Molly was tied to the chair for four hours now. When she heard Sherlock's voice on the other end, she felt her heart throbbing in her chest as Mary was holding a gun to her head as they were both being watched. The assassin whispered to her to sound convincing and she did just that, wanting to seem scared and that something was wrong- which, obviously, something was. After the conversation ended between the consulting detective and the assassin, the two women both took a sigh of relief as the gun was lowered from the pathologist's head.
"Why is he making us do this?" She whispered to the blonde woman.
Mary shook her head. "I don't know, but if I see him, I'm going to blow his brains out." She lightly tapped the gun against her leg with irritation as she walked around the small room.
Molly smirked. "You and I both know you can't do that." She quickly added, "Well, you could, but it's a little risky."
"I know what you mean." She sadly smirked. "God, I don't want us both to get killed."
"How many men did you say he had?" She looked up at her friend with wonder.
"Three I believe, but they were hired hits. Just thugs off the streets really." She then bowed her head with concern as she stopped walking in front of the bound woman. "I only hope that John isn't cross with me." She raised her head with hopefulness. "Sherlock sounded like he knew what was happening."
The tied woman smirked with reassurance. "I'm sure after they come for us, everything will be settled. As long as you and I stick together, we'll be fine." She then smiled, knowing that it was true. Mary was a woman that was meant to be trusted.
Mary looked over at her with a smile. "You're right. In two days, the boys will stop this madness."
A wonder then entered the pathologist's mind, making her slowly frown and brown eyes drift away. "So this was all just to take Sherlock down? To finish what Moriarty failed to do?"
"Sherlock won't go down. Not that easily." Mary's voice was stern and truthful with strong eyes. "I may be forced into scaring you and the boys, but you trust me and even this idiot knows that I would turn gun against him and his thugs any chance I get." Mary knelt in front of her, making her look in the woman's blue eyes that were strong and meaningful. "Sherlock will get out alive."
Feeling a surge of determination and knowing her boyfriend, Molly knew that it was true and there was no way that Sherlock Holmes was going to die by this amatuer maniac.
The flat was quiet as if the baby was returned home as if Molly was at work, but they were not. No. The orphan was the only one safe out of the three. As the sun was rising, Sherlock was already up and out of bed, just sitting on the couch, looking out the window, knowing that his girlfriend was going to be okay. This was the first time that something like this had happened to the pathologist, but since Mary was hopefully with the former assassin, it didn't scare him as much. He knew next time she wouldn't be luck to have John's wife by her side.
Wanting to get the thought from his mind, he stood up, grabbed his violin and bow, and began to play a ballad. Tomorrow he was able to find Molly and Mary and get the killer and kidnapper into custody. But the words that his girlfriend said still unnerved him. Why did she say those words? Those words of "I love you no matter what" and "I never meant what I said". Why those words? If she knew that she was safer than she would be without Mary Watson, why did she say those words? Then something entered his brain, making him stop in mid-tune with a flash of worry. Did she know something that he didn't? Like dying? Was he going to find Molly Hooper's dead body His blood began to run cold with horror, then roughly shook his head.
No.
Molly Hooper was going to live.
She was probably made to say those words to throw him off kilter.
He carried on to play, reassuring himself. He was going to get Molly unscathed and John would reunite with an unharmed Mary. That's how it was going to go, that's how it was gong to be and end with the killer behind bars.
The violinist carried on to play for another three hours, until there was a knock on the door and opened to Mycroft, who was dressed in his usual light-grey suit with a Navy-blue umbrella. "Hello, little brother. I see that you playing your troubles away." There was augment in his voice.
"I'm thinking," the violinist stated, continuing to play with his back to his brother, who closed the door.
"Worried about your girlfriend?"
"As long as Mary is with her, I know she is safer than she would be," he dryly answered, not in the mood for his brother.
"Mary? Mary Watson? Don't tell me she is also kidnapped. Gracious. What is the world coming to?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he sat on the red chair.
Sherlock lowered his violin and bow, looking at his brother with bored wonder. "What are you doing here so early?"
The older one looked at his brother with a forced smile. "I came to keep my little brother out of trouble just in case his worries about his girlfriend grew."
"You could lie better than that." Sherlock placed his instrument on the couch, knowing his older brother so well.
"Very well," Mycroft lightly sighed. "I just came to drop by to say, 'Hi' and was wondering if you want to get some fish and chips."
Sherlock narrowed his blue eyes, unamused by his brother's humor. He quickly spun around, walking abruptly to him, looking him in the eyes. "What did the kidnapper say?"
Mycroft dug his phone out from his coat pocket, went through the messages and read, "'Tomorrow is the day where you get your girlfriend and your friend's wife back and where you die.'"
"Why does it always end with me dying?" Sherlock questioned, bored of the same threat. It never changes. Everyone just wants his head. It gets boring very quickly.
"Because you are just so well loved," his brother answered with a sarcastic smile.
The detective gave a unamused snort as he turned away with boredom, then looked into the kitchen at his "lab" where he would hold his experiments. "I wish Molly was here," he muttered.
"Worried about her?"
"No, she just makes good tea."
Mycroft looked up at his brother. "You are happy with her, aren't you?"
"Of course I'm happy with her." He looked down at his "guest", taken about by his words. "I wouldn't have dated her for a year if I wasn't."
"Are you thinking of marriage?" He suddenly asked, then smiled as he closed his eyes with delight. "I could see it now: Sherlock Holmes dressed in a suit along with a shimmering bride."
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
The daydream ended when a disgusted look grew on Mycroft's face as his eyes opened. "Oh, but that mean's that I'll have to go to the wedding, won't I?"
"Oh, you won't have to worry about that because there is no wedding!" The annoyed young man hissed as he stormed to the couch, moved his violin and bow to the floor, then laid on the couch.
"Of course. You'll need the bride first. Too bad she's kidnapped."
"I'm not going to get married! Molly is just my girlfriend. I don't plan on getting married and she knows that." Weddings were never his thing, let alone getting married himself. He always had to be ready for a case and there was even a case at John's wedding. Just imagine if the groom had to solve a case before one of his own guest died. Now, that would be interesting, but it wasn't going to happen because he was not going to get married. Molly knew that.
"You'll get her back," Mycroft comforted.
He glanced at his big brother. "I know I'm going to get her back."
"Well, I'll be off then. Just came by to check on my lonely brother," he mocked as he was heading for the door.
"Not as lonely as you," Sherlock muttered, causing his brother to stop in his tracks and gave him a unamused glare that looked he wanted to do something about it. Just as he was about to leave, the detective added, "I recommend Shelly's Bakery that just opened a week ago a couple of blocks from here." He was trying not to snigger as he felt his brother's death glare.
Mycroft then walked out the door, closing it from behind.