Title: The Ghost in the Game
Author: EmmyAngua
Rating: 15
Genre: Thriller, Mystery, Darkfic
Warnings: Implied torture. Bad language.
Ships: Implied Sherlock/John, Molly/Other.
Summary: Moriarty has a secret. When Molly Hooper gets closer to it than anyone has before she knows her chances of survival are zero. But what is it? And how does it involve a missing scientist, Irene Adler, a deserted Manor House, and some mysterious hauntings at 221b Baker Street?
Chapter 5
It was getting beyond a joke. It was the fifth night this week.
John wouldn't have minded as much if it was loud screaming sex waking him up. People who have loud screaming sex probably know their neighbours can hear them and are fine with the arrangement. But the soft murmurs and puffs of laughter seemed intimate and personal and John didn't like feeling guilty for trying to sleep in his own bedroom.
Being intensely British he would never have usually broached the subject, even if their sexual antics prevented him from ever sleeping again, but it'd been a very difficult few weeks (being kidnapped and nearly blown up can be like that) and when he bumped into Steve from next door by the bins he dived straight in to the conversation.
"Look," he said, "I don't know if you know, but the walls between our bedrooms are thinner than they look and if you are um, going to, y'know… you should just know that it's not quite as private and you think."
Steve's expression, as he would tell a gossip hungry Mrs. Hudson later, was a picture. It was almost as if he'd turned to granite. For a moment John was worried for his safety.
"I don't think so mate," he snapped. "'Cause Rich moved out a month ago to shack-up with my former personal trainer."
That night John told himself that there was no possible way that anyone could be having sex near enough for him to overhear it. Steve and Rich were getting divorced and the flat on the other side was unoccupied; he'd checked.
But the more he listened the more convinced he was that the noise sounded closer than ever. Almost as if it was coming from the same room.
It all came to a head the next day, saving John from having to broach the subject of the mysterious sex to Sherlock.
Mrs. Hudson flew into the room in a flurry of tears and accusations.
"I have had enough!" she wailed. "It's beyond a joke! I'll freely admit that my memory isn't what it was, but that's the fourth time today I've gone to walk through a door that doesn't exist anymore! And before you say it's my mind playing tricks on me, I can tell you that there hasn't been a door in that wall since before I was born! And the last straw came when I went into my own kitchen for some cake and there's an urchin looking up at me asking to see 'Mr. Holmes!'"
"I don't think you're supposed to call them urchins-" began John.
"John, he was ten seconds away from bursting into 'I'd Do Anything'. He was Victorian!" Sherlock opened his mouth but Mrs. Hudson was in full rant form. "And then there's that business with your phantom telegram and John hearing those shenanigans going on when next door have split up-"
Sherlock swivelled his eyes towards John. John wished she'd left that part out – he didn't fancy Sherlock demanding details.
"-and before you say 'oh she's on her herbal soothers' again, I've not had any in a month (it's so expensive nowadays.) As the two resident clever-clogs I expect you to sort it out! This place is haunted and I want you to do something about it."
She flounced off - possibly to drain the last dregs of her herbal supply.
When Moriarty turned up Molly was almost pleased. Admittedly it's a pleasure that takes the form of numbing terror; both at what has been happening in the outside world and what would shortly happen to her, but he was the cleanest thing she'd seen in three months.
"Mollidith," he gave her another crushing kiss, and her mouth was so dry and rotten that she almost welcomed the fresh moisture it offered. "Have you been enjoying yourself with your lovely companions? They haven't been causing trouble have they?"
Molly shook her head and he looked disappointed.
"Mind you they're pretty boring. If it wasn't for them being a gift from my great-grandfather I'd have killed them all off by now. Where's Two?"
She jerked her chin towards the corner and Moriarty grinned. Two was sitting like she had first seen him – eyes glazed, looking like a living corpse. He made no movement to suggest he even knew anyone was in the room with him.
"He's my favourite. There's no trace of the original person in One. And no one can see Five to enjoy his suffering. But with Two, you know he's in there…trapped inside his own head."
He stalked over to Two and crouched down in front of him. "Don't know I'm here, do you old man? Can't see. Can't hear. Can't talk. Mind you…" he leaned in close to the man's hooked nose, "you can still feel pain…am I right?"
It happened so quickly that Molly shrieked in surprise.
Two – old and frail as he looked – lunged forward and grabbed the front of Moriarty's jacket.
Moriarty staggered backwards, but the old man didn't let go and was pulled along. In the end Moriarty, looking deeply unsettled, gave Two an almighty shove backwards.
Something cracked as Two hit the wall, a broken hip maybe, and he panted in silent agony.
"Fucking lunatics," muttered Moriarty as he dusted himself off.
Molly darted forward to do what she could for Two, which was practically nothing in the current situation. She crouched in front of him, muttering soothing words that she knew he really could hear.
Two grabbed her own hands and squeezed them like a lifeline. He gave a guttural groan, like a man trying to yell in pain but couldn't…
"Leave him!" snapped Moriarty.
Molly hesitantly stood, but before she untangled her hands from Two's fingers, she froze in surprise.
Two had slipped a thin, cold rectangle into her hands, and given her a wan smile that was hidden from Moriarty's eyes. He'd stolen her phone from Moriarty.
"Take her," Moriarty ordered.
Two goons (different ones this time) stepped forward to drag her forcibly down the narrow stairs she had originally entered by. She barely had time to stuff the phone into her pocket.
Before she left she strained to look at Two. He looked almost…happy. He had finally enacted his revenge. He'd tricked the Moriartys a second time and he believed she would be able to call for help, and thereby bring about Moriarty's downfall.
If only, she thought desperately, it was as easy as that.
Downstairs a steel door was. Even with the men's torches she couldn't make out more than the doorway.
She was led down another set of concrete stairs into the basement and, for a moment, she was quite stunned at the sight that met her eyes. The room was cavernous. Electric light flooded the space and computer screens glowed on every work bench. Glass test tubes and distillation machines shone, and silver medical implements sparkled on silver trays.
It all looked so wonderfully…clean.
She was steered forward to the centre of the room, where a dentistry chair awaited her.
Molly's survival instinct, which had been momentarily stunned by her culture shock at the new location, kicked in. She kicked, screamed at, and bit her captors; a woman of 5' 2'' is no match for three large men.
She was bundled into the seat and strapped in so tightly that it hurt her chest to breathe. Even her head was forced still – she could only turn her a fraction to either side, leaving the trays of scalpels and pincers to menace her from the very corner of her eye.
Directly in front of her, taking up all of her vision, was a white wall on which was projected a blue power-point presentation. Moriarty stood next to it, as if waiting for her to quiet down and give him all her attention. He looked like a young executive about to launch into last month's sales figures.
"I've got a lot to explain," he said to her incredulous expression. "This keeps the dunces from falling behind. Fear seems to dull the brain to the finer details of a brilliantly executed plan."
"Why are you telling me? Isn't that, like, villain 101, Don't Tell the Hero the Plan?" she rasped.
Moriarty laughed. "D'you really think you're the hero?"
Molly ignored the insult. Instead she tried to sneak her hand into the pocket where she had slipped her cell phone. He couldn't really see her that well, the area they were in was shadowy and the projector light was blaring into his face. Her arms were bound so tightly that her fingers could barely brush the edge of the buttons. She knew that her chances of summoning help were impossible, but it was her only hope. Her fingers ached from stretching.
He gave a fake grin and clicked the first slide. It said, simply;
Sherlock Holmes
"Sherlock Holmes was born in 1861…"
A/N: Not long to go now… then all will make sense! Please let me know what you think!