NICE QUICK UPDATE BUT I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THIS CHAPTER.
WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, BLOOD AND FEELS.
ENJOY.
Down in the basement of Barts, Molly continued to ponder around the morgue, sorting out files and packing up bodies. Nothing really exciting had happened for a while now and she found her mind drifting towards Sherlock. John hadn't said much apart from the fact that he was in trouble. Greg and the strange twins weren't saying anything either. The blonds bothered Molly. There was something about them that didn't fit but she couldn't put her finger on what. She shook the thought away before returning to her work.
Jim is more than happy to be doing this. When he'd posed as Jim from IT, dating Molly, the night he went over to her house was hell. A Glee marathon- fucking Glee. And the cats... dear Lord, they were EVERYWHERE. And he had had to listen to each and every introduction to her cats and say hi to all of them and God by the end he was more than happy to have been found out as gay to get away from her. Sebastian, of course, had found the entire thing utterly hilarious.
So he's wearing a genuine grin as he enters the morgue in his Jim from IT clothes, knife in his pocket.
Molly turns as the door opens.
"Jim? What are you doing here?" She doesn't try and hide her surprise although she is happy to see him. She brushes her hands off on her lab coat and smiles.
Oh, how adorably naive. Sherly hadn't even told her who he really was. This is certainly going to be fun.
"Just thought I'd drop by for a visit. Felt like seeing a dead body," he says, grinning innocently and chuckling.
Molly giggles in return.
"So, how've you been? Have you...found somebody?" She blushes and fiddles with the buttons on her coat.
He runs a hand through his hair, sheepishly, though he's mentally debating when to jump her.
"Er, yeah, actually."
"Really? Who? Handsome?" Molly laughs again, threading an arm under Jim's. She's happy of course.
That move right there, that cements it.
"Sherlock, actually." In a single fluid movement he'd drawn his blade and pressed her back against the table, knife to her throat.
"Jim! What's going on?" Molly yelps as she's pressed against the cold surface. The blade nicked at the throat making her breath hitch. She tried kicking out but soon realised that resistance would be futile, Jim was too strong.
His face drops the IT persona immediately, becoming sharp. Dangerous.
"Oh, sweetie, he really didn't care about you at all, did he? Let's see what rings a bell. Richard Brook? Jim Moriarty? Leader of the largest criminal empire the world has ever seen? Did he not tell you about me?"
"Sherlock mentioned...oh god, you're him. You're him." Molly struggles again still failing. "Also what did you mean earlier when I asked if you'd met someone and you said Sherlock? Was that some sort of joke?" Molly couldn't help but be slightly angry at herself for being so blind.
"Oh, no. We are, at the risk of sounding cliché, 'partners in crime,' as it were." He slides the knife down her collarbone. "He's actually the one who suggested I come and kill you."
"Kill me?" She pales, tear pooling in her eyes. "What have I done and Sherlock wouldn't do that."
"Oh, but he did. Of course, he's rather... cracked, as it were." He smiles. "I am going to enjoy this."
Molly doesn't answer. She can feel the cold, heavy metal trail across her skin and her mouth does dry. Jim applies pressure and Molly freezes as she feels blood well up and flow across her pale skin.
Jim trails the blade across her collarbone, watching in morbid fascination as the blood wells up.
"I asked you a question, Molly dearest."
Molly stays silent. She knew better then to answer. She feels the warm blood trickle across her skin and she was frankly quite terrified. He was going to kill her and it was obvious that it wasn't going to be quick.
Jim tsks, bringing the knife up to her face.
"Molly. Sweetheart. It'd be a shame to have to carve up that pretty face of yours because you're not answering my question."
Molly still says nothing and Jim's wrist flicks, the blade biting into her cheek and drawing more blood. She lashes out, managing to land a blow to his stomach with her knee.
Molly cries out, holding her cheek and stumbling away from Jim, who simply leers.
"That, Molly dear, was foolish."
She panics, feeling blood drip into her mouth. She fell back onto her workbench, grabbing a scalpel and holding it out in front of her. Aiming it at Jim. He simply chuckles and begins to walk towards her.
Her hands are shaking slightly.
"Stop. Don't come closer." She points it at Jim, already knowing that he won't care.
He doesn't, indeed, and with a flick of the wrist, he's knocked the scalpel skidding across the floor. Molly squeaks, grabbing for something, anything, to defend herself with.
Jim chuckles and continues to work the knife in his hand. Molly's heartbeat pounded in her ears and her hair stuck to her forehead.
"E-even if Sherlock was letting you do this, Greg is going to come after you," she threatens weakly, making a sudden bolt for the door.
