It was loud. It was piercing and it was close, so, so close. Although her vision was fuzzed and wavy, half asleep but waking up, Molly Hooper's hearing was very much awake. Her ears aching from the loud, deafening rhythmic knock. Consciousness seemed a distant memory, normality now a dream. The world seemed upside down and on its side, in madness.
Molly's vision was slowly coming back, though the world around her still seemed dark, out of focus. She could hardly hear herself think, her thoughts mismatched and confused, whizzing around her bounding head, like a ship unhinged on a stormy sea, searching for some kind of relief. The only thing Molly knew was she was sitting, her hands bound and her mouth gagged. Both bonds were tied tight, restricting her immensely and causing severe pain on her wrists and jaw. The pain was all Molly could feel, the constant, earthly reminder that she was alive, that she was conscious.
The only thing she could remember from before this state of unconsciousness was pain, she remembered how Sebastian Moran had hurdled her up against the wall and the terrible, sharp pain she felt as she slid down it. She couldn't even cry out, her pain was so intense and overpowering. She felt as if every flicker of the happiness and positivity in her nature was exiting her body with every strong hit, leaving her empty, emotionless. After several minutes the beating and taunting became boring to Moriarty, he moved from the room, ignoring her screams as if he was a host in a party and needed to tend to his other guests. Molly was alone with Moran, he continued his severe beating with a vengeance, his hatred filling each unmerciful punch. After what felt like a lifetime a short respite was granted, but not for Molly's sake. Moriarty re-entered and moved across the room to her, she was now on the floor, fetal position, shaking. She could hardly recognise him until he bent down to her level, with a large sadistic smile etched across his face. Molly grimaced, expecting a close-range hit but instead he held forward some kind of recording device.
Sherlock m-must come i-in alone
She was forced to say it, though her voice was hoarse and weak. Moriarty then seemed satisfied and nodded to Moran so the horrendous beating could be re-ensued. She hated them so much it hurt, and with every step Moriarty took out of the room she could feel the hopeless, overwhelming pain of the families who were killed in his hideous bombs! She remembered those innocent men, women and children stabbed and left on that grisly barge, and the prostitutes he murdered just to be pawns in a hideous game that they never asked to play!
Molly's hatred gave her strength, desire to make Moriarty pay for all the pain he'd caused. That was all she could remember…she didn't even notice Moran injecting her with the sedative, which was what she presumed he had done. He could have knocked her unconscious with his beating but he was too smart for that, it was easier to sedate her, then he would be sure she would stay unconscious for the journey to her new location.
Back in the present, questions began to fill Molly's head, urging it awake and aching it immensely in the process. Where is Sherlock? Why did this happen? How cold can a man be, how evil to ruin any happiness he witnesses? Alongside this question Molly imagined Sherlock's face, immediately comforted by the memories of their time in 221B, the feeling of his lips on hers, so pure and real. She saw him, the real him, the man behind the enigma, she loved him and they were happy, so incredibly happy.
Molly's thoughts once again are interrupted by the loud, unbearable sound, giving her the final kick into full consciousness. Molly's eyes opened fully, the earth finally still. She was immediately confused staring at the large semi-see-through round window in front of her and its black, cryptic markings that her tired brain found itself tirelessly trying to decipher. Then the realisation finally hit her…it wasn't bangs or knocks she was hearing but ticks. It was a clock face. Molly couldn't believe her eyes are she watched the long black hand turning, rotating, counting the moments. She wondered how many times that hand had turned since she awoke…how long had she been here? Molly's ears ached so much from the loud ticks, she wished so intensely she could use her hands to cover them. Her eyes filled with tears of pain as the sounds resonated around her, seemingly louder than it had been before.
She thought about Sherlock once more to regain her focus; she then surveyed the room, if it could be called a room. It seemed more of a thin hallway with big black doors on each end, shut and, she presumed, locked. Her small black chair was placed in the centre of the hall, facing the clock. Outside the clock face Molly could see the Eye, its bright white lights and round pods circling, striking the minutes like the long black hand on the clock right in front of her. Each talking to each other, ticking, working, busy. Molly felt a short calmness staring at her home city, the only place in the world she felt truly at home. She felt comfortable here, London always called to her, comforted her. She thought of her brother Ben and his family, her nephews and nieces, she thought of John and Mary and their new born child, she thought of herself, she thought of Toby, 221B and once more, Sherlock Holmes. Where was he? She prayed he was safe, though her gut feeling was saying otherwise, and that terrified her.
