A/N: My lovely readers and reviewers! Thank you so much: MizJoely, Adi Who is Also Mou, Ivy D.L., CumberChelz, MorbidbyDefault, AdaYuki, Empress of Verace, coloradoandcolorado1, Nat, Lono, The Side Of The Angels In 221B, superlc529, patemalah21, Shannon Burns, Fayth3, deadgurlagain, , and everyone else who is reading. There are only 4 chapters left to go!
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The song used in this chapter is by Better Than Ezra. You should really have a listen.
Summary: Sherlock and Molly meet with Moriarty. He reveals his plan.
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Molly sat beside Sherlock in the taxi, watching him, trying to keep from twisting her hands where they rested in her lap. He was typing furiously on two different mobiles: the one Moriarty had given him and a burner phone. He hadn't told her anything except that Moriarty wanted them to meet him somewhere. The less she knew, the better, he said. When she had started to protest he'd said: "Molly, you said you trust me." And she'd nodded and let it go.
But she was scared. How could she not be? Moriarty would've been the end of Sherlock once before, if Sherlock hadn't figured out his plan in time to put one of his own in place. Sherlock seemed… wary, focused but distracted at the same time, and she knew that he was right. Whatever was about to happen, it would be the end of… something.
As he could read her thoughts, Sherlock lowered the mobile in his hand and pressed the other over top of hers. "Molly," he said softly. "Remember…" he hesitated, then said: "remember that you count. Always." He put his mobile in his pocket, and the burner in hers.
Molly nodded, frowning. She didn't have time to say anything else, though, as they'd arrived at their destination. She frowned. What were they doing at an empty warehouse? Obviously it wasn't empty, if Moriarty had something to do with it. But what?
They got out and Sherlock paid the driver. As the taxi sped off, Sherlock turned to Molly and took her hand. They approached the door and Sherlock tried the handle. It opened easily and they slipped inside, closing it behind them.
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"Anything yet?" John asked Mycroft. The other Holmes shook his head.
"They have just arrived. For now, we must listen and wait for Sherlock's signal."
"Are you sure this is going to work?" John asked.
"As sure as I am of anything else," was Mycroft's reply.
"Why do I not feel any better?" John muttered.
Mycroft was silent.
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The inside of the warehouse was warm. There was nothing in the immediate area where they entered, just metal and silence. Then, faintly, Molly could see there was a light far down on the left. She clutched Sherlock's hand a little tighter, and he gave her fingers a quick squeeze before they walked towards it.
When they entered the second door, they saw that there was another short corridor and then the light. Entering the room, Molly gasped.
A dozen white candles lit the room. They surrounded what looked like a shrine. A shrine to her. Photo after photo of her was pinned onto what looked like a cloth-covered altar. Some color, some black and white. She recognized pictures from years ago and some from just the past week. There was cards, necklaces, bit of things of hers, small things missing over the past few years that she'd just assumed she'd lost. Pages torn from old notebooks and her diary were there, too. In one corner was a sofa like the one at 221B. Next to it was a copy of Rodin's "The Lovers."
Molly thought she was going to be ill.
Sherlock took everything in as Molly struggled to stay calm. There was a door on the other side of the room and he started towards it. Molly gripped his hand harder. "Sherlock, what is this?" She whispered. "Why's he done this?"
Sherlock brushed his free hand over her face. "Let's find out."
The door led down another hallway and they walked on. Finally they reached a dark room. Sherlock slid his hand along the wall, found a light switch, and flipped it on.
As soon as he did, the room lit up. And from an archway on the other side, with a small metal black box in his hand, Moriarty emerged.
"Well, well. Here we are again, Sherlock. And this time you brought a guest." Moriarty, elegant as always in one of his suits, strolled in. He smiled at Molly. "Hello, darlin.' It's nice to see you again."
"What've you done? Why have you got a…room for me in here?" Molly blurted out.
Moriarty's eyebrows rose. "Oh, my. Not so mousy anymore, are you, Molly? And no stammer, either. You've been a good influence on her, Sherlock. And oddly enough, she's been one on you. You knew how to exist, to survive, but Molly's taught you how to live. Rather like John. Speaking of John: how are he and Nurse Morstan doing? Lovely ring he bought her: I think he's going to keep this one."
"Why did you tell me to meet you here with Molly?" Sherlock asked expressionlessly.
