Note: Hello all, the case is soon coming to an end. Thank you again for your reviews, alerts and favourites - every one of you made me extremely happy. Hope you enjoy reading!
Note 2: Updated and hopefully typo-free version of the chapter - Thanks to superlc529 for pointing out :)
"Okay, so do you have a plan for… for whatever happens now?"Sherlock and John sat in the cab together while the detective explained to his friend everything he had observed during his talk with Phil and later his escape.
"Yes. We go there, get in there, find the bodies, as well as Phil and Miller. Then, Phil will have an unpleasant accident and Miller will get arrested by Lestrade who will have met up with us beforehand." Sherlock said all of it very calmly and matter-of-factly. John frowned.
"An unpleasant accident? Sherlock, you cannot… Lestrade will-"
"Don't be afraid, I will not kill him. Well, I'm not planning to at the moment." Sherlock's expression was one of pure hate.
John opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of how to say what he was going to say delicately. "So, you really like her, then?"
Sherlock didn't react right away. He wanted to respond with one of his typical condescending phrases to somehow distract from the real gravity behind John's question. But, for once he thought about his words before they came out and did not want to say something he would later regret.
"He was going to kill her, John."
"Look, I know I said you should leave her alone and all. But if you really-"
"John, I… could we discuss this later, please?"
He really wanted to discuss it with John. He wanted to know how to get rid of these unwelcomed emotions. After trying to deal with everything himself, he had to give in and admit that simply avoiding the thought of Molly wasn't going to work, she was always coming back in his, sometimes rather inappropriate, dreams. Well, maybe if he gave it some more time? Anyway, this was not the best of times to give the doctor an insight into his hear- … into his thoughts. For now, the weird feelings of attachment were not helpful in bringing this case to an end. But, no matter how much he tried, Sherlock couldn't completely shake away Molly's scared face and her crouched body on the cold floor, the scalpel so close to her throat. If he had come only minutes later…
John saw his friend visibly, almost violently, shake his head then. It probably was for the best not to dive into the topic again. He was astounded that Sherlock had put him down by merely delaying the conversation. And he'd even said 'please'. Was he actually willing to talk to John about all of it? That must have been a first. But then again, John thought, Sherlock having girl trouble in general is a first. Maybe he is the chatty type in this singular thematic sphere? The blond man highly doubted it, though.
_.:0:._
Three streets away from Beefy Stuart's slaughterhouse, Sherlock told the cabby to stop and paid him. When they had gotten out, they were greeted by a shyly smiling Greg Lestrade. He looked as if he couldn't quite believe he'd been invited to tag along with them.
"Hello boys. Here at your call. Now, where do we start?"
John gave Sherlock a sideway glance and raised an eyebrow. And, as if to answer the unspoken question of his friend, Sherlock said, "they are both potentially violent. We'll be quicker if we outnumber them. Plus, Lestrade is the only one of the Yard bunch who can manage to sport a minimum level of subtlety, we don't need a fuss."
Lestrade looked proud at Sherlock's words and had obviously decided to only hear the positive parts of his statement. Although, he added, "you do realise I could get in a lot of trouble, coming here without any backup? If something goes wrong, we-"
"Well, gentlemen, let's start. The back entrance will be most convenient." With that, Sherlock put up his collar to compensate for his now missing scarf and started walking towards the meat market's slaughterhouse. The alleys were small in this outer part of Croydon and it was beginning to get dark. John glanced at his watch as he briefly thought back on the eventful day they'd had. 5.47 pm.
_.:0:._
Molly felt blissfully numb as a nurse put bandages around her freshly stitched up thigh. She had to have been unconscious for half an hour, maybe. Her eyes wandered to her right hand and she could see the canula attached to her with tape. She followed the little tube until she found the bottle of morphine it was attached to. A wry smile spread across Molly's face, although she had no idea why she smiled. "That must bee a generous 'mount of morpheene you've given meee…haha."
The nurse only simpered and nodded before resuming her work. When she was finished, she said, "so, Dr Hooper, that's it. I'll leave you to rest now," and exited the room. Molly smiled weakly in response and turned her head a bit. Only now did she see the pile of clothes on the small dresser next to her bed. Her trousers were destroyed completely. Not only were they soaked with blood but also large cuts had separated the material in several places. The paramedic had probably done this to have better access to her wound. On top of the pile was something dark. Only after some moments of intense staring did Molly recognise what it was. Sherlock's scarf.
Molly was sure the drugs were enhancing her emotions, but all of a sudden she felt pleasantly warm and she recalled Sherlock's face hovering above her. She knew he'd been genuinely scared. Remembering his hands on her legs made her shiver. Sherlock caring for her; he looked so raw and… vulnerable. It was almost too much for Molly to bear. Could it be that he actually - ? No, don't think that, do not entertain these thoughts. You only wish for him to feel that way for you. It somehow made it worse to see what he could be like – so gentle. Getting a glimpse of the soft side of Sherlock but knowing that he would never truly be able to feel what she wanted him to feel for her; it somehow was worse than being confronted with a cold and uncaring man. A few silent tears streamed down her cheeks before she fell asleep. Her exhaustion and the drugs took over.
