Oh, my lovelies - my sincerest apologies for the delay in this chapter. The last two months have been crazy with work and some special events in which I was involved so I didn't get a chance to work on the story at all. Thank you for your patience.
For your wonderful and appreciated reviews - ashlanielle, Eienvine, AJP910, molliquin, Starcrier, Tarte Hearte, Bucky5, Star Wars Backward, Reina 434, nowsusieq, RenaissanceBookLover105, MarryMeTennant3, hermoine snape, Rocking the Redhead, DayDreamerFromAsgard, witty-lis, MarBre582, legolover, mar, Angels-heart1 and my guests - your reviews make my heart happy. :) XXOO
And the most important thank you to hobbitsdoitbetter for her always amazing beta work - she's got a story going now, Little Goldfish - go...read and review, you'll be glad you did!
~oOo~
Molly sat in the corner of the front room, just behind the window curtain - her legs crossed in front of her - watching the paparazzi in the street below. Sherlock had left abruptly just over two hours ago, telling Molly only that something urgent had taken place and, for her safety, she needed to remain here and out of sight.
"For God's sake, Molly, don't go near the damn window.", he'd said. His jaw had been set tight and eyes focused anywhere but on her. A shiver crawled its way up her spine. He'd been calm - oh, so very calm and Sherlock-like with his clipped words and firm orders to James. But there was a fury simmering just below the surface of his eyes. Something had happened - something Sherlock thought needed to be kept from her. Her first instinct had been to scold him, raise her voice and cross her arms to tell him he was a stubborn prat for thinking he was protecting her from the truth. As much as she did relish Sherlock's new found attention towards her, she'd spent two years without him and didn't want him to think he always had to come to her rescue.
But it had not been the time to assert her independence - one look at Sherlock's face told her that. So, she'd smiled, nodded, told him she would stay away from the windows and then kissed him on the cheek.
The anger had melted from his face immediately after her lips touched his skin. Sherlock had put his hand on her cheek and told her everything would be alright (poor liar, he was) and that he would call her as soon as he could. Molly had watched as he swept out the door with his coat and scarf, glancing back to her to offer one weak smile before he disappeared.
She sighed and peered surreptitiously out the window (never was one to play by the rules.) The larger group from earlier in the morning had now dwindled to just a few photographers. Apparently, Molly Hooper was less interesting than other genuine celebrities in London -
For that, she was thankful.
Molly maneuvered her way from the window, stood up and walked to the kitchen. She hadn't eaten much of anything earlier and now her stomach was beginning to protest. James had been stationed outside the door all morning - the least she could do was make the poor man something to eat. After all, with Lord Sherlock's commands issued, it wasn't likely that either of them would be leaving Baker Street in the near future.
She no sooner pulled two plates from the cupboard, (thank goodness for Mrs. Hudson and her constant need to tidy up) than she heard James' deep voice in the other room.
"Miss Hooper?"
Molly emerged from the kitchen to see James standing just in front of another man. He was just shorter than James, with dark hair and a solid, reasonably muscular build. A dark jacket, blue shirt and red tie highlighted the paleness of his skin. He was holding a hat in his left hand as he smiled and nodded in Molly's direction.
"This is Detective Sergeant Moore. He says he needs you to come down to the station to help with Mr. Holmes' investigation." James' expression was as unreadable as always. "I called to the station and verified his credentials."
Molly nodded and smiled at James - thorough, stalwart muscled James. She was grateful for his consistent presence.
Sergeant Moore - Molly guessed him to be in his early thirties - stepped forward and extended his hand, "Miss Hooper." She reciprocated and shook his hand - strong, firm - maybe too firm. "Please, call me Colin. Hate to disturb you but I was told to escort you to the Yard directly."
Molly's brow furrowed in confusion. "But, Sherlock hasn't called…"
"Yeah," Moore interjected, "he's quite deep in this one. Detective Inspector Lestrade wanted you there to help."
"Me? I've never helped before."
"Well, this does involve the...pardon my saying...blighter following you." His voice dipped low at the last part - as if he was afraid that someone might be listening.
Molly looked to James who only raised an eyebrow in response. "Sherlock asked that I stay here...the photographers are all outside."
"Oh I handled them, Miss Hooper. Told those arseholes they'd better sod off," He paused and looked toward the ground briefly, obviously embarrassed by his rough language. "Pardon me. I just don't have much patience for that lot. Anyway, they're gone and I made sure to bring a car with darkened windows, like Mr. Holmes asked."
A whisper of unease settled in her chest. "Maybe I should call Sherlock just in case." She began to move towards the side table that held her phone only to be interrupted by the Sergeant.
"You're welcome to, Miss, but right after he gave me my instructions, he told me to 'Bugger off and let me work'. He didn't seem open to many interruptions."
Molly nodded. When Sherlock was working a case he didn't suffer too many questions. Molly certainly didn't want to interrupt him when he could be finding the key to ending this nightmare. And it was broad daylight, James was with her and he had verified this man was a police officer. Stop cringing at shadows, Hooper - she scolded herself.
