Chapter 13

Day 123 - 125

They had woken twice during the day, both times from the helicopter doing flybys. They had stilled, watching as it flew overhead. It had taken them time to settle the beating of their hearts and for fear to creep away before they'd fall asleep again.

Sherlock had them up mid-afternoon and they had sat comfortably side by side, watching the view before them. Sherlock had gone into great detail of the rock shale they were sitting against and how the sedimentary rock formed. Despite herself, Molly had found it fascinating.

Her muscles were still stiff from the previous night's exertion but she hadn't complained. All she could think of was all the things she would do when she was back home. Little things that she had taken for granted that were now a distant memory.

A nice long bath with the water so hot her skin would turn a shade of pink.

Any hot beverage. Any food.

Her mouth watered at the thought of a common ham and cheese sandwich.

"Cake would be nice."

She glanced at Sherlock; her thoughts broken by his baritone that filled the space they were sitting in. As usual, he seemed to read her thoughts, understand her when she grew melancholy.

"Chocolate cake with caramel frosting."

He smiled. A genuine smile she has seen only a few times since the day she'd been taken.

"Molly Hooper, you have a date."

She blushed. Wondered why the thought of going on a date with Sherlock didn't fill her with fear anymore. Maybe because she had come to know herself a little bit better. She understood her own strength. And she had understood then that even though she wasn't John, she was in her own way important to Sherlock's world. And that he valued her.

They watched the sun go down, sinking below the hills before they exited their little hidey-hole.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked her, orientating himself with the compass in the fading light and the first stars that were starting to show.

"Let's go home." She said, following him up the hill.

Mycroft had a long time to think. Had sifted the data into piles and had moved them in and out of sets until he stared at the outcome, blazingly obvious even Sherlock would have seen it.

He had gotten a text a few hours ago.

Delicious isn't he. Will Sherlock ever forgive you if you let his pet die?

Attached had been a photo of John Watson. And smiling next to him with his arm around John as if they were best friends, was Moriarty. A short time later he had gotten a second text.

Don't resign. Sherlock will miss his pet too much.

Mycroft had growled uncharacteristically in frustration. The thought had hovered on the edge of his consciousness since Lord Marsden had been to his office. Had taken hold as he had contemplated a way out of his current predicament that ended with him not committing treason and Sherlock still alive.

It didn't look good.

He stirred out of his thinking when the door opened to his office. It was just past seven and he had not expected anyone to still be in the building.

"Lord Marsden to see you, sir."

He acknowledged Anthea, gave her a signal and she nodded in understanding. Mycroft got to his feet as Lord Marsden entered the office smiling.

"How's your brother, Mycroft."

"You would know, wouldn't you."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Any further news?"

Ah, so we're playing that game.

Mycroft gave a brief smile politely. "No news I'm afraid."

"Sorry to hear that, old boy. I'm sure something will turn up soon. Sorry to be a bore but I do need those codes by Friday. Do you think you'd be able to manage?"

Mycroft's lips pressed together so tightly that all that was visible was a thin line of anger.

Obviously pleased with Mycroft's reaction, Lord Marsden held out his hand. He seemed oblivious to the danger he was in. Was not aware of the same look that had more than one agent scurrying to carry out orders.

"Times up, Mycroft."

"I still have five days, Lord Marsden."

The aristocrat dropped his hand, frowning. This had not been the triumph he had envisioned. "Five days are a long time for your brother."

"I'm sure he'll be fine."

Lord Marsden turned on his heel, aware that somehow, he had gotten played. He'd been convinced that Mycroft would fold and give the keys to him when he asked. "Very well, Mycroft. See you Friday."

The moment the man had left, Mycroft had messaged Anthea. He knew she'd follow through on his orders as he tapped his fingers against his lips, contemplating scenarios, disregarding the more obvious routes as something that Moriarty would anticipate. His phone buzzed and he looked at the text.

That wasn't nice, Mycroft.

Mycroft closed the phone down, throwing it on the table where it buzzed again a short time later.

He ignored it.

John had pretty much been left alone after his earlier visit. Despite his best intentions, he had fallen asleep when night had fallen, only to wake when he heard the key in the door move. He had blinked against the darkness in the room and had squinted, his eyes tightly closed against the sudden blinding light that had shown on him. Men had come in and grabbed him by the arms, pushing and pulling him up the stairs, along a corridor and into the boot of a car.

Moriarty had waved at him in delight as the lid had slammed shut. They had driven around what felt like hours when they finally stopped. John had heard car doors open and close and a moment later he had looked up into the face of Lyle, silhouetted against the rising sun and trees. He was somewhere very rural, he surmised as they pulled him from the boot, dragging him down a track and into a small cottage. He had been left alone then and John had surveyed his prison. There was a small living room with two chairs and a side table. To the back of the cottage was a small bedroom with an adjacent bathroom. It had a small kitchenette with kettle and tea and milk and biscuits. He made himself a cuppa while he tried to process why he was here and not back in the cell they had kept him. He looked out the window, not surprised to see guards patrolling the grounds.

He couldn't see the main house from any of the windows of the cottage. He contemplated escape but disregarded it almost immediately. He hadn't seen Sherlock or Molly yet.

And until he did, he was determined to stay where he was.

Sherlock and Molly had found a rock slit, barely big enough to fit them both lying down. But the two walls leaned into each other on top, leaving an opening just wide enough to fit an arm through. It had been the only place really where they could hide. It had started to rain early in the morning and the trek had become almost impossible with no discernible light. Sherlock had voiced his displeasure loudly, standing and shivering in the rain, the compass tightly held in his hand. His shirt was so threadbare by now that he might as well not have worn anything for the protection it gave.

