There's a bit of violence in this one- more so than we've had before, so I upped the rating to T and I'm warning you now. There's no torture or anything like that...just disturbing ideas/images/thoughts.
Felicity came back to consciousness slowly. Too slowly, her mind screamed through its haze. Her head ached and felt suspiciously tender, keeping her from remembering a fact in her head, a fact that she knew was important but couldn't recall. Something had happened, something was wrong, but her brain was too sluggish to think properly. Felicity's eyes struggled to flutter open as sounds began to register in her mind. Cars. People. Traffic. None of it made any sense; according to her last recallable memories, she'd been at the flat when-
A man, clearly with military experience standing over the crumpled forms of Sherlock and John, grinning at her with such malice that the hairs on the back of her neck stood up-
Desperately trying to fight him off, to gain leverage, but to no avail as a frightfully strong arm closed around her bicep and yanked with enough force to dislocate her arm with a sick crack-
Strong fingers on the pressure point on her neck, forcing her body to shut down when the last thing it wanted to do was be rendered unconscious-
Felicity blinked frantically, trying to clear her hazy vision. She was on the ground, draped and slumped onto something cold and round- a pipe. One of her arms was above her head and the cold metal of a handcuff was sealed around her wrist, keeping her tethered to the pipe. Odd shapes and objects registered in her brain; an AC unit, fans, cold cement tiles. She was on a roof, explaining the noise of the traffic on the streets below. Biting back gasps of pain, Felicity collected her other arm, the one that was dislocated, from its sprawled position on the ground and curled it slowly into her chest, clenching her teeth and flexing her jaw in an effort to stay quiet. She had no idea where she was or the conditions of her kidnapping, and until she figured out what was going on she wanted the element of surprise. Her mind frantically wondered what had happened to Sherlock and John. Were they alright? Were they near her somewhere? The fact that she didn't know what had happened to them nearly shut her down with panic until she reminded herself to try to stay focused; panicking wouldn't help her. As her brain finally 'booted up' completely, Felicity realized that she was handcuffed to a pipe that carried natural gas. To make matters worse, sitting next to her was a rather large bomb. It had a digital readout and wires going every which way. Packets of C4 were applied haphazardly to a gas can- the bomb was homemade and made rather quickly at that. To Felicity's relief, the bomb was active but did not have the ability to be set on a timer. When it detonated, it would detonate, most likely leveling the building she was on top of in the process. The natural gas would ignite the already deadly explosion and make it millions of times worse. The most important thing, however, was that Felicity wouldn't have to sit and watch the timer go down to zero.
Putting the bomb aside for a moment, Felicity assessed her body for injuries. Her head still felt slow- she'd been drugged. She had a few nicks and cuts in defensive wounds from her hopeless fight against Moran. Her back ached from where she'd been slammed into a bookshelf; Sherlock's may volumes on Chemistry raining down on her head. Her wrist trapped in the handcuff felt numb and sore from where it had been tugging in one position for so long. Finally, her shoulder was still painfully dislocated to a point where it was hard for Felicity to think. Even with her arm tucked in the proper position waves of pain and nausea flew around her head. Felicity forced herself to take slow even breaths as she tried to think. She needed to identify her location and try to catch attention as soon as possible- "Don't bother with that, darling. We'll tell you where you are." A man's voice, slightly hoarse made Felicity flinch and then cry out when her hurt arm contracted. Her eyes smarted up in pain and by the time that faded, Sebastian Moran was standing over her, smirking. "We'll tell you anything you want to know." He continued. Gathering her wits, Felicity slowly propped herself up straighter until she felt a bit more in control. Her arm and shoulder were throbbing, but that was only to be expected. Locking away her fear, Felicity studied the man in front of her. She was confused as to why he'd said 'we'll' instead of 'I'll'. Perhaps he wasn't working alone? Her mind instantly made deductions to shoot that hypothesis down, however, leaving her suspicious and unsure.
"Where are John and Sherlock?" She asked, trying to prioritize, and a predatory grin spread over his face.
"Oh, don't worry about them, love. We won't be laying a finger on their heads." Moran said smoothly, and Felicity quickly processed his answer, his body language. She could tell that he wasn't hiding anything and he wasn't being false with her- Sherlock and John weren't here and they were, for the moment, safe. That notion made Felicity inclined to relax, but the idea that Moran wasn't torturing her or hadn't already killed her made her suspicious. If he was Sherlock's last standing enemy, why was he being so civil with her?