"Alright, then. Let me just get my handbag."
She moved quickly, replacing the plates back in the cupboard, then gathering her handbag and phone. When she finished, Sergeant Moore and James stepped out first while Molly shut and locked the door. They descended the stairs and, once they reached the front door, the detective put on his hat and peered outside. He looked over his shoulder at Molly and James, nodding that the street was clear.
The three of them made their way quickly to the dark car parked just outside Baker Street. Sergeant Moore opened the door for Molly and James walked around and climbed into the passenger seat. The detective took his seat and started the car.
"Right, then. Should be there shortly." He paused briefly and shook his head. "Bugger...I almost forgot."
Molly could see the outline of his shoulders from behind and James looked to the side to see what the man might be doing. As soon as Molly saw James' eyes go wide and his hands dart out toward Colin Moore, Molly knew she was in trouble. There was a hiss of sound and then James' body suddenly seized up. Stun gun. Get out, Molly. Run. She frantically tried to open the door only to realize that there were no door handles in the back of a police car.
She had to go on the offensive. Molly lunged forward and struck out her hands towards Moore's face - the eyes, take out his eyes, her inner voice prodded. She managed to connect with his cheek, shoving her fingers forcefully towards his open eyes. His yelp of pain told her she'd struck her mark. You're not taking me, you bastard. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Molly frantically tried to work her way through the open partition into the front seat - continuing to punch and hit as much as she could. Her task was difficult - James' unconscious body remained in the passenger seat and finding enough room to crawl in between the two men while keeping Moore at bay was proving more complicated than she'd thought.
The gun. Molly spotted the weapon on the seat and grabbed it firmly. She set her jaw, jammed the gun into Moore's side and pulled the trigger.
Nothing. No. No, no, no….Molly's heart hammered with panic. She glanced down and saw the conductive wires of the police issued taser gun running to James' side - the gun wouldn't work again until it was reset. Molly didn't have enough time to curse herself for her miscalculation. She dropped the useless weapon and, once again, launched her arm at Moore's face, only to have his large hand wrap around her wrist. She whipped her head to the side and looked directly into his face - he was smiling. Her entire world came to a halt.
"Molly, my angel, there's no need for all that. Don't you know I'm here to take care of you?"
She saw the flash of the needle just before a sharp pain radiated throughout her forearm. Molly tried to wrestle free - once again reaching toward the man's eyes but he grabbed her wrist and wrenched it back. Molly yelped and Moore shoved her back through the partition into the back seat. The drug was potent and in only seconds, Molly was struggling to remain conscious. Through the fog, Molly saw her attacker open the door and push James outside. Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead, her panicked inner voice whispered. The detective then reached into the back seat, grabbed her purse and flung it out the window before taking one more opportunity to regard her in the backseat. The bastard was watching to make sure she lost consciousness.
Colin Moore's smile was the last thing she saw before she descended into the darkness.
~oOo~
Sherlock cursed to himself. The amount of time it had taken him to work through the crime scene was bloody embarrassing. Clues were always so easy to find for him - stupid mistakes, obvious plans by the perpetrator - the story usually unfolded itself as easily as a bird spreads its wings. Perhaps his attachment to Molly had become his Achilles Heel - his blind spot. Where he should be seeing obvious patterns and a solid conclusion to this mysterious attacker, he felt as if he were standing just outside of himself, grasping at wisps of information that slipped uselessly through his fingers.
It was really rather annoying.
Sherlock stood in one corner of the hospital waiting room while Lestrade held up the wall on the opposite corner. They'd come here immediately after Sherlock finished examining Kitty's apartment - hoping to speak to the woman as soon as possible. Unfortunately, her injuries had been severe enough to warrant several tests in order to determine the possibility of any brain damage - thus, the two detectives (consulting and official) remained on standby. Sherlock glanced in his friend's direction - his body language practically screaming 'Why haven't you cracked this yet, you bloody moron?'
As if Holmes hadn't cursed himself enough already for - well, everything.
Lestrade pushed himself away from the wall and Sherlock's attention was drawn to the doctor walking down the hall in their direction. Short, stocky and obviously stressed (lines around his mouth and yellowing of the hair indicates at least two packs smoked per day; chews his nails to the quick), the physician stopped in the middle of the room and crossed his arms.
"She's awake. You can speak with her now." Sherlock needed no other invitation, but as he moved to exit, the doctor spoke again, his finger pointed directly up at his face. Careful, Doctor, I might break it off your hand, Sherlock thought to himself. "However, you're allowed no more than five minutes. She's been through a trauma and needs to rest."
"I'll only need two." Sherlock huffed as he stalked down the hallway, turned the corner and entered Kitty Riley's room with Greg directly behind. Holmes stopped, his chest tight and hands clenched at his side.