"Sherlock, stop. What's one more night, right?"

"Fine. You're right," he said, wiping his face with a trembling hand. "Ok, let's see if we can get out of this rain."

They had struggled really. There was just no light and so in the end they had gone down on hands and knees and had felt around until Sherlock had found the opening. They had slept then, disappointment deep and like a sore that festered. Molly had felt close to tears, the thought of more nights out in the open almost too much to bear.

Sleep had been intermittent and when they had woken the final time, the midday sun warming their bodies through the slit, they had relaxed. Sherlock had the map out and doing calculations in his head while he traced the route they had taken. According to his best guess, they should hit the fence by midnight if there were no clouds and they could navigate by the stars. From there they'd be able to formulate a plan on how to bypass the gate, which Sherlock was certain would be manned and locked.

He had a few ideas about that, but until they saw the actual setup it was a fool's guess at best.

Mycroft had spent the last twenty-four hours working with his best analysts to try and dissect the DVD. Trying to find any sense of where Sherlock might be held. In the end all they could really say with certainty is that Sherlock was held in a stone hut – there were thousands of them across the British Isles and Europe.

So, in the end, he had gone to bed and had slept through despite his best intentions to wake early. Even he has limits. Moriarty had left him five messages, all in the same trend and he deleted them all.

Anthea was in the kitchen with Lestrade, a laptop open and both looked up when he switched on the kettle. Irene was asleep in her room, having come in late after another mission to find the ever-elusive Lyle Bowman and the mystery agent and his betting site. Mycroft had a whole raft of analysts scouring the dark web for this site, but so far no luck.

"Any news?"

"He hasn't bloody moved since last night." Lestrade answered, turning the laptop so he could see the small pin on the map.

"Very well. I'm certain that Moriarty will bring Watson into play with my brother. It's obvious. I'll be in the office. I trust you'll be discreet. And please keep an eye on Ms Adler."

Sherlock had been right. They had come upon the gate just after midnight. It was brightly lit, with a guardhouse at the right side of the fence. A guard was inside, reading a book. A camera was pointed at the road, red light blinking. Sherlock took it all in, where he and Molly were lying on the hill overlooking the installation.

"Now what?" Molly whispered.

"Plan 3B." he murmured, scooting back from the light.

"What?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, going through his strategy, analysing all angles. Yes, it will do. He explained to Molly, making sure she understood as he went over the details of what he wanted her to do.

He understood and so did Molly that if they didn't get through the gate, their chances of escape were extremely thin at best. Molly crept away to cross the road further ahead and come in from the other side. Sherlock moved down the hill, crouching at a rapid run that would bring him closer to the gatehouse. As Molly entered the lighted area, the guard looked up and saw her. He did a double take, and then moved from his chair and opened the door of his gatehouse. It was that moment that Sherlock rose like a phantom, barrelling into the man and taking him out with two swift hits. Sherlock was quick in his assessment, searching the guard for a phone and when he didn't find anything, searching the booth. There was a line connected but when he lifted the handset, he knew immediately that it was probably connected to the main house and not an outside line. He carefully placed it back. He pulled the jacket from the guard and put it on. It was a bit short in the sleeves and he couldn't button it but it brought an element of warmth he hadn't had before.

"Ok, let's go," he said to Molly. He opened the other door that led outside the compound. It took him a moment to realise that they might just get away with this. They closed the door behind them and disappeared into the night.

John had woken to the smell of bacon and eggs. He frowned and remembered where he was. He wiped his face with his hand, feeling the rough edge of his stubble as he got up and made his way to the front of the cottage. A young woman was in the kitchen, dishing up a plate as he stood in the doorway.

"Hello," he greeted, unsure of what was happening.

She gave him a warm smile and put the plate on the table. "Eat, please."

Her accent was thick and he wondered how much English she really knew. "Any HP Sauce?" he asked as he seated himself by the table. She shrugged helplessly and smiled again while she poured him tea. Foregoing any further conversation, he ate the breakfast, realising in doing so how hungry he was. That he had not eaten since they had abducted him.

Wondered what Moriarty's plan was.

"Do you understand any English?"

Again, she shrugged, fussing over him as he ate. John realised that he wasn't going to get much out of her. She left shortly after and he got himself ready.

He tried the front door and was surprised when it opened. No one stopped him exiting the cottage. He wondered at it and started walking down the small pathway towards the gate. That was as far as he got before a guard stepped over, his hands clasped on a gun.

John got the message. He gave a little wave and then walked the perimeter, gauging how much he was allowed to roam. They let him wander.

The girl came back around lunch time. He ate while he contemplated his limited freedom.

While he wondered where Sherlock and Molly were.

"Where are they?"

"They managed to hole up in a farmer's bale shed. Well, my bale shed really but how are they to know." Oliver said, laughing.

"How long will you let them run under the illusion of freedom?" Moriarty asked, taking a sip of his tea.

"There's a science to this, you know. One I've thoroughly examined and researched with other subjects in the past. They make an interesting case but I foresee pretty much the same responses I got from the others. I don't really care about the girl but I'm very intrigued to see what emotional response Sherlock would give."

"Just don't break him too much. I also want to play," Moriarty stated. Grinned as a thought took hold. "Take a few photos for me when you're at the lake. Mycroft will need a thank you and I think John would love to have a memento. Something to hold onto at night in the belief he'll see his friend soon."