_.:0:._
When the three men arrived at a small but thick steel door at the back of the slaughterhouse, Sherlock took out a tiny pin, prepared to pick the lock. But, when he leaned on the door for support, it gave way and swung open with a silent squeal. "That's a bit careless, isn't it?" John asked no one in particular. With a slightly surprised look on his face, Sherlock nodded and led the way into the building.
They entered into a dark corridor. No noises could be heard when they carefully approached another door. This one wasn't made of steel but was bigger than the first. Sherlock stopped in front of it and gestured for everyone to be extremely quiet. Through a small slit at the bottom, a peculiar light shone through into the dark corridor. Not cast by an ordinary bulb, Sherlock thought, narrow pattern of shadows probably several neon tubes. It's very bright in this room.
Gingerly, John put his ear to the door in an attempt to listen to possible goings-on on the other side. Looking at his friend and the DI after half a minute, he shook his head. Sherlock nodded again and looked at the handle of the door in front of him. He whispered one word before grabbing it.
"Guns."
Greg and John immediately put a hand to their waists to take out their guns determinedly. At the same time, Sherlock slowly opened the door, keenly peaking and wanting to find out what waited on the other side. Half of him wanted to find the room deserted and empty while the other half ached to find Phil waiting with a weapon, giving him an excellent excuse to attack him and break his neck.
What he found, however, wasn't Phil or Miller but made him breath in sharply, nonetheless. Sherlock Holmes was astounded – for the first time in a long while. Only after a few seconds he felt the cold. It was colder than outside in there, he estimated the temperature to be about six degrees Celsius. Lestrade and John had settled on either side of him and were looking around with big eyes and open mouths. Their exhaled breaths formed little clouds in front of their faces.
The men had entered not a room but a big hall, white tiles on the floor but only small windows at an unusual height, probably ten to twelve feet up. Despite the small windows, the hall was lit brightly by many neon tubes, which were dangling from the high ceiling. The atmosphere was very sterile.
The disused main hall of the slaughterhouse had been converted into a state of the art laboratory. High tech microscopes, some ultrasonic devices and even a mass spectrometer sat on big desks lining the walls. In the middle of the hall, three metal slabs had been assembled. Next to each was a small tray with a standard set of surgical instruments. Also, on one of those slabs lay the reason the men were all taken aback: the corpse of a dead child, a young girl not older than eight. Sherlock heard John swallow thickly next to him.
"This is where they experiment on the bodies, then," Lestrade said with a slightly shaking voice.
"You haven't eaten for at least nine hours," Sherlock answered, his eyes already darting around the room, having regained his calm appearance. Both the DI and John looked at him with raised brows. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were playing a game of 'state the obvious facts'".
"Sherlock, don't you have any-?" John bit out a little too harshly.
"Be quiet, John," Sherlock whispered as he tentatively walked over to the corpse. Something was odd. When he was getting closer, he could see that someone had started to perform an autopsy on the girl. Her chest had been cut already but the ribcage had not been completely opened. Whoever did this was distracted after beginning the procedure.
_.:0:._
Molly had slipped into a weird dream. Everything seemed blurred and what she saw was either too dark or too bright, even though she couldn't make out any source of light. She didn't know where she was; it wasn't a room but also not outside. In a filmic fashion, several scenes played in front of her.
First, it was some medley of all her dates with David; then his shocked face when he had been confronted with Sherlock and her in the dark lab. It hovered motionless in front of her eyes like it was the cliffhanger scene in a bad soap opera.
Next, she saw Phil threatening her. It was similar to what had actually happened in the morgue. But everything happened faster and every movement and expression was exaggerated. Also, instead of a scalpel, he was holding a big gun (one of those Molly knew from James Bond films) to her head.
Suddenly, Sherlock and John appeared. John was dressed in an army uniform and was carrying a ridiculously big machine gun. Sherlock wore his usual trousers and a blue shirt, which was, however, torn and hanging open in several well-placed regions. The picture of both men being another cliffhanger in her mental film, the scene changed again.
Now, Sherlock was holding her bridal style and carrying her around, apparently without a destination. He simply stared at her and looked delicious doing it. Slowly, her vision got blurred again before everything slipped away and Molly continued sleeping dreamlessly.
_.:0:._
As Sherlock was standing in front of the corpse, the other men came closer to the slab as well, Lestrade not quite able to look at the dead girl. John, having assimilated to and absorbed some of Sherlock's behaviour, also started scanning the body as well as all the surroundings. "The corpse has not been lying here for long. It was stored in a much colder place until very recently," he stated.
"That's what I thought as well. Which leaves two questions: Where is the body, as well as all the others, usually stored? And where is the person who put it here - and started cutting it open - now?"
"One of the answers is quickly given. The person is here!" The voice Sherlock heard entirely too close behind him was unfamiliar but nonetheless he knew who it had to be. This was exactly how he had imagined the voice of Piers Miller to sound like. John and Lestrade turned around instantly, readying their guns. However, they were met with Phil, Miller and a third man, all with guns of their own, already pointed at each of the three other men's faces.
"As for the second question concerning the whereabouts of the other corpses," Miller continued, "rather soon you will find that out as well!"