A/N: Thank you all very much for reviewing and subscribing; my gosh! This was actually originally meant only as a one-shot, but it sort of mutated and gave birth to baby chapters. I've outlined where I want to go with this, so it should be wrapped up soon. Head's up: This chapter contains strong sexual innuendo and psychological sabotage, thanks. I own nothing Sherlock-related.
With one single word, Sebastian Moran sent a movie of sorts playing in Sherlock's mind palace. Images of his own hands, taking Magnussen's spectacles off and peering through them himself, but seeing nothing, then handing them guardedly back to the confident older man. Of course. How could he have been so blind or not have seen it, or suspected the glasses were a ruse?
He was almost always accurate in his deductions, yet the most obvious and humane of assumptions managed to delude him, which must have been Magnussen's intent all along. He knew the dog who lay near him could not possibly be his Redbeard; yet they'd managed to get a perfect replica with even the same demeanor.
Sebastian was watching him with a shrewd smile. He snapped his fingers again. "Hold that thought." He stood up wearing black jeans, a dark shirt and black leather jacket, and he punched a number into his mobile phone. "It's me. We're ready. Right now. Yeah, bye." He shot Sherlock a misplaced, professionally polite smile as he tucked the phone away, and rubbed his palms together. "Now, I'm sure you have all sorts of questions, but right now we need to get Molly comfortable and let her sleep while we have a little talk en route."
The echo of heavy car tires resounded in the warehouse, and a large, white lorry slowed to a stop near them.
Sherlock looked over at Molly, who had been laid out on an old red settee, and put into a sleeveless black satin Versace gown that opened almost down to her navel, exposing her toned, pale stomach and gentle curves. Her glossy brown hair spread fan-like down her shoulders, and she had a glass-eyed vacant expression, staring towards Sherlock.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Moran, I am prepared to negotiate. Whatever it is you want … whatever you're after, I can give it to you. Just let her g-"
"No you can't," Sebastian chuckled, seeming to think Sherlock was telling a capital joke. "I already have what I want; total domination of Molly, and to show you I'm superior in every way. And our strategically-planned attack is going to happen soon. You've no cards here, Holmes. Understand that. And besides, it's not me that has personal business with you. My sole purpose in all of this is well, for the money and position, obviously – but also Molly is part of the package. I get to do whatever I wish to her for as long as I deem necessary. She's the only thing that interests me in all of this, aside from you realizing how insignificant you are compared to me." Tom crouched down, lacing his fingers together loosely as he looked nonchalantly at Sherlock. "You may not believe this, but all things considered, I think you're really quite boring and up your own arse. I thought so at the wedding, and I do now. I don't care what happens to a selfish, sociopathic sycophant, but I am going to take the one thing you hold dear, keep her as my pet for my own purposes for the rest of her life and then, quite literally," he stroked Redbeard, speaking softly, "Feed you to the dogs. Piece... by piece… by piece."
Sherlock lurched forward. "If you are indeed only a foot soldier in this sordid game you're playing, calling me a sycophant is entirely contradictory-"
"Ha, you're one to talk! For a man entirely up his own tree, pretending indifference and suffering in silence rather than admitting romantic feelings for a unique woman ring completely of irony. And besides, unlike you, I'm not a sociopath. That's why Molly fell for me."
"Then what are you?" Sherlock growled.
Sebastian stood and reached into the inner pocket of his leather jacket and withdrew a syringe and bottle, holding it up to the weak light as extracted fluid from it. "An opportunist. A strategist. And quite a sane one at that; the only difference between you and I is that I readily accept my own actions. I don't mask them through contrived diagnoses so that I can feel better about being a giant bastard and feel indestructible. I make myself indestructible." Sebastian checked his silver wristwatch. "Listen, we'll have plenty of time to chat about what a git you are on the way there. But letting Molly go is not even in the cards for you; not even close, mate. She's mine. Face it Holmes; you've no leverage to bargain with, and I'm not the one you really need to be speaking with. Though, I would like to discuss her further." With a sickeningly loving stroke of his fingertip down Molly's forearm, Sebastian injected the syringe into a vein at the inner crook of Molly's elbow, and her glassy brown eyes closed immediately.
Sherlock heard footsteps, and two men in black Kevlar and ski masks stood right in front of him.
"You want us to put 'im in the back, Sir?" asked the larger man, nodding his head to Sherlock.
"Yes. You, take the dog. You, take Mr. Holmes and secure him tightly. Don't touch the girl." Sebastian opened the left flap of his jacket to stow away the syringe, and Sherlock saw the glistening black metal of a Glock nestled in a backwards holster. Right handed. Cross shooter.
"Is everything prepared?" Sebastian asked, sliding his arms beneath Molly's limp knees and neck and lifting her.
"Yes, sir. He's waiting for you back at the base. We should be there in under an hour."
"Well, good. Get on it, then." Sebastian turned with Molly in his arms, walking to the opened back of the lorry, which was lit up inside.
