Chapter 3

"Mycroft Holmes, is that a cemetery" Mrs Hudson asked outraged. Mycroft looked at the screen and then back at the elderly woman staring at him indignantly, fire in her eyes.

He sighed gently and said "Technically no Mrs Hudson, it has been de-consecrated and is due for regeneration into affordable housing"

"Don't you try that on me young man, you know very well sacred ground is off limits, and there are still graves and headstones there. You tell your hunters to leave right this minute" she actually growled at him and to his own surprise, he flinched instinctively.

John dipped his head to hide his smile, trying not to laugh and Sherlock smirked openly at his brother as he patted her on her shoulder and said in an attempt at consoling her

"Mycroft will make sure that the subject is released without harm Mrs Hudson, with compensation for the inconvenience, won't you brother dear?" and Mycroft gave an irritated but satisfyingly fast nod of agreement.

John said with surprised laughter in his voice, "The hunters have got to catch him first before they can do that Sherlock"
Sherlock glanced at the split screen with vague curiosity, he had been more interested in the feed of the inner city estate, it seemed to be a promising chase, and there was something attractive about the way the subject was free running in his desperation to get away from the pursuing pack, and then his curiosity sharpened as he studied the feed from the cemetery more closely.

The subject was at a headstone and had not noticed the encircling hunters. Was that an old Belstaff coat he was wearing? It looked rather big on the small lad's frame but yes, yes it was. At least the subject had good taste. Sherlock's gaze intensified on that part of the screen, he asked his brother impatiently for the monitor to focus solely on the cemetery.

Mycroft raised one eyebrow but gave in with good grace although he protested in a bored tone of voice
"He will be taken in seconds Sherlock, he is oblivious to the hunter coming towards him, he is making no attempt to run but of course he will be released" with an eye roll towards the elderly woman, and he looked at John in exasperation, John gave a small shake of his head and shrugged his shoulders with a 'what the hell can I do about it' smile but Sherlock ignored the pair of them because he had noticed Mrs Hudson's surprising reaction to the events unfolding at the cemetery.
She had moved slightly closer to the screen and he would have sworn there was an amused but almost professional predatory smile on her face.
She murmured softly, "Not a he at all boys" and the three men turned to look at the screen in surprise.

The first hunter had been laid low by a crack across the head from the grey metal urn the figure had been filling with flowers at the grave, when he had come within range of the seemingly oblivious kneeling subject. His communication device and weapon had been swiftly picked up and hidden in the pockets of the flowing coat and the small figure had moved out of retaliation range, started to run, then oddly darted back and quickly and non too gently put the unconscious man into a basic version of the recovery position, finally taking a kick at his backside as the subject took off again.

John laughed out loud, "Sneaky little beggar" he admired. Sherlock smirked, his interest fully caught. Mycroft muttered "Enterprising but all the exits are covered and he will soon be apprehended".

Mrs Hudson snorted with amusement, "Really Boys, can't you see that's a little girl and I am not so sure that she will be apprehended soon"

Sherlock prepared to shoot her down, but he looked, really looked and realised that his landlady was correct.

They watched in silent fascination as Mrs Hudson's "little girl" took out a second hunter with the confiscated tazer and after hiding behind some large statutory, and listening to the radio traffic for a few minutes, used the communication device in a clever little ruse to get the remaining hunters to all head towards the Rodney street exit of the cemetery.
She had turned it on and made it sound as if the device had picked her words up without her knowledge. There was a terrified sob in her voice as she whispered clearly that if she could get out at Rodney street she could get home in less than ten minutes.

Sherlock was sure the terror was genuine but she still had the presence of mind to try the misdirection. She was making quite an impression on him and he was no longer interested in other options.

She then switched the device off and flung it in a bin near some wooden seats, and took off like a racing greyhound towards the stone wall backing on to the river. By the time the hunters realised their mistake, she was nearly at the wall. The hunters moved fast to try to overtake her. She had begun to scramble to climb up the wall as she saw the remaining hunters close in on her.

She turned to look down at the river and hesitated, the fear on her pale face palpable. It was the first time that the surveillance cameras had clearly shown her features and Sherlock was fascinated.
She was almost ordinary, almost but not quite, delicate cheekbones, her deep brown eyes sparkled with fevered intelligence and obvious fear, her lips were thin and her skin was naturally pale, made paler by her reaction to the situation.
Her mousy brown hair wasn't short as it had looked at first glance but actually tied back in a plait which was mostly hidden by the collar of the Belstaff coat.