"This is revenge, then." Felicity said slowly. That was the only reason why Moran would go for her instead of Sherlock himself; Sherlock had killed Moriarty. Judging by the theatrics of this kidnapping, Felicity guessed that Moriarty meant a great deal to the man in front of her now- too much. He couldn't bear with his loss so he was aiming to wound Sherlock the way Sherlock had wounded him. Moran growled through his teeth.
"Yes," he said shortly. "This is for you, Jimmy." He added, to himself. Then, to Felicity's surprise and horror, he kept right on talking. "I'm so proud of you, Seb. You've come so far and now there is only one thing left to do." He was fielding a conversation between himself and, well, himself. Felicity pieced together instantly that Sebastian Moran was a very crazy man- he was convinced that he could hear and talk to his dead lover. "You're right." Sebastian told himself, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun, aiming for Felicity's forehead.
"You don't want to do that, I don't think," Felicity said, more surprised than she was afraid. Moran was lining up his shot as if he was going to take it right then and there. If that was his purpose, what was the bomb for? Even worse, if he missed his shot, he'd hit the pipe with natural gas and kill himself on accident and in his current mental state, Felicity saw that as a high possibility.
"Shut up!" Moran yelled. "You don't know a thing about me!" His eyes grew almost manic as he tried to line up his shot again.
"Oh, but I do. I know that you loved the man you have killed and are about to kill for. What I don't understand is why you don't love him as much as you love yourself." Felicity kept talking, mostly to calm herself down. One stray second, one moment when she wasn't in control and the chances of her dying along with everyone in the building below her increased exponentially. She needed to keep him focused on something else without angering him; a high order, but one that she was determined to try and fill- her life depended on it.
"Excuse me?" Moran spluttered, lowering his gun and staring at Felicity.
"I know about Jim and I know that you are doing this for him, but I don't understand why you are doing it if it puts you through such torment. There are better ways to remember him." Felicity continued softly, the fingers on her injured arm surreptitiously clenching around Charley's dog-tags that were hidden under her shirt. I might be joining you shortly, Charley, Felicity thought briefly as Moran stared at her, his eyes slightly dull with delirium as he just watched her, jaw down and mind churning a mile a minute. Felicity could only hope that she was guessing correctly. After all, she was winding Moran up based solely on assumptions and deductions. If she was wrong, he could get very angry and then he would most likely kill her.
"She's right, Seb. I love you and I love that you want to honor me, but it's destroying you." The words passed through Moran's lips almost silently, as if he wasn't speaking at all and Moriarty really was back from the dead and just behind him, hidden from Felicity's view. Moran flinched seconds later at his own words, covering his face with one shaking hand. The gun, thankfully, was now pointed at the ground. "You know what to do, Sebby. Don't be such a pussy." Sebastian kept talking and as he spoke, the gun slowly started to rise again. To Felicity's horror, it came to a stop at Moran's temple.
"Wait, please, wait," she begged. As much pain as she was in, as terrified as she was of being murdered up there and never seeing John or Sherlock again, she didn't want someone who was obviously sick to kill themselves because of something she'd said. She hadn't suggested suicide, but Moran's fractured mind had bent and skewed her words to fit its own purposes. Moran didn't seem to hear her as he closed his eyes, breathing shallowly as he loaded the gun. "Please! Listen to me!" Felicity raised her voice frantically as a dopey, dreamy sort of smile crossed Moran's face.
"I'm coming, Jimmy," he whispered. Before Felicity could react further, Moran pulled the trigger. In a blast of blood, he collapsed, dead before he even hit the ground. Gasping in shock, Felicity stared at the dead body in front of her, stared at his neck where she wanted to see a pulse point, stared at his glassy, unmoving eyes, staring at the alarmingly large pool of blood that was slowly inching her way…
Panic made her close her eyes and lean her head back against the pipe as warm blood started to soak into her jeans. Killing himself was obviously not part of Moran's plan and considering he was working alone, that meant that no one else knew that Felicity was stuck on a rooftop with a bomb next to her, the lives of possibly hundreds of people at stake below her. Felicity bit her tongue and did what she did best; she bottled her emotions away so that she wouldn't cry. Crying and panicking wouldn't help her get out of this, she needed to think.
