Thank you to all of you who review or follow or favourite. I am forever grateful for your support and enthusiasm. I know I write for my own fulfilment but it's nice to realise I'm not posting into a void. And to all those with me in Britain it's a glorious day and I'm thinking it might just be Spring...yay.

Chapter 17

Sherlock didn't sleep much that night. He had spent the evening planning who he needed to see and any other leads he could follow up to try to find Lily before night fell and the ceremony began. At least with such a large ceremony to prepare for there were a few 'rats' he could check up on to see where they were and what they were doing.

As he lay in the dark with Molly asleep at the side of him, her arm flung over his chest and her breath on his shoulder he thought back to that moment as they left the forest when he had almost walked away from her.

He had to admit that it had been a shock to see Karl's body. He had assumed he had taken the train and hadn't given it another thought. It had been remiss if him to not follow up with John to see whether he had arrived. That along with the excessive force used on the body and his growing realisation of his feelings for Molly had combined in his outburst. He had suddenly felt just like he had that day at Barts; as though he were stepping off the ledge into thin air, but this time there was nothing to break his fall.

The thought of something happening to Molly made his chest tighten and his heart beat faster. He had been afraid for John before, like the time he'd been left in the bonfire by Magnussen but it paled against something happening to Molly. For that moment, with the rain mirroring his soul, it had seemed easier and less painful to walk away. But he had underestimated the fire burning within his Molly. He should have known, after all he'd been on the receiving end of it more than once before; the Christmas party where she'd called him out for his scathing comments and the day he'd tested positive for drugs.

He smiled to himself in the dark, yes he hadn't considered Molly's part in his selfish decision. And she'd been right to call him on it. Lying here, thinking more objectively, he could never have left her, not now. He couldn't have stood by and watched her getting on with her life, maybe meeting someone else...his hands fisted at the mere thought of his Molly with another man. No, there were precautions they would have to take. On the positive front she would need to move into Baker St. He would need to broach the subject with her soon. He had to admit he liked the idea of having her around and not just for the sex. If he were honest he had been lonely since John had moved out. The negative was that it would mean him accepting the higher security detail from Mycroft. His brother had been trying to force it on him ever since he'd returned from his non-existent exile but now there was a reason for him to accept it.

He slid down a little in the bed and Molly rolled over in her sleep. He felt the loss of her arm around him and curled himself around her smaller form; his hand wrapped around her waist holding her too him. He kissed her head before giving himself over to sleep.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

By the time Molly awoke Sherlock was already gone. He'd left her a note stating that he'd gone to check out a couple of possible locations for the tunnel system and he'd be back around lunchtime. He also asked her to talk to Meredith. She was the one person they knew was involved that they hadn't yet spoken too and Sherlock thought Molly appealing to her maternal instincts might help. Other than that his only other comment was a strict instruction for her to not leave the pub and to stay with others as much as possible.

Molly made her way through to her own bedroom and started to dress. It was another dismal day and she had to use the main light in the room as there was little light coming in from outside. As she took off her nightshirt and put on her underwear the bulb buzzed and flickered causing her to look up at it in concern. It happened again. This time she turned off the main light and used the bedside lamp instead. It was all fine for five minutes but as she bent to out on her boots it went out with a sudden click leaving the room in semi-darkness.

'Damn', she leant forward and clicked it on and off. She was about to turn on the main light when she felt a prickling sensation across the back of her neck and her scalp. Almost immediately her heart started to race and her mouth went dry. The fear she'd felt in that same room a few days ago flooding back.

As she stood to leave a coldness washed over her making her shiver and at the same time she heard someone whisper her name, but not just anyone. The voice was so familiar it brought tears to her eyes...'dad?'

Her eyes searched the gloomy room but there was no one there but she suddenly realised she could smell him, that old fashioned brylcreem that he had used in his hair every day until the day he had died mixed with Imperial Leather soap. The coldness was still there but Molly didn't feel so scared anymore. She smiled and called out again...'dad? Dad, are you there?'

Once again she heard her name whispered behind her making her swing around but again there was nothing. She was about to speak again when the bedside lamp suddenly turned back on and heat flooded back over her. Molly had never experienced anything like it and she collapsed into the edge of the bed with her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs. Whilst she had been initially scared, the possibility of her dad having reached out to her from behind just filled her with joy.

Twenty minutes later though, as she sat downstairs eating her breakfast she was contemplating whether she were actually going mad. It had seemed so real at the time but now she was in a lit room with other people milling about it seemed a little ridiculous to think she might have been visited by the ghost of her dad. She had never believed in ghosts until now and maybe there was some rational explanation for what had just happened to her.