His observations were cut short when he saw one strong hand reached for her ankle. Unexpected rage raced through his blood stream, how dare that wretched thug put his hands on her? She was his.

She kicked out instinctively, overbalanced and fell without a sound into the river.

Sherlock drew in an alarmed breath "Bloody fools, they could have killed her"

Then before anyone could react "I want her" he hissed "She's the one I want, she is mine".

He was deaf to Mrs Hudson's scolding, he ignored her muttering about 'sacred ground', and 'what was the world coming to these days when traditional values were ignored' and she was 'seriously getting close to being ashamed of him', and Mycroft's full blown exasperation. He turned away from the pair of them pointedly to look at John

"You promised, whichever one I want from the Wild Hunt, the pair of you promised"

"Sherlock, sometimes you are such a child" John scolded the frustration in his voice obvious, "I thought we agreed on a male, and Mycroft has to release that one anyway because of the trespass on sacred ground."

Mrs Hudson nodded her head sharply but before she could say anything,

"I want her John, she had a Belstaff and she ran rings round those hunters" Sherlock was implacable and immovable. His chin was stuck out at the stubborn angle which normally preceded his more insane and death defying antics, and for a second John closed his eyes in despair. Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

"Well she will have to be caught before she gets back to her home then" Mycroft's capitulation was not unexpected but it was so sudden that it almost took John's breath away. Oh of course, once Sherlock was settled, he could get on with the business of the other hunts and making obscene amounts of money.

"Tell me where she lives, John and I will capture her" Sherlock smiled with excitement as if it was the best idea he had ever had. That was not how John saw it. It was on a par to chasing a man into a minefield and God knows they had done that before.

"Don't be daft Sherlock, if we are out on a wild hunt night, we could end up in Mycroft's holding vans ourselves and how do we know she will have survived the river" John snapped

"We will be dressed as Hunters John, and she will survive the river, it was her intention to get to it, so she must have the capability and a plan to survive it" Sherlock's conviction and wicked grin were infectious.

John could feel the stirrings of adrenaline as he reacted to the excitement in his lover's voice, and suddenly Sherlock's wicked grin was echoed by the one which crossed John's face.

Mrs Hudson was scandalised "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, this is outrageous"

John turned to pacify her, "But Mrs H, she's no longer in the cemetery and she will probably even be home by the time we get out there, so it won't matter anyway but if we catch her outside it won't be on sacred ground."
He said earnestly, then moved closer to her as he muttered in a pleading undertone "And look at him, he's so excited, I think this could be good for him. He's not bored and he's actually interested in her"

Mrs Hudson threw John a stern look but she did look at Sherlock and saw his rapt expression. Her heart melted a little. John was correct, this would be so good for Sherlock but of course he had to do things the hard way.

"Very well John, but it had better be by the rules from now on in, do you understand me, if she gets home before you catch her, that's it end of story."

John nodded his head meekly and suddenly Mrs Hudson smiled thoughtfully

"She is a clever little darling though isn't she, she would definitely give him a challenge, and it would be a nice change for you to have a female to look after"

Mycroft had supplied them with the information they needed on the girl within minutes of their decision to hunt her themselves. The surveillance cameras had picked up the name on the headstone she was kneeling beside, and it was a relatively easy matter to deduce who she was. Charles Hooper, deceased, had only one child, a girl. Molly Hooper, twenty, in her second year of university with a little part time job to help her financially.
Molly Hooper who was now alone in the world and had no other family. Molly Hooper who had no money and no influential friends to object to her new status. Molly Hooper who was going to be the favoured pet of Sherlock Holmes.

John directed the driver of the official hunt vehicle to drop them off at the street where she lived.

Sherlock looked at him in surprise "Not much of a chase John", John just smiled enigmatically at him and flicked his eyes once at the driver. Sherlock took the hint and shut up.

Once they had been dropped off, John answered the unspoken question with one of his own,

"How much do you want her?"

"What?" Sherlock was confused by the question for a second. John knew how much he wanted her or he wouldn't be out playing by Mycroft's rules in Mycroft's games.

"Sherlock, I was a soldier, soldiers don't play at missions, soldiers do their job, any way they can get it done, so Mrs Hudson's and Mycroft's rules be damned. I will ask you again, how much do you want her?"

