Chapter 9 Day 13-15
"Tell me Sherlock, are you willing to play the game now?"
As if on cue, the guy Sherlock had dubbed Goon 2 stepped forward, grabbing Molly by her arm. Sherlock could read the situation like an open book. He didn't want to be separated from Molly. He needed her close by so he could keep an eye on her.
He revised his earlier assessment. He went into his mind palace and could see all the variations play out before him. None of the scenarios were particularly good for either him or Molly. It took him three seconds to come to a conclusion on the role he needed to play.
He took a swing at the man in front of him. His fist connected but before he could pivot, he was knocked to his knees by a blow to the back of his head.
"Relax, Mr Holmes," the man hissed, taking a handkerchief out and dabbing at his bleeding lip. The guard behind him grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm up in an unnatural position behind his back. "I have the power to cause both you and the girl a lot more pain than you can ever imagine."
Sherlock stiffened, meeting the gaze of the other man. "She stays."
"You have no say at the moment."
He nodded to the man holding Molly. She protested but in the end, was forced out the door. The door closing and latching notched Sherlock's heart into double time. He didn't want to think what could be happening out there while he was in here.
He was pushed into one of the chairs and warned not to move. Sherlock got the hidden message loud and clear. Disobey and Molly will be the one to carry the consequences of his insubordination. The man seated himself across from Sherlock, focused his attention back on the consulting detective.
"So, why am I here?" Sherlock asked, shifting his body in the chair until he felt comfortable. Crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. Forced his body to relax while the other man seated himself across from him.
"You didn't figure that out yet? I thought you were smarter than that?"
Sherlock inspected the man before him. "Something to do with Mycroft?" He saw the shift in the man's eyes. "Yes. Then to be used as leverage. Although that probably will backfire spectacularly. He'll not give up queen and country for his little brother so I think you might've misread the situation there."
"Very good, Mr Holmes. You're not too far off. Although that's not all there is. But we'll come to that in due course."
Ok, so there's more, Sherlock thought. Data was flooding into his brain. The clothes the men were wearing. The dirt streaks on their shoes. The food crumbs on their jackets. The calluses on their hands. He scanned all of them, putting the information away for later.
"Why the branding or is that some fetish you have?"
"It should be clear, Mr Holmes. Even you should understand the meaning behind the symbolic gesture."
"Ownership," Sherlock stated softly.
"Rightly so, Mr Holmes. You and Molly are mine to do with as I please. And I plan to enjoy the challenge of breaking you, Mr Holmes."
"I'm broken," Sherlock said with a voice cracking. Allowed his eyes to tear up. "Please let us go. I promise not to tell."
The man laughed. "Oh, I was told you were a competent actor. This is brilliant. Well done," he stated, clapping his hand together. "This is going to be an enjoyable exercise, Mr Holmes."
Sherlock's demeanour changed. His face moving back into impassiveness. He shifted his head down, his hands in a prayer position beneath his chin.
"Let Molly go. You don't need her. She's not important. My brother won't care if she dies."
"But you would, won't you Mr Holmes. No, I like her where she is. She's going to be a motivation factor for you. One I will exploit to its fullest extent, I think."
"John would've been better," Sherlock stated. "If you knew anything about me. She is just the pathologist who works at the lab."
"Oh. This is brilliant." The man said, grinning. "Do you know anything about human nature, Mr Holmes?"
"What do you mean?"
"No, I think I'll let you figure this out for yourself. But I'm going to enjoy watching you learn."
Sherlock had enough. He didn't like it that the man thought he understood Sherlock better than he did himself.
"Would it matter to tell me your name?"
"You can call me Oliver."
"So now what?"
"Well, two things. One, you're going to make a video for your brother. Once that is done, I'll explain the next part you're going to play in my little game. I do hope we don't have to use threats."
Irene ran down the alley at full speed, aware of the shouts and heavy footsteps that echoed from the street. She slid in behind a dumpster as she considered her surroundings with a critical eye, looking for any exits.
A pile of boxes shoved haphazardly against the wall further down the alley drew her attention. She made her way quietly over, noticing the broken window peeking out behind the pile. Grabbing a discarded bottle, she made quick work of removing the shards sticking out and then lowered herself through the window, pulling the boxes in front of the window at the moment footsteps sounded in the alley. She held her breath as the footsteps slowed and then stopped.
"Well?"
"This is a dead end. There's nowhere for her to go. You search that side."
She kept her breathing even as the instructions floated through the broken window. She knew she didn't have a lot of time as she clutched her phone tighter to her chest. She had sent a message to John Watson but he had yet to reply.
Her network had been busy, just as she was convinced Mycroft was busy with his.
She made her way softly out of the room as the voices behind her got caustic. She heard a kick against the boxes and then quiet and she knew they had found the broken window.
