Part II: Chapter 11

Day 121

"I don't understand." Sherlock said, his heart doubled in speed as Goon 2 stepped closer to Molly.

"Ms Hooper will be coming with us today."

He stepped closer to the door, pulling Molly behind his back so that she was sandwiched between the door and his body. He knew he would pay for his obstinance later. Understood well how the man's mind in front of him worked. How much Oliver hated it when he didn't listen. When he failed.

A muscle in his cheek thrummed as he searched for any way to negate what Oliver was wanting. What he could do so that Molly stayed here and didn't go with Oliver. His mouth was dry. His pupils dilated. His breathing increased.

There's nothing you can do to stop this, Sherlock. Let it be.

John's voice was calm. The voice he heard seemed to bring some semblance of normality on the days where everything seemed too much. Too hard. When hope was hard to find.

But he couldn't. Not with Molly. Molly under Oliver's complete control and at his mercy without Sherlock being there. The knot in his stomach tightened. He knew the physical response for what it was. It was fear. He had come to know the emotion well over the last four months. His gaze shifted between Oliver and his men. Read them like an open book. Understood clearly how thin the ground was that he was standing on. How much they would tolerate before retribution would follow.

Oliver won't hurt her. Much. He needs Molly to control you. Be logical, Sherlock. Think! Mycroft's voice was acerbic. Don't be a fool. Think!

Go away, he thought. I don't want you here in my head, Mycroft. He wiped the board clean in his mind palace. Drew a line again, circular and full of wobbles. It was a fine line that he had constantly tread on. Pushed against. Making the circle wider. He was carefully stringing the violin that was Oliver. Trying to find the weak point.

"Mr Holmes, this is getting tiresome. Now, let's go, Ms Hooper."

Sherlocks right fist closed automatically where his arm was hanging by his side. He heard the underlying threat. Understood it for what it was. He and Molly carried the scars of pushing it too far. The invisible line was thrumming just underfoot, so close that he felt it vibrate in the air.

Goon 3 smirked. Raised an eyebrow. Sherlock flinched involuntarily. His cheek throbbed in sympathy. He still carried a fresh bruise from three days ago when he had failed one of Oliver's tests. When Goon 3 had hit him, standing over his body as he lay on the ground in front of Oliver, while his captor had explained to him how much money he had just cost him. He had closed his eyes, waited for what inevitably would be more physical abuse. Knew by now what was expected. Oliver's anger was still very visible at Sherlock's failure. Sherlock didn't want to think of Molly being alone with him.

Of failing one of his tests.

"No."

Oliver raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No?"

Sherlock swallowed his fear. Straightened his body as much as he can. Stepped over the line in his head. Extended the circle a little wider. "You're not taking her. I won't let you."

"Really?"

Sherlock heard in the tone the promise of violence. But he couldn't stop. Not when it concerned Molly. "I've done as you asked. I've played your damn games. You don't need her."

Oliver indicated to the men to step closer. He smirked. "Oh, but I do for this particular race, Mr Holmes. A special request had come through regarding Ms Hooper. I intend to comply. Please don't make this any harder. I can always show my resolve and I can guarantee that neither Ms Hooper nor you would like the outcome. And in the end, she will come with me."

"It's okay, Sherlock." Molly said softly. Her hand was on his back, pushing him away. He felt her tremble but she stepped from behind him. "I'll be okay."

He gave a guttural growl. His lips pulled back into a sneer. Took a step forward, both fists clenched. Goon 2 had his hand on Molly's arm, tight enough that Sherlock knew he would leave bruises. She looked at Oliver and a hand signal from him and Goon 2 let go of her arm. She went over to Sherlock, met his gaze.

"Please, Sherlock. For me. I uhm... I need you not hurt," she said. "Please." He relaxed his fists because Molly asked.

He watched her leave with Oliver and his men. He had wanted to stop her. Had wanted to hurt Oliver.

He did none of those things because he knew that in the end he had no choice. Because Molly had asked. Not because of Oliver or his men.

He went into the bothy, sitting on the floor as instructed by Goon 3. Put the shoes on that were provided.

And tried not to imagine why Oliver wanted her. And what the special request would be.

Mycroft was in the office, sorting out meetings and files. It had been 120 days since his brother had gone missing and to say that his concern has risen, was not unfounded. Sometimes, traitorously the thought that Sherlock could be dead would rise to the surface. He would relegate it back to fantasy as fast as he could, advising himself that Moriarty would have gloated if that was the case.