"Yes, sir," said the shorter thug, pointing his gun at Sherlock's temple as the other man took Redbeard's lead. "On your feet."
The inside of the lorry was like a high-tech swanky caravan. Two long, white couches faced a flat screen TV that had been secured by some sort of drilled plexi glass to the wall, and there were drilled-in wall shackles next to the sofas that they secured Sherlock's wrists and ankles to. He didn't resist, primarily because Molly was laid out on the sofa next to him, but also because he was scanning from right to left and making mental notes of everything.
Sebastian lifted Molly's head and sat down, resting it on his thigh. Redbeard settled onto the couch next to him.
"Ready,boss?" The larger man asked, holding the pulley for the back door.
Sebastian nodded, holding up a remote control to turn on the flat screen. "Do it."
The door closed with a loud clang, and Sherlock heard the bolt being driven home. His attention turned to the flat screen, where Sebastian was seeking out a stored video in whatever hard drive was hidden from his view. He caught the blurry glimpse of two paused naked bodies in many video options, and turned his head away.
"Spare me. If I wanted to watch porn, I would have to look no further than John's laptop. What sort of game are you playing, Moran?" An acidic sensation filled his throat at the familiar long, brown hair he'd caught a glimpse of on the screen, the same hair Moran was now stroking on his lap.
He heard Sebastian chuckle. "Oh, but this is quality viewing, Holmes. Not like any porn you've ever seen, I guarantee it. I had hidden cameras all over Molly's flat, and her ring was wired for sound; it's how I knew how much she meant to you when you confessed to her that day you took her out to solve crimes. I have a whole video library of our encounters, right here. I can check them out any time I want, and I often do. Let's have a look at our first time, shall we?"
"No," Sherlock said firmly, narrowing his eyes and glaring to the side so as not to see. "I've no desire to watch this." He knew Molly would be absolutely mortified if she was awake.
Sebastian merely guffawed and clicked a button, and heavy, breathy moans echoed loudly through the back of the lorry.
"I… I'm not sure we should do this," Molly's voice spoke timidly. "I mean, I want to and all-"
"Then what's to think about?" Sebastian's voice throatily replied. "We're going to be married, anyway. Come on. I want you so bad, Molly. So bad. Please."
"I-unh!" She cried out, and Sherlock heard the unmistakable sound of rhythmic flesh and a furious, wet rubbing sound.
"I can't think when you, oh! Oh, yes, Tom! There, oh yes!"
"Don't think," he heard Sebastian reply. "Just please, Molly, let me be inside you. I can't do this all the time and then not have you. I'll go mad."
"I…unh, I want you, Tom."
"Yes?"
"Yes. God, yes."
Within seconds, Sherlock heard video Sebastian's grunting in vivid detail as he entered Molly, and her strenuous gasps as they started moving.
He clenched his eyes shut. If he had to see even a second of what he was hearing, he would lose it.
"Shut it off," he said through clenched teeth, anger surging through his veins as the sounds of their passionate sex rebounded around him in stereo.
"Not a chance," Sebastian laughed. "I've been waiting for this moment since I met you. Oh, did you like that, by the way? How I dressed up as you when we met? I got a kick out of it, though Molly was confused. I knew it'd make it hard for you to deduce me. Tell me the truth, did it work?"
Sherlock said nothing, trying to not hear the breathy moans and slap of skin on skin as actions of the lovers onscreen grew more frenzied. He'd thought Molly had dressed Sebastian up the day of the press conference, but he'd been mistaken. Channeling his thoughts in that direction, he tried not to listen to the moans on the screen, which were now becoming louder. In order to keep it from dominating his thoughts, he did what he did best, and postulated.
"I admit I was thrown by your appearance that day. I did suspect you weren't who you claimed to be from your staring alone, but I admit that my gravest mistake was in deducing you were a simpleton from the theory you gave at the wedding."
Tom turned off the video and threw his head back, laughing. "Oh, you liked that, did you? Truth be told I needed to start getting an easy out with Molly to put this all together. What better way than to make everyone think I was a meatball?"
Sherlock looked in the man's direction and noticed a darkness settle in his expression. "I know everything, you know. I know how Molly helped you fake your death. I was there that day."
"I know you were," Sherlock said. "You were the sniper."
Sebastian looked mildly impressed. "Not bad. I know that you kissed Molly. I know that she took you back to her flat, and I know that you stayed with her, in her bed, for three weeks. I also know that you couldn't muster up the guts to do more than sleep beside her during that time."
Sherlock frowned, swaying on his feet with the movements of the lorry, which had now picked up speed and was jerking around bends. "If you were watching us, which you clearly were, why didn't you make your move then?"
Sebastian sighed, fingering Molly's hair and moving a long, brown tendril out of her face. "I told you, Holmes. I'm an opportunist. I had to wait for the right moment."
"And this is it?" Sherlock mocked. "You were Moriarty's right hand man. What could you possibly have to gain now that he's dead?"
Sebastian gave him a lopsided grin. "Who said Moriarty was dead?"