Molly reaches the door only to find it locked. She slams her fists into it crying for help. Jim quickly grabs a fistful of hair and throws her backwards.
She hits the ground hard and yelps, but quickly stands again, adrenaline coursing through her as she runs to the wall and yanks on the fire alarm.
Jim curses and looks around. He had to this finished quickly. He runs forward grabbing Molly again and holding the scalpel against her throat.
She trembles, scrabbling at his wrist.
"They'll know it was you who did it," she says desperately, gathering her breath to yell as footsteps pound past outside. "HEL-"
Jim quickly draws the blade across her throat, making a crimson line visible. Molly reaches a hand to her neck running her thumb along the cut. She looks at Jim horrified as blood begins to flow over her fingers.
She falls to the floor, choking on her own blood and making her feel absolutely horrified as her lungs fill with blood, dripping from her mouth. She just manages to get enough coherent thought to curse the day Sherlock Holmes applied for a job before collapsing, life bleeding from her throat.
X
Across London, Sherlock Holmes is on the rooftop of Bart's for a far different reason than his last time here. He finishes securing the slim cord that will fall near the window of the room he's found to be the Moran's- nearly invisible to anyone not looking for it. After all, without Mycroft having a pad on the ground for him, he could at the very least break a few bones if he isn't careful. He clips on the rappelling hook onto the cord, glancing over his shoulder as he backs towards the edge and dips over the side, quite literally walking down the wall towards the room and stepping in through the open window.
He blinks in the sudden harsh light and glances around the room. The younger Moran is curled up on his bed, his heart rate monitor beeping regularly. Sherlock could hear Sebastian's voice outside.
He pulls out an empty syringe, walking over to the IV drip, pausing as Severin shifts and wakes up. Shit. He walks over and clamps a hand over the younger twin's mouth.
Severin's still pretty groggy so he doesn't immediately put up fight but once he wakes up fully he desperately scratches as Sherlock's wrist. He tries to yell for his brother but his cries are muffled.
Sherlock tsks softly, ignoring the scrabbling hands and pressing Severin back against the pillows; hand still firmly over Severin's mouth. He takes the syringe and places the very tip into the IV drip, injecting an air bubble which sluggishly works its way down the tube.
Severin isn't as smart as his brother but he knows what would happen if the bubble got into his system that'd be it. He struggled again but Sherlock was too strong. He tried breathing out of his nose but his vision was almost black. The bubble made its way to the needle that was in Severin's wrist and slowly oozed in. Sherlock then let go of Severin and stood back. Let him call Sebastian.
Sherlock tosses the needle aside and walks over to the window as Sebastian runs in, terrified by his brother's shouts. Severin is breathing hard, eyes screwed shut, and when Sebastian's halfway to Sherlock- well prepared to snap his neck- Severin begins convulsing on the bed, clawing at his throat as he tries to breathe, the air bubble having reached his heart quickly.
Sebastian stares at Sherlock then at Severin, deciding whether to kill the man who's hurting his twin or get John. He decides on the latter, darting out the door finding the doctor sat down looking quite calm. He grabs him and pulls him into the room where Sherlock is still sat by the window.
John takes in the scene quickly and looks over at Sherlock, pale.
"What did you give him?"
Sherlock smirks.
"Air."
John's heart drops out and he yells out the open door for pure oxygen equipment, running over to Severin's side and holding him still as they fasten on the mask. Sherlock winks at Sebastian, blowing him a kiss and stepping neatly out the window as the drone of a flat lining heart monitor fills the room, Severin clawing weakly at his throat.
Sebastian stands back and stumbles against the wall as Severin's heart line goes flat. He put his back against the smooth stone and slid to the floor, head in his hands. John stands up from Severin slowly as his struggles cease. His blond hair fell over his face and his blue eyes glassed over. The doctors looked at each other before meeting John's eyes and shaking their heads, removing the mask from Severin's mouth. John blinks slowly before turning to Sebastian on the floor. He sat down beside him for a while before wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"I'm sorry."
He can't bring himself to push the man away, simply closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall, desperately trying to avoid tears. God. That had happened far too quickly, and he doesn't think he'll ever get the picture of his younger brother clawing for air out of his mind. He sits there for a few moments, unable to keep the tears in after a few moments, before realization hits him and he struggles to his feet.
"The inspector," he manages to get out as he stumbles to his feet. It'd be easy enough for Sherlock to get to his room as well.
John glances at Severin.
"I'll go check on Greg. You stay here." He pauses. "If he comes back snap his scrawny neck."
Sebastian nods, half-relieved.
"It would be my utmost pleasure." He hands John his gun. "Go."