Just at that moment Meredith came out from the kitchens and as she walked past Molly's table Molly called to her, 'hi Meredith, have you been having any problems with the electricity this morning?'

Meredith came over with a slightly puzzled look on her face, 'no, not that I've been aware of. Have you been having problems?' She looked upwards to indicate the top floor.

'Well...the light and lamp in my bedroom were both flickering earlier and the lamp stopped working for about thirty seconds, that's all.'

'You mean the big room?'

Molly nodded.

Meredith smiled and sat down on the chair opposite, 'yes, that happens. Did you have a visit?'

'I'm sorry, a what?'

'A visit, you know from the other side. It's not a regular occurrence as such but every so often we have a guest who's maybe a little more sensitive from most and they have a visit, normally a loved one who's past but occasionally it's one of the girls.' She indicated towards the well.

Molly swallowed heavily feeling nervous about how the conversation was playing out. She had wanted reassurance that it was all easily explained but Meredith seemed to be confirming that the exact opposite was true.

'I..err..my dad.' She cleared her throat and spoke a bit louder, 'I thought for a moment that my dad was in the room but that can't be. He...he died about ten years ago.'

Meredith reached out and out her hand over Molly's, 'he must have loved you very much. It's not easy to come through, it takes effort. He'd be wanting you to know how much he loved you.'

'Have you ever seen anyone?'

Meredith sighed and looked down at the table for a minute before lifting her head and smiling, 'my son. He died seven years ago in a motorbike accident. He was only nineteen...too young...far too young. Three times I've seen him.'

Molly suddenly saw her opening, remembering Sherlock's note from earlier, 'I'm so sorry. You must really identify with Melissa's pain at the moment over the loss of her daughter. Losing a child is the worst thing we can ever endure.'

She didn't even try to dissemble, her face hardened and she pulled away from Molly's touch, 'there's no comparison in our situations. Sometimes there's a reason and sometimes there just isn't. Her daughter's not dead...at least not yet,' at Molly's gasp she quickly added, 'they haven't found any body that is. There's more going on here than you realise and you'd be better staying well out of it.'

She moved to stand up and Molly reached out to her once more, 'please Meredith, if you know something...if you know where Lily is, please tell me...please. She must be so scared and alone. She's only seventeen.'

'I don't know nothing and even if I did I doubt I'd tell you. Think you can come here with your posh fella, asking questions, causing trouble. You don't understand anything about this village about the people who live here and you never will.'

With that she pulled away and left Molly to her breakfast, but Molly just pushed the plate away untouched. Had she said the wrong thing, asked the wrong questions? She suddenly felt the weight and responsibility that came with Sherlock's role, the feeling of someone's life or death hanging on your own competence to ask or say the right thing. She didn't envy him his job.

In the end it was just after three in the afternoon when Sherlock came back. Molly had spent most of the time either in the pub itself or in the beer garden, which is where she was when he caught up with her. He soon quizzed her about her conversation with Meredith huffing in disappointment at the way it had gone. Molly found herself skipping over the part about her dad; she just couldn't see Sherlock taking it seriously and didn't feel strong enough about the subject for his ridicule.

His own leads had led nowhere. Hugh was in London working and wasn't due back until the following day and Lord Sladen was with some of his house guests up on the golf course. He even called into the police station which was situated in the local town to enquire about the whereabouts of the police chief but had learnt that whilst he was working he had no available appointment slots until a week on Tuesday.

Sherlock picked at the open packet of crisps lying on the table in front of Molly absent-minded lay eating them. 'The ceremony is unlikely to take place until just before midnight, that's the time when they would believe they would gain the greatest power from the act whether it's rape or actual murder. We have...' He glanced at his watch which showed the time to be four o'clock, 'eight hours to go and no leads.'

He sat back in his chair and ruffled his hands through his hair before opening his eyes and staring at the tree in the centre of the garden. He steepled his hands under his chin, his elbows on the wooden arms of the garden chair and sat in silence thinking.

Molly leant forwards wanting to offer him some support. 'You'll figure it out I know you will. The answers probably right under your nose.'

He ignored her and closed his eyes. Molly didn't take offence, she knew how absorbed he could get in a case and he needed to be, he had to be single-minded and focused. She felt a little guilty in some ways for all the distractions that starting a relationship with her must have given him but she hoped it was worth it...it certainly was to her.

Just then Sherlock exploded out if his chair, 'yes, Molly that's it, you're brilliant.' He leant over the table and kissed her hard on the mouth before disappearing into the pub leaving a stunned Molly in his wake.

So we're starting to build towards the climax of the story though still a few chapters to go. Any last thoughts on who's behind all this, and are you a believer in the supernatural or not?