THE WAR INSIDE MY HEAD
14.
Molly came to bound to a chair in the midst of an abandoned warehouse. Molly took the few minutes alone to take in the surroundings. It was taking everything she could not to panic. It was recently abandoned, for the place had mechanics that have yet to rust. Either that or someone had been preparing for this for some time.
The ground beneath her started to revolve and Molly let out a yelp at the sudden movement. But the chair quit its movement moments later. Molly then realized that the chair had only turned right 90 degrees before jerking back into a halt. She noticed a figure from the corner of her right eye and her shrieks returned.
"Looks like you have not forgotten me; though do let me introduce myself again. Sebastian Moran, lovely seeing you again."
Molly began to shake in her confinement. He's back, for revenge this time. She could see the fury and determination in those snakelike eyes. The evil in his glare had doubled the last time she saw him. Molly could only register one thing to her spinning mind.
She is not making it out alive.
Her eyes begin to water at that prospect; the thought of leaving the world with her last words to Sherlock being her useless apology to his broken soul. She still has so much she has yet to share with him, so much words that would be rendered useless with her cold corpse when he found her. She would leave with so much regret.
"Oh, don't cry, I hate it when they cry," Moran spoke with a bored tone, rolling his eyes as Jim previously did.
Molly fought back the tears that were stinging her eyes at this point. She took a deep breath then conjured up all her courage to glare back at her to-be murderer. If she were going to die, that would be the look she wanted him to have etched into his mind.
"Fine." Molly said with as much hatred as her wrath was emitting. "Where is Irene?"
Moran raised his eyebrows in surprise to her question, and then nodded slowly to himself as if he was proven right about something.
"Irene was right, you are one to watch. Pity Jim didn't notice you through your endless stammering and annoying blushing."
"Where. Is. Irene," Molly repeated herself as she began to branch her anger to the Woman who brought her to her current state. She should have known not to trust her. Sherlock made that mistake once and he is the most brilliant man she knows. She felt stupid for letting her heart rule her instincts.
"She's… done her part," Moran hissed as he drew his thumb across his neck.
Molly's fury vanished from her face for a split second. As much as she hated Irene, she never thought he would have killed his accomplice without hesitation the minute she is rendered useless to him.
"Don't look so surprised, honey. It's not like she would have let me lived if things were to turn around."
Just as he finished his sentence, Molly felt the same revolving motion beneath her. She yelped at the sudden movement, then pursed her lips tightly again so that he would not witness anymore of her weakness.
He let out a hearty laugh at her, then skipped down the platform.
"What is this shit I am on?" Molly fumed.
"Shit?" Moran turned around indignantly. He stomped his way the nearest machine and punched a button which made her chair begin to spin.
"Look around you, bitch. All these shit around you are what your death is going to look like. All these machines will be what Sherlock Holmes would be using to kill you. He may think to shoot me through these fucking windows but guess what?" The chair spurned to a stop. "These machines are going to bounce the bullet all towards you."
Molly's head began to pound as she tried to gasp for air. But before she could take one breath, she felt him cover her mouth with a handkerchief with the same smell that knocked her out.
"YOU HAVE TO FIND HER."
Sherlock's voice echoed through Mycroft's office as he stabbed a knife through the polaroid from Moran.
"Sherlock Holmes keep your volume down. We are at the heart-"
"I don't CARE if we are at the very heart of the Britain nation. I don't CARE if we are at God's Pearly Gates. I CANNOT lose her."
Mycroft took a deep breath as he assessed the situation. "This is exactly what I was afraid of."
Sherlock spun around to slam a hand on his brother's desk as he barked, "WHAT? Of me caring because it is not an advantage?"
"No. Of you losing your cool and not thinking straight when you bloody hell should at the moment!" Mycroft replied with increasing frustration in his voice.
Sherlock's eyes soften to its most vulnerable state as he sought comfort from his older brother. He hated it when Mycroft is right, but right now he needed someone to make the decisions for him as his heart is shredding into pieces.
Mycroft eased the fruit knife out of his mahogany table and passed the knife to Anthea who was standing a few feet away from the broken man. She had put her phone down and stepped as far away from Sherlock as possible the moment she received the unaddressed envelope in Irene's abandoned car. Something bad must have happened the instant Irene stopped replying to her text.
Mycroft beckoned her to leave. He then slid the photo before his brother's hunched demeanor and begged him with his gentlest voice to assess the photo like how he usually did.
"Sherlock, time is of essence. She needs you to figure this out. You probably know this place. Come on now…"
Sherlock stayed silent for a bit. Then heaved a deep breath in before clearing his head of his deafening worries. His eyes slid over the photo for a second before putting the photo down.
"Well?"
Sherlock looked away from his brother and shook his head.
Mycroft sighed as he reached out to assess the photo himself. But his actions were cut off by his brother's next request.
"I can't do this alone. I need to get John for this."