"She's mine John; she's the pet I want"

"Righto then, that's fine, it's all fine" and the predatory smile John gave Sherlock caused a shiver to run down his spine.

Impulsively he learnt forward, clamped his hand around John's neck and damn well snogged that smile off the mouth of the man who was his partner and best friend. God, John was so hot and utterly deliciously irresistible when he was showing his dangerous side.

It was stupidly easy getting into her flat. Sherlock wandered around determined to get more information on his new pet. Her life was laid out before him like a pathetic story of pitiful despair and unimportance. There was no one left to whom she mattered.

No one left to pay her any attention, take care of her, address her faults and praise her when she was good. No-one, all alone. He couldn't find any evidence of a boyfriend or girlfriend which was useful. No-one to create a fuss at her disappearance.

She had literally no- one in her life. No matter, soon she would be his; her life would have focus again, and someone she could care for.

He picked things up, and put them down, collected a few items including a soft toy cat from the pillow on her bed, her jewellery box with nothing of significant monetary value but pretty trinkets with a cat theme and a small silk pouch holding a wedding band and engagement ring which obviously had been her mothers, and finally a photo of her father which had been on the cheap bedside cabinet.

They would useful rewards when she learnt her lessons, he did intend to reward her when she was good. He found her diary and sat and read it before John alerted him to her arrival.

In the quiet of the room, when she closed and locked the door behind her, they heard her sobbing relief and exhaustion as she sank to the floor in the hallway. They waited patiently for her to gather her strength to enter the living room; they had decided it would not be kind to frighten her any more than necessary, and John had recommended the use of the sedative.

Finally as John switched the main light on and spoke to her gently to try to calm her down, as she swung round to stare at John in shock and began to move away from him, desperately searching for an escape route, until she backed straight into his arms for the first time, Sherlock smiled with intense satisfaction.
She was wet, cold, dirty, and bedraggled, shivering with fear and anger and she fit perfectly in his arms. Oh yes, he had definitely made the right choice, he thought with anticipation.

He made sure that it was his voice she heard as dropped into unconsciousness. She would learn to recognise and respond properly to it, "You are mine now, my Pet"

The luminous smile he threw at John as he held his little pet in his arms for the first time had almost brought tears to John's eyes.

It was the cold that finally woke Molly, shivers racked her body bringing her up through the layers of consciousness and by the time her teeth started to chatter she was wide awake. She was cold and aching all over, what the hell was going on? She felt like she had a hangover as well, nauseous and such a headache.

It was completely dark. What time was it? God had the thermostat gone again on the central heating. She would put the kettle on and fill up her hot water bottle; maybe she should buy another hot water bottle. Not for the first time she asked herself why was she paying her rent to that neglectful crook of a landlord. She was going to find that bloody slime bag and beat him about the head with a…

Her eyes had been trying to focus in the complete darkness but her brain wouldn't accept the images they were transmitting. She wasn't in her bedroom, what the hell? She might not be able to see properly but she could damn well feel. Even when she was shivering so badly. She was lying on a tiled floor, no pillow or blankets, her feet were bare and icy cold, her legs were bare, where the bloody hell were her jeans, and her thin jumper had been removed too. She was just wearing her old thin tee-shirt and her knickers. No wonder she was freezing, had she been drunk, removed her clothes, and fallen asleep in the bathroom in a power cut? Her head was hurting but why couldn't she remember what had happened. God she was useless when she drank alcohol, which was normally why she didn't.

The room felt small but she wasn't sure if it was her brain being deceived by the complete darkness. There were no windows, so it couldn't be her bathroom and she couldn't see a damn thing,why couldn't she see anything?
She could feel the panic rise through her body and she tried to get to her feet but fell over the chain that was attached to her ankles. Chain. what the hell ? Stunned for a second, she was on her hands and knees trying to work out what to do when suddenly the memories came flooding in, memories that froze her to the spot in terror; running from the black clad hunters in the cemetery, the river, getting back to her flat and that man, the one with the blonde hair and then most frightening of all the hard hands and the voice, that scary beautiful voice who called her his Pet.

She opened her mouth and screamed, "You bastards" it was high pitched, enraged and horrified, she began to tug at the chain in total rage but as it dawned on her that she was having no effect on the damn thing, suddenly fear flooded her system and she began to sob hysterically. She couldn't stop, she couldn't calm down, she was so scared, she didn't even realise she was shaking her head and chanting "Please no, no, no, please no, no, please, please no" under her breath.

