A/N: I own nothing, thank you all for reading, sorry it took so long, enjoy the chapter!
It was supposed to be a fraud, the hijacking of the British airwaves by a back-from-the-dead Jim Moriarty. The feed had been traced back to a disgruntled ex-government employee with a history of mental instability, a flair for the dramatic, and a genius for computer hacking. He'd claimed it was 'just a joke', the timing declared a coincidence since he'd had no knowledge of Sherlock's exile.
Some joke. Jim Moriarty really was alive and well. And now he had Molly Hooper and Sherlock's unborn child as hostages against his good behavior.
Judge Harding had done as Moriarty directed, not even attempting first aid on Sherlock's bleeding form until the full thirty minutes the madman had dictated had passed. Sherlock had started coming round not long after John and Mary had been released from the closet, head pounding and blood in his eyes and his only thoughts of Molly and the baby. He'd been forced to stay behind and wait for Lestrade and his officers because of the injury, while John and Mary raced to Baker Street to (fruitlessly, as it would turn out) attempt to stop the kidnapping of their six-month-old daughter.
Judge Harding was in custody; his kidnapped granddaughter had been reunited with her frantic parents, and no one else had been injured or taken. Not even Mrs. Hudson; Moriarty had simply strolled into the building using Molly's key to open the front door, then locked the landlady in 221C after scooping Lucy up. He'd even taken a moment to wave a cocky 'good-bye' at the CCTV camera Mycroft had installed in the entryway…which had been temporarily rerouted to an undisclosed location, just long enough for Moriarty to take Lucy and once again vanish.
If they were anywhere in London, they would be found. The problem was, Sherlock doubted they were in London at all. The journey from the judge's chambers to Baker Street had taken five minutes at most; his particular offices had been chosen for the wedding ceremony due to their proximity, because as soon as the wedding was over the he and Molly were supposed to go off on their honeymoon.
The tickets to Barbados were still in his jacket pocket; the only thing Moriarty had taken from Sherlock's person (besides his wife and unborn child, no, don't think about how much pain that knowledge was causing) was his wedding ring. That, coupled with what John, Mary and the now-incarcerated judge had described, told him exactly what the madman had planned. Picturing him with Sherlock's wedding band on his finger was almost enough to set Sherlock spiraling out of control, but that wouldn't help retrieve Molly and Lucy.
As soon as he was declared fit, he was off, John and Mary hot on his heels. Lestrade had cordoned off Baker Street in order to allow Sherlock the freedom to search for clues, the subtle hints Moriarty must have put in place after he'd stolen Lucy away and driven off in his late model Mercedes. Mrs. Hudson described what had happened before breaking down and apologizing over and over to John and Mary for letting 'that awful man' take their baby.
"It's not your fault," Mary reassured the older woman, taking her in a gentle embrace while her eyes tracked John and Sherlock's movements just outside the front door. She wanted to be out there with the two men, helping them, but right now Mrs. Hudson needed her. However, the second either of them showed signs of getting so much as a sniff of Moriarty's whereabouts, she would be off like a shot and no apologies to anyone. Her baby was in danger, and the woman she'd come to love like the sister she'd lost long ago.
Mary's mobile vibrated suddenly, and she murmured her apologies to Mrs. Hudson as she pulled it out to see who was messaging her. Her blood ran cold as she opened the message and saw a picture of Molly, holding Lucy in her arms and very obviously trying not to cry. Mary heard Mrs. Hudson gasp as she saw the photo, and from the corner of her eye she watched as the older woman groped her way to the stairs and took a seat before burying her face in her hands.
The mobile vibrated again, and Mary shoved her emotions into a box before opening it. The text read simply, "Keep Sherlock and his pet from chasing after us for another hour and maybe I'll let you talk to your daughter. Whoops, sorry, I meant MY daughter, now. Doesn't my Molly make a lovely mother?"
The number was blocked, of course. Sherlock could probably trace it, or get one of his computer genius friends to do it for him, but that would mean she'd have to show him the message and the photo. Which was clearly not what Moriarty wanted her to do.
Secrets. Moriarty was trying to force her back into keeping secrets from her husband and friend; with a scowl, Mary made her decision.
No one was ever holding her hostage against her painfully-won good name ever again. With that in mind, she exited the building and headed purposefully for John and Sherlock.