It was after one particularly gruelling meeting when Mycroft entered his office to find Lord Marsden seated by his desk that had given him an inkling of Moriarty's game plan.

That the waiting game was over.

"Did we have a meeting scheduled?" he asked while making his way to his chair, dropping the file he had been carrying on the out pile on his desk.

"No. Not as such. We have a mutual acquaintance who needs the codes for the securities meeting next week Friday."

"Excuse me," Mycroft said with a faint and humourless smile.

"The securities meeting that you chair. It's a minor committee. He wants the codes for the day. It won't inconvenience you, Mycroft."

"That's not the point, is it Lord Marsden." Mycroft stated, his face bland as he processed the new development. "How do you know him?" he asked, hardening his gaze while he spoke with authority that he knew usually garnered reactions from his subordinates.

"We're old acquaintances. He once helped me when I had a minor difficulty with a sensitive matter. No need to concern you with the details." Lord Marsden said, "I know you Mycroft. You can go dig but you won't find anything. He is that good. We both know it."

"Ah. I assume he's now coming to collect his IOU."

At this, Lord Marsden rose, clearly not entirely happy with Mycroft's deductions. Buttoning his jacket, he said "Yes, well. He told me to tell you that he will be in contact soon. And to send his regards to John Watson. That he thinks of fondness back to the pool."

Mycroft watched the man leave. Picked up his phone when he was certain the man had gone.

"I want complete surveillance on Doctor John Watson."

He listened as the agent acknowledged the command. Explained to Mycroft that Doctor Watson was currently on the Jubilee line and not easily accessible. He pouted his lips, as his mind made lightning quick connections. "Get the tracker on him. Make sure it's active."

He made another phone call after that.

"Dover is a go."

John had just exited Westminster Underground station when a flurry of activity happened right before him. Four men converged on him and the two agents that had been assigned to protect him reacted immediately. One agent had grabbed his arm, pushing him back down the stairs while the other had stood his ground, covering their escape.

John had looked back briefly in his flight down the stairs. Had seen the silver flash of a knife blade as it descended towards the other agent from one of the men while the others were rushing down the stairs after them.

He didn't need any more impetus to run. His heart thumped; his breathing harsh in his own ears as they made their way through other commuters. The agent abruptly stopped, a key card in hand as he slid it over a card access control that was set in the wall beside a door. The light turned green and they entered the service tunnel. John heard the thump of a hand on the door behind them, and then the phut of a silenced bullet hitting the metal frame.

"This way, sir."

He followed the agent down a side tunnel. They made a few more turns and John was certain that they had lost the men following them. The agent bundled him into a room, closing and locking the door behind them.

The lock sounded loud in the quiet of the room. A double thud that gave an indication to John that he was in a secure room. The agent made his way to the phone on a desk, giving terse instructions before hanging up.

"It's going to be alright, sir. They can't get in. This room was built to withstand a bomb attack."

John nodded. He had deduced as much. He brought his breathing under control while they waited. It was five minutes before a knock came on the door. The agent that was with him drew his weapon and pointed at the door while he instructed John quietly to stand against the corner, out of the way.

The knock persisted. They were both quiet, not daring to make a sound.

"You can open the door. The area has been secured." The voice came over the speaker phone that John noticed now for the first time, set besides the door.

Why now, he thought. It's been four months of silence.

He briefly wondered what Sherlock had done and if Molly was still alive if they felt the need to capture him. The agent shifted his feet, not dropping his gun. "Open the door and we'll let you live, agent. We only want John Watson."

The agent glanced at John. They both knew it for the lie it was. A thump was heard against the door. Then another one, this time louder. The door held.

It went ominously quiet. The agent dropped his gun, eye on the door and picked up the phone again.

"Threat is imminent. I repeat "imminent."

He listened briefly. Put it back on the cradle.

"They had called in a bomb threat. Westminster is being evacuated. Parliament is a priority. At least ten minutes before they can get to us."

He nodded his understanding. The chaos was engineered to give the men more time to find a way into the room. At that moment, something hissed against the door, a white blinding light and John knew that they were using thermite.

The agent pulled a drawer open. Inside was a syringe with a thick bore needle.

"Sorry sir." He said and jabbed John in the thigh muscle of his right leg. John had no time to react, the pain immediate and sharp. The agent discarded the needle, throwing it under the desk, his gun coming up as men poured into the room.