Finally it felt like she had run out of tears, and her voice was too hoarse to even whisper let alone scream. She could feel herself gradually stop. She curled herself into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to stave off the cold, God she felt so cold, and tried to comfort herself, rubbing her hand up and down her legs and her arms, trying to warm up the chilled flesh.

She had to calm down, there had to be a way out of this, she just had to think. She wasn't stupid; she knew what all this was about. This was the start of her so called training, the process which would last until she was a turned into a well behaved affectionate moronic pet for her new owner, that complete and utter bastard with the voice of a fallen angel.

Her reactions had been typical of a terrified captive trainee pet, which must have been so satisfying for the evil gits. She had a damn good idea what was coming next, still with the cold and the dark, probably starvation unless she performed some meaningless but humiliatingly obedient possibly sexual task, then she would be praised and fed. The judicious use of the Stockholm syndrome to break her spirit and her mind and turn into loving adoration for her captors.

She knew all this, but knowing did not mean she wasn't shit scared, did not mean that she would be able to fight for long, did not mean that he wouldn't win. No, no that's what he wanted, that's what he needed to be able to break her, her feeling hopeless, defeated and in despair, which would just make her fucking surrender. Well he was in for a surprise. That might be what happened in the end but she would make him suffer first, she would find a way to hurt the bastard for this.

There were two essential traits which characterised Molly Hooper. Patience and hope. She had lived and breathed hope all her young life. It was an essential part of her DNA, and even when things were dire, she knew that if she had the patience to endure it, there was always something which came along to change things.

She would need more data to work with, and though she never wanted to see either of those evil twisted bastards again, she knew it was necessary for her try to find a way to fight back which would work, and get her out of this nightmare because right now she didn't even know if she could fight at all.

The cold and the darkness were doing their job so well. She was hungry and thirsty too, and Dear God where was she supposed to go to the toilet? Did they expect her to just do it on the floor? That was just so disgusting.
She whimpered despairingly and hugged her knees more tightly. She didn't know how long she crouched there feeling vulnerable and defenseless. She had no way of measuring time in the dark, not unless she tried to count the beats of her own heart and that was probably the quickest way to madness. That was a thought, a potential escape route, what would they do to her if she went mad? Her mind was caught up in the racing jumble of desperate and outright insane plans for escape.

Slowly the darkness receded, soft light easing its way into the room, as a doorway was revealed. An entrance she hadn't been able see in the total blackness of her cell. She blinked wildly, even that soft light hurting after being in a room so dark she could reach out and touch it.

She scooted back towards the wall in shamed fear, so much for her earlier bravado, her legs drawn up in a futile gesture of defense, the chains clinking wildly and another whimper leaving her unwilling lips as she saw the tall silhouette outlined in the door frame. She couldn't see his face, but the intent menace radiating from his body made her beg without conscious thought

"Please " before she closed her mouth with a snap, her terrified eyes not able to leave the figure for a second.

He made her wait, her heart beat speeding up until she thought it was going to explode in her chest, her breath coming out in panting gasps she had no control over. She thought she was going to die from the fear as he stood there and studied her for what seemed hours but in reality must only have been about minutes at the most and then the door glided shut behind him, enclosing them both in the total darkness. She couldn't see him, she couldn't see anything, she was alone in the dark with the monster who had kidnapped her and she couldn't see him. The terrified pounding of her heart nearly drowned out the sound of his footsteps coming closer.

She cowered against the wall, head against her knees and closed her eyes, she knew it was stupid as she couldn't see anything anyway, but she couldn't help it. The footsteps stopped directly in front of her. She could barely restrain the whimpers in her throat, and then from above her head she once again heard that cold velvet beguiling voice which had struck terror into her heart.

"Welcome home little one, I think its time to we begin to get to know each other"

AN: Thanks for all the fabulous reviews and the favouriting and following. Chapter 2 was great fun to write and I am glad lots of you seemed to enjoy it. This is a dark fic so it won't be to everyone's taste especially as SJ & JW are decidedly anti heroic in this but please let me know what you think.
All reviews and comments gratefully received and in fact some have already influenced the direction of the story... so you really do have power in this dynamic. Use it wisely young ones...

Disclaimers:

Not mine, only playing, no infringement intended.