You can handle this, Felicity told herself as she took deep, shuddering breaths. Her pants and bare feet were covered in Moran's blood and his body was far too close, but she had to ignore it. She had to keep her wits about her if anything was going to get better. After a few more breaths, Felicity started to rationalize. She needed a schedule, a to-do list, if she was going to keep panic at bay. Step one? Defuse the bomb sitting next to her. She wouldn't be able to concentrate with the constant threat of being blown up, even on accident. Moran probably had the detonator on his body somewhere, but there was no way that Felicity could find it, not in her state. She would have to take apart the bomb itself, then. Giving her mind a puzzle to work on, she studied the device. Wires went into the open cap of the gas-can and into the crudely packaged C4. To erase any chance of the C4 igniting, Felicity would need to cut through the main trip wire without creating sparks. Looking around her, Felicity searched for something sharp, trying to push down her hysteria- if she couldn't find anything, her situation was hopeless. She was handcuffed to a pipe on a rooftop- who would find her there?
Finally, she noticed that on Moran's belt, close to her left foot, was a knife sheath. Of course an ex-military man would carry a knife, Felicity chastised herself. Her emotions were getting the best of her, keeping her from thinking clearly (the possible concussion didn't help either) and she hated that. Slowly, carefully, she worked open the clasp with her toes and pulled the knife out and towards her, through the pool of Moran's blood until it was sitting by her hip. It was now sticky with the coagulating blood, but Felicity had bigger problems. To defuse the bomb she would need to use her free arm, the arm that was dislocated. Realizing that this was going to be a long and painful process, Felicity bent over as far as she could, putting pressure on her trapped wrist and not her arm to get as close as she could to the knife. Then, keeping her arm as steady as possible, she reached out slowly and grasped the knife. She sat back again, closing her eyes to focus herself. This next bit was going to hurt a lot more; she had to reach out, find the right wire, and push up through it to cut it cleanly. The stress on her arm would not feel good. Urging herself to stay calm, Felicity opened her eyes and found the trip wire. Thankfully, Moran, in his despair and obvious madness, had left it right on top.
It took several minutes for Felicity to stretch out her arm with the knife in hand to grasp the trip wire. Every time she moved it red hot pain flashed down her arm and raising the limb was even worse. It was putting too much stress on her clavicle, a threatening pressure that warned her of fractures and if she pushed it too far, a broken bone. More than once she cried out in pain as she slowly wormed the tip of the knife under the correct wire. Once it was solidly in place, Felicity sent a quick thought up to Charley and yanked up with all her strength. It only barely registered in her mind that she'd cut the right wire and hadn't blown the place up because she'd felt something start to break in her clavicle and the agony was so bad that she felt like she couldn't breathe. When the pain finally died down to a controllable level, Felicity cracked her eyes open. The digital readout on the bomb was dead- it wouldn't explode unless she took a match to it. Her life and the countless lives in the in the building below her were safe.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Felicity closed her eyes and let her head fall back. With one step done on her list of things to do, she figured that she could use a rest, the pain numbing her nerves a dangerous sleeping agent, but one that would help her rest. It would be just a quick nap, she reasoned…
OoOoOoO
John and Sherlock stood silently in Lestrade's office, Mycroft behind them. They were gathered around Lestrade's computer as they watched CCTV footage of Moran entering the flat and Moran leaving the flat with a black duffle bag over his shoulder. That was it- there was no other footage of Moran at all, it was as if he had disappeared of the face of the planet. With a poorly concealed snarl, Sherlock started to pace, trying to avoid looking at the note on Lestrade's desk. The idea that there was no way at all he could use his mental prowess to save Felicity was nearly driving him mad. With no footage, no evidence, and no clues, Sherlock was helpless, frustrated, and very afraid. His only hope, no matter how morbid it seemed, was that Moran hadn't contacted them again to gloat over Felicity's death. Without that confirmation, there was still a chance that Felicity was alive. "My office will scan CCTV footage from all over the city. This does not end here, Sherlock." Mycroft said, his voice frightfully calm- which meant that Mycroft was just as upset as he was. While Sherlock let all his emotion out when he was angry, Mycroft reeled it in and stored that emotion, using it as fuel. He gave them all a brief nod before striding out, his cell phone already in hand. With a sigh, Lestrade closed the CCTV program and stood up to face John and Sherlock.
"Listen, there isn't much we can do here," he said tiredly. "We've already got a missing child alert out and a warning out on Moran's description, but without a lead we can't do anything."
"There are no leads!" Sherlock practically yelled with frustration, turning on the DI. His usual method of shutting himself off from emotion had flown out the window as soon as he had read the note from the colonel, and his panic of not being able to help the person who mattered most to him was overwhelming. "I can't work- how am I supposed to work when there aren't any leads, Lestrade? You can't expect me to do your job for you- I can't even work-I can't do anything when it really matters-!"