"Because it's time, of course. This has been a lovely game but now it must end." He turned the control box in his hand around almost absently, then looked up and smiled. "All good movies need a stirring song to finish them off, though. And this time it's my turn." He beckoned with a finger. "Come here, Molly."
Molly froze in fear, looking from him to Sherlock.
"It's our big number, darlin.' Come on."
"It's all right, Molly," Sherlock said softly. "Go on."
Molly stared at Sherlock in shock, as if to ask 'in what universe is this all right?." Nonetheless, she took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly walked over to Moriarty, who beamed at her.
"Good. Stay over there, loverboy," Moriarty warned Sherlock. "It's my turn to get the girl. If only for a few minutes."
And to her astonishment, music began and Moriarty turned to look at Molly, smiled, and started to sing.
Hey, you've got a lot of nerve to show your face 'round here
Hey, you've got a lot of nerve to dredge up all my fears
Well, I wish I could shake some sense into you
And walk out the door
But your skin is like porcelain
Yeah, your skin is like porcelain
Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on them as he listened, the random thought entering his mind that Moriarty had a beautiful voice. There was no doubt that at some point Moriarty had envisioned singing with Molly.
Just the other day I felt I had you by a string
Just the other day I felt we could be everything
But now when I see you, you're somebody else
With somebody's eyes
And your skin is like porcelain
Yeah, your skin is like porcelain
Molly started at Moriarty, bewildered. What was he saying? Did he mean that he really had felt something for her? Oh, God. And she'd dumped him because of Sherlock. And now something was going to happen. As if he knew her thoughts, Moriarty smiled and continued.
I don't know what I'm saying
Well, I don't know if you're there
In the words you are feigning
Do you even care?
Moriarty looked angry now. Truly angry. He reached up a hand and touched Molly's face, and his fingers seemed to burn her skin. Then his expression changed, and for a horrible, terrifying moment, Moriarty seemed more vulnerable and human than she'd ever imagined he could.
Well, I wish I could kill you, savor the sight
Get into my car, drive into the night
Then lie as I scream to the Heavens above
That I was the last one you ever loved
But your skin is like porcelain
Yeah, your skin is like porcelain
Yeah, your skin is like porcelain
The song ended. Moriarty looked at her almost affectionately, then kissed her cheek. "Go on," he told her softly.
Breathing ragged, hand clenched at her sides, Molly turned and fled back over to Sherlock.
"So now you know, Molly," Moriarty said. "Well. You know that I loved you. But that's only the beginning, isn't it, Sherlock?"
"What do you mean?" Molly asked when Sherlock was silent.
"Oh, Molly Hooper. I've been a bit naughty," Moriarty said, walking in a slow circle. "You see, when I found out Sherlock was still alive, I decided I could solve two problems at once. Him, and you. I've always had a thing for you, Molly. I don't honestly know why. I think it's because you're something I could never be, even if I wanted to. And I admire you for that. It's stupid of you, don't get me wrong, but I admire it."
"So I thought: what should I do. What could I give to dear Molly that would really make her happy before she shuffled off this mortal coil? The answer was Sherlock, of course. The only man that's been in your heart since the first time he was a bastard to you. Never have figured out why you women like bastards, but lucky for both me and Sherlock that you do, I suppose. I've certainly never lacked for company when I wanted it."
"What do you mean, give me Sherlock?" Molly asked, even as she felt dread and despair twisting her insides to pieces.
"My greatest game yet. I've been blackmailing your beloved detective for months now with bombs scattered across London. It was simple: just like a movie. Boy meets girl, girl loves boy, boy is a bastard, madman orders boy to date girl and fall in love with her. You're welcome, by the way," Moriarty added with a smile. "I'll make sure I cross it off your list."
Molly paled. "You… you mean, all this time I've been with Sherlock was because of you. It's.. it's all been a lie. He never…he doesn't…"
"No, Molly, don't you see? That's the beauty of my plan!" Moriarty exclaimed gleefully. "He does love you. Really and truly. Oh, he wanted to fight it at first, don't get me wrong. But he came to realize that the surrender was much nicer than the battles."
Molly stared at Sherlock. "Sherlock? Is this true?"
Sherlock looked at her, at the pain and confusion and doubt that was now so clearly in her face. "Yes," he said softly. "It's all true. I'm sorry, Molly."