The sounds of screams and fire and chaos surrounded John and were suddenly very familiar. He staggered to his feet, watching the agent go down as hands wrapped around his arms.

He resisted but had no recourse as he was pulled through the door and down the hallway. They surrounded him, forcing their way upwards, surrounded by other commuters who were making their way out under direction of the overhead PA directions. A gun was pressed tight against his back, a warning to be compliant. John watched Lestrade and a group of policemen make their way down the stairs. The men around him pressed closer, shielding him from scrutiny and John knew that Lestrade had not seen him when the DI hurried past.

Out in the open, he was hustled down a side street and then shoved into a white utility van. Before the thought of resistance registered they pushed him onto his stomach, his hands cuffed behind his back. A black cloth bag was pulled over his head and he protested when the strings were pulled tight, uncomfortable against his throat.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. A voice growled, telling him to shut up while tightening the strings. He took a ragged breath, closed his eyes against the dark of his blindfold and focused on getting his breathing under control. Focused on the plan Mycroft had in place that would bring them closer to Sherlock. Resolve set in then and he found it easier to breathe. His body rolled when they turned a corner. A foot stopped him, holding him in place as they made a few more turns before the speed of the van slowed. What sounded like a garage door opened and the van stopped shortly after.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah. Wasn't that easy. Be glad when this job's done."

John stumbled as they pulled him from the van. He was thrown against a wall and told not to move. He stayed where he was, listening but the men were quiet as they went about their business. A short time later a hand came down on his shoulder, turning him on his side. Held him in place and he felt a prick. The world faded away and he lost consciousness soon after.

Sherlock stepped outside the bothy, a map and compass in his hand. Goon 3 had explained to him the rules and how much time he had to find Molly. That being late was not an option he should entertain. That Molly's life depended on getting there on time.

This was new. He had heard about wayfinding. Oliver had marked out points on the topographical map. He was to reach each one, search for the key which would be hidden and then write it down and move onto the next point. The end result of all the keys would point to where Molly was.

He was allowed to take a water bottle. He set off after orientating himself to the map and compass. He set a brutal pace and reached his goal well within the time Oliver had set.

If he had to be honest with himself, he had enjoyed the mental challenge of finding the keys and working out the code. He hadn't been idle either with the map, inspecting it at each stop while he drew a line along the edge where he remembered the fence was. He did a lot of it by estimation and the fact that it seemed that the bothy was the centre of the estate for obvious reasons.

From there he extrapolated potential points on where the access gates could be. He had a ninety percent certainty he could find the gate within a day to two days of where he was. He was fit and he had made sure that Molly took to exercising around the bothy perimeter, increasing her stamina for just such an opportunity he saw now.

They would have to be careful. If Oliver suspected that he had broken protocol, he would come looking. They had the helicopter which added a dimension that would be hard to avoid. But Sherlock had worked the logistics out in his head. Had planned and thought up scenarios until he had catered for every situation he could think up in the past four months when he had idle time. Had watched and learned every time Oliver had him out and about the estate, doing the set challenges. He knew the land. Knew that he could get them to safety if given the chance.

Molly was alone when he found her. As incongruent as it was, she was seated on a chair in the middle of the grassland. He approached her slowly, scanning her. Scanning the chair. Felt relieved to realise that Oliver hadn't touched Molly. That she hadn't been physically hurt after she had left him and had gone with Oliver.

"You okay?" he asked as he went down his haunches, looking under the chair.

"My bum has gone numb but I'm okay otherwise," she said, smiling weakly at Sherlock. "Oliver said that he had left you one last puzzle. He, uhm, was adamant that I tell you that there is a cost to not solving it."

She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with fear she was trying her best to control.

"Ok, did you hear something click when you sat down?"

She bit her inner lip and nodded. Sherlock went down on his hands and knees, arching his neck so he could properly look under the seat. He could see wires crisscross underneath the seat, wending its way down the chair's legs. In each corner of the seat was a grey clay like substance with lights that were flashing on and off. In the middle of the seat was a black box with a screen that had the letters - Password – on it. Underneath was a keypad allowing the user to enter digits. There was a pattern to it that seemed familiar.

"That bad?" Molly asked softly.

"Hmmmm." He murmured, fingers tracing the coloured wires. His eyes kept coming back to the lights. There was a symmetry to them. Almost like a mathematical equation come alive.

