 'Broken Heart syndrome' is a recognised medical occurrence, is it so much of a leap that this man, who had been suffering from chronic stress and fear for a long time given the signs I saw when we met him, then went through an intense period of further excessive stress and fear culminating in something unknown which was such a jolt to his system it triggered a heart attack. Check the cortisol levels and I think you'll find they are excessively high pointing to long term stress.'

'Hang on, you keep saying I should do the autopsy but I'm completely out of area here. I have no authority or remit to do the autopsy.'

Sherlock just gave a 'pfft' noise as he bent to examine the dead man's hand with his magnifying glass, 'I expect there will also be traces of the same hallucinogen that we were given, though I'm not sure yet how he would have ingested it.'

He stood up and walked around the loft checking the small windows set into the roof and the marks around the loft hatch. 'Someone knew he was here, someone came to him and effectively scared him to death but how. I think the why is obvious but...'

'Hang on, it isn't obvious to me.'

Sherlock turned to her and sighed in exasperation but Molly just folded her arms across her chest and raised in eyebrow. Concentrating all her energies on Sherlock seemed to be helping to dampen down her fear.

'For whatever reason he'd become the weakest link, if he had talked he would have been able to tell us everything, who the ring leader is, where Lily is being kept hidden, everything. He had to be silenced.'

'They had to have used the loft hatch; no other entry point has been disturbed. Who knows what theatricals they could have used to cause fear, it's easily done using sound effects, smoke and mirrors.' He sniffed suddenly two or three times. Molly made her way over, 'what is it?'

'Faint traces of sulphur, the smell is quite unique. It's also associated with satanic power and the raising of demons.'

Once again Molly had that strange sensation of being watched, she swallowed with difficulty feeling all the terror she'd been ignoring swell up in her chest, blocking her throat, 'it's not real though is it, any of it?'

Sherlock didn't seem to notice anything unusual as he carried on poking through the boxes looking for any evidence. He shrugged, 'who knows Molly? "There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio than are dreamt of in your philosophy"'

She tried to smile, 'you know your Hamlet! I thought you would have deleted that kind of information.'

'You'd be surprised Molly how much a good working knowledge of the classics is needed in crime fighting. Now why haven't we heard any sign of the police or ambulances?'

He turned and rapidly descended out of the loft leaving Molly alone with the body. She felt a sudden shuddering terror grip her, which had nothing to do with the dead body lying less than ten feet from her. She was used to being with the dead. In fact she often preferred their company to being with the living, they were so much easier and less complicated. You couldn't be a pathologist and be squeamish but there was something about this place; this house, this village that had her second guessing her beliefs in science.

Within seconds she was following Sherlock out of the loft and down the stairs. She found him at the front door looking up and down the street with a frown on his face. He only noticed her when she clutched at his arm needing to connect with him to escape the horrible, prickling sensation of terror that seemed to have seeped through her system.

It was when he glanced down at her that he finally seemed to notice that something was wrong. He turned to face her holding onto the tops of her arms as he stared intently into her eyes, 'Molly, are you feeling alright?'

Molly's paranoia spiked again, 'why? What's wrong?'

'Your eyes, the pupils are pin pricks, it's as though you've been drugged. Tell me how you feel.'

Her hands gripped his forearms through his coat, 'scared, I feel scared.' She could feel the tears springing into her eyes and it was almost a relief to let it out. The feelings that had been building from the moment they had stepped into the loft.

'Come outside and get some fresh air, the hallucinogen must be airborne in the attic somehow.'

He sat Molly down on the low stone wall outside the vicarage and as she took big gulps of air she had to admit she was starting to feel a little better, 'but why aren't you affected?'

He turned from the phone he was tapping away on, 'higher, long term resistance to drugs, concentration and focus on the scene...' He put the phone to his ear, 'yes, police and ambulance please, there's been a death...'

He gave the details of the vicarage before pocketing his phone and making his way over to sit next to Molly. He tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes again. 'There, feeling better. I suspect most of it had worn off, you just got the tail ends of it. Whoever was after Tucker must have used it to ramp up his fear levels.'

It was then that Molly remembered the verger. 'Ken, where did he go?'

Sherlock shook his head, 'not sure. I'm suspecting he knows enough about what's going on in this village to not want to be involved. He's proverbially scarpered.'

Sherlock was still holding Molly's chin and as the conversation ceased there was a moment where they were just looking at each other. Molly felt the fear start to mellow and soften. She saw Sherlock's pupils dilating as he looked at her and felt her heart flip over suddenly as the atmosphere changed. He slowly lowered his face to hers until their eyes closed and their lips met in a slow, sweet kiss that held the promise of things to come.

Molly didn't want it to end but the sound of sirens in the distance brought them back to the real world. Sherlock smirked as he moved his hand from her face, 'feeling better now Doctor Hooper, no more worries about things that go bump in the night.'

She smiled back, 'no if anything I'm hoping for a bit of bump and maybe some grind in the night, Mister Holmes.' She was amused to see a slight blush appear on his cheeks before he stood to greet the emergency services.

Sherlock got his own way in the end and a call from Mycroft to the local pathology unit had Molly back in a lab coat and conducting the autopsy on the vicar. Sherlock was right, he had died from a massive heart attack and there were both high levels of cortisol in his system as well as clear indications of the mind altering drugs. However, convincing the police that this was more than a natural death was a different matter.

The initial police officers attending the scene were very open to the idea of treating it as a crime scene but as soon as a more senior officer arrived the whole thing started to get shut down. 'This is just a case of a death due to natural causes, Mister Holmes. I think you're just seeing what you want to see.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and with his hands behind his back rose up to his full height, 'and how long have you known the deceased?'

'Not that it's any business of yours but most of my life and it's long been known that he has heart problems.'

'And I'm sure you know the meaning of the symbols surrounding the body. Am I right?'

At this the officer flushed an angry red and took a step closer to Sherlock facing him down, 'if you are trying to imply something you can forget it. You might be able to get Scotland Yard to do your bidding but you are nothing here...a nobody. I can't force you to leave this village but I can tell you to stay out of any business that isn't your own and that includes this investigation, so, Mister Holmes, you...can bloody well just piss off.'

I'd love to know your opinion about this chapter and the death. My inspiration for this whole fic came from the Dennis Wheatley books in particular To The Devil A Daughter. I hope I've done it justice.

Oh and I couldn't resist the Hamlet quote, would love to see Ben's performance in that again, I'd buy the DVD in a heartbeat if they ever deigned to sell it to us.