Molly looked back and forth between them. "So… you gave me Sherlock. And now what? You said two problems. Are you going to kill us both now?"
"Kill you? Of course not, Molly. I could never do that," Moriarty said softly. "And I promised Sherlock I wouldn't, so, no, I'm not going to kill you."
Then he smiled.
"Sherlock is."
"What?" Molly shrieked.
"Sherlock is, of course. Poor thing. He just can't stand all this attention you've been getting from men recently. The jealousy has driven him to it," Moriarty said with a sigh.
"You've set me up," Sherlock said. "This is my secret hideaway. The shrine to Molly, the attacks, the murders… all me. You've been working behind the scenes all this time, plotting and planting things to make it look like me. The drugs, the mobile, even making sure Michelle Morstan heard something that could be taken wrong."
"And now you're going to end it by killing her," Moriarty said, smiling again. "It's the only way, isn't it?"
"Well, I wish I could kill you, savor the sight, get in to my car, drive into the night, then lie as I scream to the Heavens above, that I was the last one you ever loved," Sherlock said with a bitter laugh. "That song wasn't just from you to Molly. It's from me to her as well."
"Just so," Moriarty said.
"What? No!" Molly shouted. "He won't… you can't…"
"Well, no, technically, I can't," Moriarty admitted. "But if he doesn't, Molly darlin', I push this button. And thousands of people will die. And you don't want that, do you? Hasn't Sherlock already sacrificed enough from the last little game we played?"
"Stop it," Sherlock snapped.
"Besides, I gave you a going away present," Moriarty said. "Over six months with the man you love. Some people go their entire lives without getting that." A shadow crossed his face and disappeared just as quickly. "Go on," he said to Sherlock. "We both know how this ends."
"Strangulation?" Sherlock asked.
"Perfect for a crime of passion," Moriarty said.
"No," Molly said. "Sherlock…"
"There's no other way, Molly," Sherlock said softly. "I'm sorry. But he is telling the truth. If I don't, he'll kill thousands of people."
Molly felt sick again, her brain reeling from trying to comprehend the turn of events. "What about Sherlock? Are you going to kill him, too? Murder-suicide?" She asked.
"Nice idea, but no. I don't want Sherlock dead now. Do I, Sherlock?"
"No," Sherlock said. "He wants me to kill you, then turn myself in and go to prison for your murder. Spend my life behind bars, knowing what happened to you."
"Much better than murder-suicide," Moriarty said. "That's so overdone in the movies. Off you go, then," he told Sherlock.
"Wait!" Sherlock said desperately.
"Oh, now, what?" Moriarty groaned.
"I want to say goodbye to Molly first. Kiss her one more time." Sherlock's voice grew hoarse. "That's what happens in the movies, isn't it? There's a last kiss?"
Moriarty smiled. "Fair enough. Of course. I'll go stand over there. You have two minutes."
As he walked away, Sherlock turned to Molly. She stared at him numbly, unable to believe that he was about to kill her. But there wasn't another way. She couldn't let innocent people die, even if it meant she was about to die at the hands of the man she loved.
Sherlock pulled her close. "I do love you, Molly Kathleen Hooper," he whispered in her ear.
Molly felt her eyes fill with tears. "Sherlock…"
"Always remember that," he said, pulling back, eyes boring into hers.
Then he kissed her. It was unlike any kiss they had shared before it. It was passionate, desperate, apologetic, and painful. Molly felt tears running down her face, spilling onto his, mixed with his own. She kissed him the way she'd wanted to the first day he'd come into her morgue, all rude and brilliant, with something in his eyes that had told her he needed someone more than he'd ever be able to admit.
When the kiss ended, Sherlock stared at her hard, wiping off his face with the back of one hand. "Breathe, Molly," he said. "Take one last deep breath."
Molly, sobbing, somehow managed to take in a gasping gulp of air. As she exhaled, Sherlock placed his hands firmly around her neck.
"Live for me," Molly whispered. "Live for me, Sherlock."
"I love you," he whispered again as his hands tightened. He began to squeeze, knowing precisely where to put his hands. Molly gasped, her face turning color as she reflexively tried to get away. Sherlock kept squeezing until Molly's eyes rolled back, closed, and she slumped in his hands. Sherlock gently eased her limp body to the floor, then turned to look at Moriarty.
"It's finished," he said, unable to hide the pain in his voice. "She's dead."