When Sherlock saw the runes and symbols painting the home of a fallen man, his hand acted on it's own accord, resolving to call Molly. Lestrade and John both gave him odd looks as he actually decided to call, "What Sherlock? I was sleeping."
"You were not sleeping you sound perfectly awake."
"Actually yeah I am, I'm busy though."
"I think this will be worth your time, shall I give you the address?"
He heard a begrudging sigh, "The things I do for you, mortal. Shall I make it five minutes to look like I was nearby? I already know where you are."
"Yeah, oh you're nearby, that's excellent. See you soon then." Sherlock hung up, gaining only now noticing Lestrade and John's disbelief.
"Who was that?"
"Oh. It was Molly. She interned on a case similar to this. Same symbols." Sherlock gestured rather feebly, before turning around, "She should be here in about—"
"Oh dear." Molly was suddenly there, looking around "This is a tinsy bit not good."
"What do you know about this, Molly?" Lestrade asked, Sherlock stiffening as he touched her arm.
"Oh. It's an occult sacrifice of sorts." Molly replied, seeming to forget herself in staring at the runes, "They're symbols derived from pictographs and Gaelic, referring to the old festival of Samhaim. That's Halloween. Usually, it's a peaceful celebration of spirits, when the veil between worlds is thinnest, but these runes are mocking it." Molly pointed at one, "Blood." "Hatred." Another, "Bitter ends. It means that they are bitter about the death of a loved one, and by making the sacrifice—this is life—they will tear the veil and bring them back." Turning back towards them, she looked at the body, "Seven wounds in all right? Seven bodies, wounds, it equals forty-nine. Forty nine times three—she pointed to the triangle drawn on the floor in blood, "is one hundred and forty-seven."
"And what's the significance of that number?" Lestrade's eyebrows were raised.
"That's the odd part. There is no significance. This ritual—black magic if you may—is meant to have three bodies, a three pointed triangle, and three stab wounds. A triad of threes equals nine, the most powerful number. Either this person is tweaking the ritual, or has absolutely no idea what they're doing."
"Really to think people think it actually works—" John started, and Molly and Sherlock found themselves sharing a conspiratorial smile.
"Well that's all I have for you." Molly stiffened and suddenly squeaked, "Uh…actually we should get out of here, like now." They gave her quizzical looks, "The killer is here."
Suddenly the door of the loo was blown off its hinges completely of its own accord. A woman emerged, with a look that could freeze hell in the direction of Molly, "Oh. So you're still meddling huh? It's been what? Two hundred years, Molly? I'd have thought you'd have gotten bored by now. I certainly am." Lestrade tried to shoot at her, but the bullet immediately flew off to the side and embedded itself into the wall.
"Oh I'm very bored, Cassandra. Entertain me, what's with the sevens? Oh and why were you hiding in the loo?"
"I wasn't hiding there, that's just where I appeared. Transport spells are nasty buggers. You're the only one I know that actually goes where you want to go."
"I remember when you got stuck in the wall of an Abby! That was hysterical. They thought you were a miracle!" Molly laughed, but then grew serious, "Again, we can reminisce later, for now I'd like to know why you're preying on mortals."
Sherlock cast a glance at John and Lestrade, both of whom looked so absolutely clueless that he almost wanted to laugh. They were barely following the conversation, but they were obviously having trouble processing the words being spoken by both parties.
"I am weak. I thought sevens would bring him back better than threes. Sevens were his favorite number."
"You could have come to me."
"And pay a hideous price? I much prefer just killing the mortals and using them for the spell."
"You need a witch too, you know. Is that why you sent that daughter of yours to kill me?"
"No. she thought she'd do it herself, and manages to prey on the one immortal witch other than me in the city. Sorry about that by the way, must have made quite the mess."
"She did tear one of my paintings."
"Oh shame." Cassandra frowned, "I try so hard, but she's at that rebellious stage in life. One day, she's a one year old infant, just pleased to be fed, next day; she's a hundred and thinks you're an idiot. Honestly I'm at my wit's end. I wouldn't be surprised if she went and joined one of those new fangled part time covens. Seriously a coven should be a commitment, not like a random retail job."
"Well maybe you should talk to her, open up communication a bit between you."
"She's still upset with me about her father."
"Bringing him back won't fix it. That's like having a baby to fix a relationship, or getting a puppy because you're lonely."
"Yeah. I will. So uhm, it was good to see you, we should definitely go out for coffee sometime, maybe meet my daughter without stabbing being involved. It will be just like old times. Except, without the whole stuffing each other into the guillotine."
"I said I was sorry!"
"Nah I wasn't angry, I just couldn't find my head for a bit. So I kind of have another ritual to get to and I've already done like six already…so Monday sound good?"
"Totally." Molly waved, and Cassandra walked out the door. The other members of the room were too confused—or in Sherlock's case shocked—to do anything to stop her. She turned towards them with an amicable shrug, "We were total besties during the Reign of Terror. We kind of grew apart. Shame huh? She's a great friend."
"…Reign of terror?" John finally broke the silence.
"Oh right." Molly snapped, John and Lestrade both falling to the floor. She whispered something and they disappeared, "Okay they should wake up in their beds, and the police report will become a missing person."
"You're letting her kill people."
"I can't intervene with another witch's deeds. It's kind of a law. Also if I piss her off, there's nothing worse than ANOTHER immortal witch hating your guts." Molly grinned, throwing her hand across the room. It was suddenly cleansed of blood and the body disappeared. She frowned slightly upon the finished product, "It's not very nice. But it's reality."