John takes the hand gun and runs down to Greg's room. He takes a moment to compose himself, pulling back the hammer of the gun making sure he's ready to fire if needed. But the room's totally empty. Greg sits up, confused.
"John? What's the matter, I heard you yelling earlier?"
John darts around to the windows, slamming them all shut and locking them, drawing the blinds closed.
"Sherlock. He was here. He killed Severin." He walks over and checks Greg's IV. "We need to get out of here."
Greg gulps.
"I'm guessing that's Moran's brother?" He scrubs a hand through his hair. "First Mycroft now him. One more and he'll be officially labelled a serial killer."
John shoots him a glare.
"Not the time Greg. Can you walk?"
Greg nods, grimacing. "Somewhat. Give me crutches and I'll be fine, though a wheelchair would be preferable." He pulls out the IV, wincing.
John nods, grabbing a chair from the corner and wheeling it over to the bed. "I'll call Anthea- Mycroft's assistant. She'll get us a safe house."
Greg pales, eyes fixed to the TV screen. "John..."
"A false fire alarm today at Bart's hospital led to the finding of a dead woman. Molly Hooper, a worker in the morgue of the hospital, was found with a slashed throat by nurses evacuating the building. Police have not identified a suspect..."
Greg sighs.
"Oh, Molly..."
"That couldn't have been Sherlock. He was up here..." John pauses then growls. "Moriarty."
Greg gulps. "We're in trouble. You do realize that there's not a safe house in England that they won't be able to track down and enter."
John wheels Greg out of his room and towards Sebastian's. The sniper was sat beside his dead twin with one of his cold hands clutched in his. Severin's eyes were closed now.
"Sebastian we have to go."
Sebastian shakes his head, running his thumb along Severin's knuckles before standing, pressing a kiss to his brother's forehead. He can almost imagine that he's just asleep.
"I'm going to kill him," he says quietly, turning to the pair and looking haggard. "Both of them."
"That's the plan." John said carefully. "Come on, the sooner we get out of here the better."
Sebastian takes one last look at Severin and his throat went dry.
"What about Severin? I can't leave him here. I'm not leaving him alone again."
John knows to tread carefully, right about now.
"What do you want to do? We don't have the time to take him anywhere to get cremated, if that is what you wanted. It might be better to let the nurses take him to the morgue."
Sebastian says nothing but turns back to his twin. He kisses his head again and ruffles his hair like he used to.
"Goodbye baby brother." He smiles sadly at him one last time before looking at John and Greg. "Let's go." He murmurs quietly, chin against his chest.
John looks over at Sebastian, smiling sadly at the affectionate gesture.
"Come on."
The nurses attempt to protest as they walk out, but John simply gives them his 'Captain' stare and they allow them to leave. John pulls out his mobile.
"Anthea, its John Watson. I need a safe house."
Sebastian says nothing as he follows John and the injured inspector out of the hospital. A sleek, black car was already waiting outside. John helps Greg inside, the inspector hissing in pain. Sebastian walks around the other side and takes a glimpse up at his old hospital room where Severin Moran was soon to be discovered.
At least now no one can hurt him anymore. Sebastian shakes his head and climbs into the car.
John lets Greg lean against him, the whole situation oddly feeling quite similar to Afghanistan. He makes a point of looking at the driver's face before allowing him to pull away from the curb. He looks over at the other two men.
"You two still have guns?"
Sebastian says nothing. He peels back his jacket to reveal another handgun and a shotgun in their holsters. John turns to Greg who shakes his head.
"Moriarty told me to come alone without any weaponry." He shrugged helplessly. "With Sherlock on the inside I didn't want to take any chances."
John nods. "They'll have some at the safe house, I'm sure. We need a plan. They're obviously going to be coming for us. We're the only ones really left of any importance." He looks over at Greg. "Do you think they would go after Mrs. Hudson?"
"I wouldn't rule her out. Knowing him, I mean, them, they'd kill her just to get a message across." Greg sighs, wincing in pain as the driver took a sharp left.
John nods and turns to face Sebastian.
"Is there anyone you want under protection? Parents?"
Sebastian shakes his head.
"Dead," he says flatly. Lestrade shakes his head as well. "He may go after Sally and Anderson, but I don't know what we can do."
Sebastian turns back out the window, mentally remembering every turn they took, half hoping that they'd find them. He's been harbouring so many violent urges against Jim the past ten years and Severin had been the last straw. He could do whatever he wanted to him but if anyone touched his baby brother, they died. No matter how powerful they were.
John and Greg chat and try to devise some sort of plan, but it really goes nowhere. After all, if Mycroft bloody Holmes was dead, there's not much they can think of to save two of Scotland Yard's apparent 'finest.' The safe house itself is a gamble after all. John speaks to Sebastian.