Sherlock was quite used to seeing people bruised, bloodied...dead. He'd never been one to shy away from violence or its result. But this…. The man who did this had enjoyed what he'd done. Kitty's face was bandaged, her lips swollen. One of her eyes was bruised shut and identical scars ran along her cheek-bones, slashing upwards to scar her temples and downwards to bisect her chin. Sherlock shook his head in disgust: Her attacker had specifically gone for those elements of a woman's face which would be most noticeable, most striking, almost as if…
Almost as if the very femininity of Reilly was what had enraged him.
And if this was how he reacted specifically to a woman who had angered him…again Sherlock shook his head, picturing the scenario. It could be his Molly lying on that bed, bandaged and sedated. His Molly tortured at the hands of a sadistic bastard who professed to love her. His Molly, cut and slashed and torn. Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, wanting more than anything to hear Molly's voice in this moment. Assure himself she was safe. Sherlock looked to his side and saw Lestrade's confused stare - his eyes darting from Sherlock to Kitty and back again in the unspoken, 'Talk to her, you git.'
Sherlock cleared his throat and saw Kitty's swollen eyes open slightly. Her brow furrowed as she looked from man to man, before settling her gaze on Sherlock.
"Miss Reilly, did you know the man who attacked you?"
She took a breath, closed her eyes and moved her head slowly to the side as she managed to whisper, "No."
"But you allowed him into your apartment." Sherlock's tone was somewhere between accusation and wonder - Lestrade noticed, he could tell by the look on the policeman's face.
At his words, Reilly glared, some of her old vinegar returning; she moved her hands and slowly, meticulously, flipped Sherlock the finger. Despite Sherlock's annoyance, Lestrade took a step closer as if he intended to act as a physical barrier between an overly tense Sherlock Holmes and the woman who held the key to this mystery.
"Is there a reason you opened the door, Miss Reilly?" Lestrade's tone was decidedly more calming.
"Police." She rasped.
Sherlock and Lestrade's eyes snapped to each other immediately.
"He was in uniform?" Sherlock asked.
Again, her head moved in the negative. "No. Detective. Said his name was Moore."
Lestrade was out the door and on his phone as soon as the name escaped Kitty's lips. Sherlock pressed. "What did he say he wanted?"
"Had information for me. Said it was about you."
"Was he one of your informants?"
"No. Never seen him. Showed me his badge." Sherlock could tell the sedative was taking hold again, but she was fighting her way through. "Came in. Talked. Seemed nice. Then he got angry. Told me the paper had to stop writing about Molly. Leave her alone."
She paused, her eyes drifted shut and Sherlock was very close to shaking her awake before Lestrade stepped back in the room. Kitty's eyes opened once more. "Hit me. Don't remember after…"
Lestrade interrupted. "It's alright, Miss Reilly. You rest now. We'll catch the bastard."
Greg tilted his head towards the door and made his exit - Sherlock following close behind. The two men stopped in the hallway, facing each other. Lestrade held up his phone. "I just talked to my office. Colin Moore is assigned to the narcotics division. He's been on a deep undercover assignment for the last ten days." The puzzle pieces dropped into place.
"He stole Moore's credentials." Sherlock's throat suddenly felt raw and panic bloomed fresh in his chest. Access to the body. The morgue. Molly. He pulled the phone back out from his pocket, found Molly's number and pressed Send. Each unanswered ring amplified the hammering of his heart. When her voicemail picked up, it was all he could do not to throw his phone into the wall in frustration. He'd left her. Again. His stupidity and arrogance had convinced him that he would have the case solved in two hours and be back in time for lunch. Molly would be safe and he could pat himself on the back for another job well done.
Your little church mouse will pay the price for your inflated ego, a voice that sounded exactly like his brother's whispered in his head.
He was about to turn and get himself to Baker Street when Lestrade's phone rang. Sherlock stopped in his tracks, turned and watched as his friend's face morphed from concern to realization to anger in the span of thirty seconds. "Find the fucking bastard, Donovan. Find. Him."
Sherlock had heard Greg Lestrade angry before - it had never really registered with him before. After all, so many people became upset with Sherlock in his lifetime that it was one of those things he chose to delete.
This moment, however, would remain firm in Sherlock's memory for quite some time.
"He took her, Sherlock. Used a taser on the bodyguard and left him in the street." Lestrade ran his hand through his hair. "The only break we have is that your brother's man is a tough son of a bitch. Managed to get himself turned to see the license plate. And he's already giving a description to my team."
Sherlock set his jaw and made his way purposefully down the hallway. He - no, they...Lestrade, Donovan, Mycroft, John, Mary and whoever else he had to drag into finding this soon-to-be dead bastard - they would get Molly back. They would get her back and Sherlock would make certain Colin Moore's impersonator would understand - in ways that would make him writhe in pain - just what a mistake he'd made in even touching his Molly.
~oOo~
A pretty little box right there for your pretty words. Go ahead, don't be shy.