"Sherlock, that's enough," John said it quietly yet with enough conviction to stop Sherlock's miniature panic attack. John's senses were screaming at him to do something, anything, but Sherlock had voiced his own fears perfectly; without any hint as to where Moran had gone, there was nothing he could do to help recover Felicity. The only thing he could do was keep calm and keep Sherlock from going insane. It was a tall order, but John was damned if he couldn't fill it because it was the one thing, the one thing he could do. Sherlock deflated, passing a hand over his face. John could see his fingers trembling as he fought to control himself and think logically. "There has to be something we can look at- how about the note?" John continued, gesturing hopelessly to the piece of paper sealed in an evidence bag on Lestrade's desk.
"It tells us nothing, John." Sherlock said, voice flat with restrained emotion. "The paper is a standard size, 8X11. The quality is incredibly low, most likely mass printed from an office supply store. The note is handwritten in black ink from a ballpoint pen, nothing special there. Moran is left handed and was angry but methodical when he wrote the note- the nib of the pen pressed into the paper with force, but the handwriting is perfectly legible. The content of the note itself only tells us that Felicity was taken with the intent to kill her." Sherlock rattled off every deduction he'd been holding back in one angry breath. Lestrade and John stared at him before looking away at almost the same time, unable to hold his gaze.
"Your brother will keep us informed, Sherlock, and you'll have all of Scotland Yard backing you when a clue turns up." Lestrade said firmly after a moment. "And don't tell me how there won't be one because you always say that criminals and murderers and kidnappers always slip up at one point and you're right- they always do. This Moran guy will do something stupid and then we'll be right there to stop him." Lestrade continued when Sherlock's head shot up, an angry glint in his eye. The DI and the detective stared each other down briefly before Sherlock gave him one, tight nod before sweeping out.
"Thanks, Greg," John muttered, grateful for Lestrade's unfailingly calm and stern manner. Without it, Sherlock and John would feel more useless than they already did. Lestrade gave him a sad sort of smile in return and John ducked out of the room. Sherlock was pacing in front of the lifts, his eyes burning with such force that John was surprised to see that he hadn't burnt holes into the carpeting. John gently caught his arm, bringing the detective to a stop. "Sherlock," John meant to have his tone be soothing, but his voice cracked. Sherlock's head snapped around to look at him as the door to the lift opened, his eyes cataloging every hidden stress on John's face. Without a word, Sherlock pulled John into the elevator and hugged him tight, embracing him and burying his face into John's hair as the doors closed. "This isn't your fault, Sherlock." John managed, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Sherlock's refusal to take on his last enemy in order to be there for Felicity had been kind, but it had also been foolish. Without the detective pursuing him, Moran had used that free time to plan and attack. Despite that, it wasn't Sherlock's fault that Moran had taken Felicity- he could have gone after Mrs. Hudson, or John, or even Sherlock himself. Moran was a dangerous, cruel man that Sherlock had no control over. It wasn't his fault.
"How can you say that, John?" Sherlock hissed, his tone jagged from restraint. "I pressured Moran, I destroyed Moriarty's crime network, I pushed Moriarty to kill himself, which, in turn, angered Moran. This is entirely my fault."
"No," John disagreed; looking up and taking Sherlock's chin with a gentle firmness that Sherlock didn't dare test. John caught his gaze, making it very clear that he was deadly serious and not to be ignored. "It's not your fault." John repeated slowly, not breaking eye contact. Sherlock let out a shaky breath, and then another, before his breaths matched John's- slow and sure. John stroked the side of his face briefly, his fingers lingering on Sherlock's jaw, before he dropped his hand. He was more of a soldier now than he was a doctor or even more than he was just plain old John. He had to keep on, to keep going, for Felicity's sake. "Think, Sherlock. What can we do?" he asked softly, and Sherlock's brow furrowed briefly, the signal John learned to recognize when Sherlock was on a particularly difficult case. He was relieved to see it; if Sherlock was treating this like a case he would turn into the ruthless sociopath he once was, not the tender man he'd turned into since he met Felicity. Sherlock wouldn't make the mistake of letting sentiment into his job.
"Let's start a search perimeter around the flat. The Yard already tried that, but they're all idiots; we may find something they didn't." Sherlock said confidently, his momentary panic attack long forgotten. John gave a silent nod of approval as the doors to the lift opened and the two of them quickly left, heading back to Baker Street.