He moved around the chair. Meeting Molly's gaze, he gave a fleeting smile. Hiding his concern. "I need to go into my mind palace. I won't be long, ok."

He sat back, closed his eyes, and let it flow into his mind palace. The light danced in his foyer, playfully and strong. He followed the pattern, lost himself in the mosaic of it. It was alive as it dived and swirled around. And then he heard it.

The music behind it. The tempo familiar.

This is brilliant. He thought. Oliver didn't come up with this. A new player has entered the game. And he's a lot smarter than Oliver.

Vivaldi's Winter concerto played in his head, while he contemplated the change that was coming. He opened his eyes.

He knew how to solve the puzzle.

"You do know that he is going to take this opportunity to try and escape, right?"

"Of course, that's why I presented this opening to him. I want him to try. Sherlock Holmes is learning the art of obedience. Once he learns that escape is not possible, I'll own him. He will do what I want, when I want in due course. I have to say that I've enjoyed the challenge he's presented. I've had to adjust parameters on how to deal with him quite a few times over the course of our relationship. I'm certain that his mind is still actively looking for a way out." Oliver took a sip of his coffee, watching the man who was seated across from him. A man very much like him. A man he had found affinity in. "By the way, I loved the chair idea. But he'll be smart enough to know that I wouldn't be able to come up with the complexity involved."

"I want Sherlock to figure it out. He loves my little puzzles. Fitting really. The bomb should remind him of me."

Oliver laughed then. He found it amusing. He leaned back in the chair, fingers playing a staccato briefly on his lips as a thought took hold. "I still think you shouldn't involve Mycroft Holmes. That man is dangerous. He can unravel everything we've built so far. Why play with fire?"

"I owe him. He has interfered one too many times in my plans. I want him to realise that if it wasn't for his interference, I wouldn't have come out to play. That Sherlock's disappearance is directly linked to his actions. And I will own Mycroft Holmes because I have his brother. The British Government will dance to my tune because of sentiment. Isn't it delicious."

"Remember our agreement, Jim. Sherlock stays with me. I've worked too hard to mould him into compliance. He's making me good money."

"Fine. But I do want some play time too."

"What do you plan on doing with the doctor?" Oliver asked instead.

Moriarty smiled. "I think I'll keep him for a bit. I have never had a live in one before. And when Sherlock is ready, I'll bring him around for a play date."

"Sounds good."

"And Oliver, don't lose Sherlock. That would be upsetting and you won't like the consequences."

And with a click, all the lights went out. It was anticlimactic, Sherlock thought. He shuffled out from behind the chair and walked around.

"It should be all good. You can get up now." He said, impatient to get going, away from the chair. Away from the insanity of this place. Escape was now firmly settled on his mind, his focus on the upcoming challenge of evading Oliver and his helicopter and goons.

"Sherlock."

He looked down to see Molly still seated on the chair. He frowned, unsure why she hadn't moved.

"I told you it's perfectly fine, Molly." He said, irritated that his thoughts were interrupted. He wanted to get going.

"I…I don't think I can. My legs have gone numb."

Oh. Off course.

He grabbed her by her wrists, and he pulled her up in one smooth motion. Molly hadn't expected him to do it so soon, sagged in his arms as blood flow returned to her legs.

"Molly, you okay," he grunted, staggering, and trying to get his balance as she held onto him to keep from falling.

"Give me a minute," she said, as pins and needles exploded on her lower extremities. Sherlock held her then, awkwardly as she leaned into him, her head on his chest, her hands clenched around his neck. He counted the minute down and when she still hadn't moved, he wisely kept quiet. It took her by his estimation around five minutes before she gingerly moved away from him, stomping her feet as she moved in a circle.

"You good?"

"Think so. Sorry."

"Molly, it's time."

She stopped moving. Their eyes met. "Home?"

He nodded. They had talked about this moment when they had some privacy outside by the well, away from the ever-present cameras in the bothy. Had debated and argued and dreamed up ways to escape the bothy and Oliver and his goons.

"It'll be hard." He stated.

"I know. I don't care."

He nodded, taking out the map and showing her his calculations and how he had come to his conclusion on where the gate could be. Showed the route they'd need to take that would have the highest probability of success to evade Oliver and make it to the gate.

They set off shortly after.

And so starts part II of my story. :-) Would love to hear your thoughts.