The last time she saw Sherlock was when they were surrounded by Moriarty's allies…she begged and begged Moriarty and Moran to tell her where he was, where they had taken him but she was only answered in pain and hateful comments from Moran and cold laughter from Moriarty.
Molly knew though that she had to be put here for a reason, and she knew that Moriarty was behind it. It wasn't the view that he wanted her to admire…it was his destruction. Molly guessed that whatever it was that Moriarty had planned, the best view of it would be from this seat.
For several minutes, Molly just sat still, assessing her situation, her wrists aching from her continuous struggling against her tight bonds. She felt useless. Moriarty had killed thousands of innocent people today, Molly could almost hear the cries of the mourning mothers, fathers, siblings, friends…all below her, reaching up, watching Big Ben's rotating hands, wishing they would go backwards, begging for more time, thinking about yesterday. Moriarty had already won, in Molly's eyes; he had caused so much pain surely that was enough? But no, Molly thought, Sherlock was all he wanted. Sherlock is all that matters. This destruction is all for Sherlock, like some kind of sick love letter.
While Molly's thoughts dashed around her head like skimming stones she continued to pull at her tight bonds, reaching out for some kind of escape. Suddenly, mid-thought, Molly felt something, a metallic object, cold to touch, right below her under the small black chair. The object only just beyond her reach, she turned her head painstakingly, almost dislocating her shoulder. Behind her gag Molly moaned in pain, but she still pushed herself to see what was just beyond her vision. Suddenly, she saw it…she knew immediately what it was and what Jim Moriarty has planned. Molly knew in that second that she did indeed have a great seat and a great view. She had the perfect spot. With Moriarty's bomb placed right below her, Molly knew she had only a matter of minutes before the people of London find themselves in the centre of a giant fire storm once more…begging for mercy and dying while the rest of the world and Jim Moriarty watched. Molly felt a surge of intense hopelessness and fear wave through her; she was going to die and all because Moriarty wanted Sherlock to suffer in the worst way possible.
I will burn the heart out of you.
The one person Molly knew loved London more than her was Sherlock. London was his heart, and now, it will surely burn and Molly knew, she would burn in the centre of it. Suddenly, a realisation once more rushed through her, if she could somehow get out of her bonds she may get out of the building on time…but, she stopped mid thought, so many innocent people would still perish…the innocent tourists, busy Londoners on the way back from West End shows, the Tube passengers below…so many innocent people. Molly understood then, that if she is to save them, she had to do something brave, the bravest thing she could do, she had to rise above her fear, leave behind the quivering mouse and be the hero, with or without Sherlock Holmes.
Molly closed her eyes, imagining Sherlock, imagining their life, the life together they may not get to live. She imagined their wedding, John the best man and Sherlock in a well fitted blue suit and her dress, white, elegant, beautiful. She imagined the way Sherlock would have look at her as she walked down the aisle, the little cheeky smile and a quiet, loving deduction under his breath. Molly began to feel the tears building in her eyes, the ache of hopelessness, of despair. She prayed that Sherlock didn't know where she was, that he was far away from her and safe. She knew Sherlock Holmes must be the one to destroy Moriarty. She needed him to live to avenge her and the other's who perished for Moriarty's pleasure. She needed him to end this dreadful game once and for all.
Molly could feel her bonds were looser than they were when she awoke, her continuous struggling was succeeding in getting herself free. With this glimmer of hope Molly could also feel the beginnings of a plan forming in her head as well as a new flicker of strength. She soon drew the conclusion that if the final level of this game was for her to burn, she couldn't let Sherlock Holmes or any more innocent people burn with her.
It was now 11:55, it was time to move. The game is on.
/HI EVERYONE! I'M BACK FINALLY :) I WAS TAKING A LEAF OUT OF MOFFAT AND GATISS' BOOK AND WAITING 2 YEARS TO COMPLETE THIS STORY ;) i'm kidding. I do apologise for not finishing this story but I do intend to in the coming few weeks! Thank you all for your lovely reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!/