OoOoOoO
As the sun traveled around, suggesting that it was now late afternoon, Felicity shifted, trying to get comfortable. Once the pain had faded, she took the time to examine her surroundings more closely. She was tucked down behind an AC unit, perfectly out of view of the CCTV cameras mounted on the surrounding buildings. Judging by the volume of the traffic, Felicity could guess that she was six, maybe seven floors up. She could quite frequently hear sirens, suggesting to her that she was at a hospital. It didn't take her long to think of the only hospital in London that fit the current location, level of traffic, architecture of the building, and height. She was on top of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, the place where Sherlock used to write to her about where he'd conduct experiments and steal body parts. She couldn't be more than twenty minutes from home. The irony of Moran picking the same hospital where Jim died was not lost on Felicity, and the idea that she could end up dying there as well made her stomach twist. It didn't help that Moran's dead body was sprawled directly in front of her.
Grimacing in pain, Felicity sat up. It was time to execute step two; attract attention to the world that she was, in fact, being held prisoner up on a roof with a dead body to keep her company. Her shoulder had swollen a bit, and Felicity knew that if she tried to do much else she'd probably snap her clavicle completely, pressuring the already painful fractures into something much worse. The idea made panic flutter in her heart, but if she had to, she knew that she would. Reminding herself to take deep breaths and to not think of Sherlock and John (when she did she felt like crying and that was counter-productive), Felicity examined her tools. She had a bomb, a knife, a dead body, her own voice, and Moran's gun. Blowing something up was obviously out of the equation- she'd kill herself in the process, and trying to call for help would be utterly useless thanks to the height of the building. She could try to distract a CCTV camera, but that would be an incredible amount of work that had no guarantee of success. Felicity groaned, letting her head fall back against the pipe in frustration. As she did so, the chain of Charley's dog tags slid on her neck, making her freeze at the sensation as it sparked an idea in her head.
She could use Charley's dog tags to get attention. If she could get her dog tags off the roof and onto the street below, someone would find them. Felicity was fairly sure that her name and description was being circulated around London by now, and if someone were to find the dog tags, they'd see the last name, Muller, right on them. With her disappearance fresh in the news, a random passerby would statistically most likely turn them in rather than disregard the dog tags. Besides, once the tags were turned in, Sherlock would be all over it, if he wasn't hot on her trail already. Crippling sadness hit Felicity like a wrecking ball as she tried not to cry again. She was literally throwing her last tie to Charley away, the last bit of her brother that she had in the world. She knew that she wasn't abandoning Charley, but the idea of letting go of her brother was too much to bear. The dog-tags around her neck had been one of her only sources of comfort since Charley's death, and it seemed awful to throw them off a building. After lots of gasping and swearing and wanting to scream in agony, Felicity got the dog-tags off. It was quite the process; she had to undo the clasp to get it off her neck and then close it once more to keep the dog tags from sliding off their chain because she was unable to pull them over her head with her one arm still chained to the pipe. Moran's blood was all over her fingers from touching the knife that she had been forced to drag through the puddle of blood, so red smears marked her fingerprints on the smooth metal. Felicity balled them up in her fist, taking in a ragged breath to try and calm herself.
Tossing the tags was going to hurt quite a bit and Felicity knew that there was a very good chance of her breaking her clavicle completely. It was a risk she was willing to take- the dog tags would catch attention quickly, and that was exactly what she needed. Before she could fully think about how badly it was going to hurt, Felicity drew her arm back and threw the necklace with all her might, unable to bite back a scream as with an audible cracking sound, her clavicle broke. Slumping against the pipe, the last comfort Felicity took was that she had seen the silver flash that were the dog tags fly over the edge- they'd at least made it off of the roof. With that in mind, she let the pain radiating down her nerves push her into unconsciousness.
OoOoOoO
A/N: So...yep. That happened. And I'm sort of sorry for the amount of gore but I'm also proud that I kept things mostly calm. I mean, the only violence you've seen on St. Bart's rooftop so far was Moriarty blowing his own brains out, so I thought it was only ironic or symbolic or whatever for Moran to do the same. Sorry, MorMor fans. I didn't mean to kill him, honest. It just sort of...happened.
Sherlock and John are on the case, Felicity is being incredibly brave for someone who is up to the eyes in trouble, and the only way you can find out what happens next is to wait! Patiently. Sort of.
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