"Irene, you know I'm going to find you." A sing-song voice floated through and she ignored it as she slipped down the hallway. "Irene!" The scream was manic and she knew what he was like when he was angry.
She slipped further into the building, looking for exits. Contemplated what she was going to do. Coming to a decision, she texted a number she knew but had never used.
The reply was almost immediate.
Where are you?
Molly and Sherlock were alone in the bothy. Oliver had smirked and told him that he could have ten minutes with the pathologist. He inspected her face, turning her head sideways. The bruise on her cheek was red and inflamed.
It had been a retribution of his small rebellion when the video had been made. A way for Oliver to assert control and make sure Sherlock understood clearly that he was to do exactly as he was told.
"You okay?" he asked when she pushed his hand away.
"Yes."
He turned away from her, watching the flames dance. Readied himself, pulling on the socks and boots he had been provided. Oliver had told him with glee that he was to race the clock. That he would be dropped off two-day hike from the bothy and that he needed to make his way back here to Molly or she would be suffering the consequences of his failure to win.
"Sherlock…"
"Do you trust me, Molly?" He asked instead.
"Always," she said softly. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Although you can be a real bastard sometimes." She gave a watery smile.
He chuckled. "Only sometimes. Because according to John it's most days." His finished tying the laces, and turned to her then, his face serious.
"I promise Molly." He didn't say anything anymore. Knew she would understand what he meant.
"Okay."
The door opened behind them. Sherlock didn't look at her as he went outside to where Oliver was waiting by the helicopter with two of his men.
"You can leave your coat." Oliver said. Sherlock took it off, handing it to Molly. The consulting detective gave her a warning glance and she kept quiet when it looked like she was going to protest. He still had the water bottle in his hand. A concession the other man has allowed him.
His lips tightened when he realised that they weren't going to leave Molly alone like he thought she would be while he was gone.
"I'm not leaving her here with him," he stated, turning to Oliver.
"He stays to make sure she behaves, Mr Holmes. She will be perfectly safe if you keep to the timeline I set you."
Sherlock stared at Oliver. The man met his gaze, a dangerous glint in his eyes that was a clear warning to Sherlock.
"I'm sure Ms Hooper would appreciate your effort." He said and smirked. "Now let's go."
Mycroft had made the effort and had gone and done legwork. He detested having to be out in the field but when the message from Irene Adler had come to his personal phone he knew that it was life or death. He had gone with four agents to the address she had texted him.
They had cleared the building, efficient and quick. If there had been any danger, it was long gone now. He stood outside the building, his umbrella in his hand.
"Sir, the building is empty. What do you want us to do?"
He opened his phone, glancing at the text but knew it by heart and he knew they were at the right place. He turned on the spot, eyeing the buildings around him and making quick calculations on what he knew of her and the area.
Indicating with his umbrella to one building in the cul-de-sac, he said, "Search that one."
"No need, Mycroft."
He turns, eyeing Irene Adler as she saunters close. He gave her a cursory glance that told him whole chapters.
"Are the men who were after you still here?"
"No. They left. Smart really to broadcast a drugs raid on the area."
"Yes well, we do try." He indicated the car and she got into the backseat. He joined her shortly after. Silence stretched comfortably as the car smoothly accelerated forward.
"Anywhere in particular you want us to drop you off?"
"Your place will suffice, thank you. I need to make a few phone calls."
"Anything you would like to share?"
"Not yet, Mycroft. But soon. Can you give me the time to consult with a few…friends."
"Very well, Ms Adler." He said as the car came to a standstill by his office building. "I'll let Anderson take you to my residence. I'll be in touch later."
The helicopter ride had been a disappointment. Sherlock had hoped that he would be able to utilise the height to get an aerial view of where they were. To calculate how far away roads and farms and villages were. How big the estate was.
Oliver had anticipated him. Had grinned as he passed the blindfold to him. Sherlock had fumed in impotent rage while they had flown away from the bothy, blind and at the mercy of the other man.
He had been dropped off to the north of the outcropping that looked like Mycroft's head. He had calculated the distance using basic trigonometry and an educated guess of height and angle. Had looked at the distance he had to cover and divided the time he had.
It was so not good.
Even if he built in a variance and factored in hills and valleys it was going to be an impossible task.
He had no choice and had set off as fast as he could manage, his muscles protesting as minutes had turned into hours. He was sipping sparingly at the water he had but was acutely aware that he had less than a quarter of the bottle left.
He had gone about a quarter of the way when the sun had gone down. He had rested then, waiting for the stars to appear. Had slept an hour and had woken to the soft glow of moonlight. His going had been a lot slower as he could only see what the moon had bathed around him in a ghostly glow.
He had kept going, the tor bathed in moonlight in the distance. Had thought of Molly and the promise that Oliver had made.
It only pushed him harder.
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