"What do you think we should do after we get there? We can't stay there like sitting ducks forever."
"We wait. Jim's a showoff. He'll probably visit us with Holmes just to show us what he can do. We just need to be ready to shoot on sight." Sebastian growls. The car stops and John helps Greg out.
The three make their way inside furtively, and John and Sebastian immediately take to stalking through the house and ensuring that every door is bolted and every window locked. Satisfied, John supports Greg into one of the bedrooms, laying him down.
"You need to stay lying down as much as possible for now while you heal."
Greg hisses obviously not a massive fan of that idea. Nevertheless he lies down and closes his eyes, attempting to get forty winks while he can. Once John is completely satisfied that no-one can enter the room, he goes downstairs to find Sebastian sat down in what appears to be the living room, chin resting on his knuckles and his two guns on the coffee table in front of him. He scrubs one of his hands through his blond hair and leans back, sighing.
John takes a stands silently across from him before laying his own gun down on the table and disappearing for several moments to search the house for the arsenal. He returns with an armful of more guns and ammunition, setting those meticulously on the table as well before taking a seat across from Sebastian.
"I am sorry. About Severin."
Sebastian shrugs.
"I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't see it coming. The second Jim brought him into this I knew he was going to be a target." He pauses for a second, feeling his throat tightening as he speaks. "I joined Jim's team believing I was protecting him. Turns out I was condemning him."
John frowns.
"It wasn't your fault. If Jim wanted him dead, he'd have died regardless of what you did. You can't blame yourself for the two of them being psychotic bastards."
Sebastian says nothing. He rubs his face, fresh tears coming to his eyes. He laughed as they began to roll down his cheeks. He then burst into fresh sobs putting his head in his hands.
"I miss him so much already."
John sighs softly, resting a hand on the man's shoulder.
"I know," he murmurs quietly. "Gotta keep yourself together though, mate, if you want to get back at the bastards who killed him, yeah?"
Sebastian quickly sniffs and nods, pulling himself together.
"Yeah."
John nods.
"Good. We'll get back at them, I swear. We don't just roll over and let them do what they want, yeah?"
He knows from experience that military men can't have too much self pity. They need a new goal. Don't think. Just go.
Sebastian sniffs again; he shakes the tears out of his eyes and eyes the guns on the table, busying himself by loading every single one.
"How's the inspector?"
John smiles a bit, allowing him to busy himself.
"Irritated that he's stuck in bed, but otherwise okay. Worried."
"I would be too. Sherlock was obviously a dear friend to him." Sebastian tilts his head at John. "You think he can be saved? After everything that's happened? I mean, Jim killed one of your friends too, the girl in the morgue?"
John went pale. Molly. He sighed.
"I don't know. Even if we did somehow get him back, he'd be in prison for the rest of his life. Especially without Mycroft to pull any strings. And I think that if he did wake up, he'd kill himself. For real."
"So what's the best course of action? If we catch him, he's dead but if we don't, we're dead."
Sebastian groaned, ruffling his dirty blond hair.
John sighs, feeling a lump rise in his throat.
"We're going to have to kill him. And Moriarty. There's no other option. If we don't go after them, they'll burn down London just for the hell of it."
Sebastian looks at the guns on the table and nods.
"We've got enough firepower to last us for now. The only thing you can do is get some rest."
"What about you?"
"What about me?" he replies, shrugging. "I don't quite know what you're getting at, here."
John tilts his head. "You said the best I can do? What about you?"
Sebastian rubs his face.
"I have some things I need to think over. Alone."
John frowns.
"I don't think that's a good idea, mate. You to be up alone." Not after what had happened.
Sebastian looks at him for a long while.
"I'm not willing to kill myself yet, Watson. I'm killing those two first." He growls, the scars on his face gleaming in the dim light.
John nods quietly, knowing that look better than he knows the back of his hand.
"Fair enough. Something happens, you know where I am," he says, before walking into the first floor bedroom wearily.
Sebastian watches the doctor walk up the stairs and reclines into the chair, hands resting over his eyes. The image of Severin clawing at his throat flashed in front of him. He gives a quiet yell, jolting upright. Now John was upstairs, he put his head in his hands and allowed himself to cry.
John was reluctant to leave the sniper alone, after what had happened, but he couldn't deny his exhaustion. He peeks into Lestrade's room before going to his own, laying down on the bed and slipping into restless sleep.
I hate myself sometimes. I really do but I hope you all enjoyed that as much as we cried writing it.
READ AND REVIEW AS ALWAYS.