Chapter 19

Day 132

The helicopter arrived just after midday. Molly and Sherlock waited outside the bothy, standing in front of the door. Oliver and Goon 2 exited the helicopter and made their way to them. Molly glanced up at Sherlock, trying to encourage him with a silent look that passed between them. Sherlock shook his head slightly.

"You ready, Mr Holmes?" Oliver asked, coming to a standstill in front of the pair.

"He needs rest," Molly started hesitantly, ignoring Sherlock's look that told her not to pursue this avenue. "We need another day at least. His kidneys…" She faltered to silence at Oliver's look. Glanced back at Sherlock and took a step forward. "Let me do it. I can take his place."

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry my dear. It doesn't work like that. You know that."

"You can kill him if you push him too hard, Oliver."

"And your point is?" Oliver asked, his gaze meeting her unflinchingly. Molly went pale. Sherlock reached out and took Molly's hand in his, giving it a small squeeze before letting go. Oliver seemed to notice. Gave a knowing grin.

"Have you figured it out yet, Mr Holmes?"

"I don't understand," Sherlock said, frowning.

"About human nature?"

Ah. Right.

"I'm learning."

Oliver nodded. "I think you have learned a great deal. Would you say Ms Hooper is important to your world?"

Sherlock didn't answer immediately. He looked away, stared off in the distance and swallowed. "You know the answer to that."

"I'd like you to say it."

"Yes."

"Good. Let's see how important."

The helicopter's blade was lazily spinning, the pilot pulling switches as the whine started to increase. Sherlock gave one last glance to Molly before he entered the helicopter, seated next to Oliver on the back seat. He didn't think twice when he pulled the blindfold over his eyes, it had become second nature.

"Same rules apply I suppose," he stated as the helicopter rose into the air.

Oliver's silence was answer enough. It didn't take long for them to reach their destination. Sherlock was surprised. He guessed that it would be an hour hike at most given the distance they had flown. Maybe Molly had managed to bring some influence over Oliver although Sherlock seriously doubted it.

"Blindfold."

He took it off, giving it to Oliver. They were hovering about two metres above the ground. Sherlock could just see the bothy in the distance. It really wasn't that far at all but given his current physical condition, it might be a stretch at the moment.

"Arm."

Sherlock turned to Oliver, his heart in his throat. He had expected as much. A syringe was in the other man's hand. "What is it?" he asked calmly, pulling up the sleeve of the jacket. It didn't go very far and in the end he took it off completely when Oliver indicated.

"Moriarty said you'd appreciate it."

Sherlocks breath hitched. Fear dropped into his stomach, an empty gnawing feeling that spread throughout his body.

"Have you learned to appreciate sentiment, Mr Holmes?" Oliver asked, pulling Sherlock's arm closer. Sherlock closed his fist when Oliver tied a rubber band around his bicep. Pumped his hand without prompting. Oliver tapped on an artery, waiting for it to bulge. Hovered the syringe over it.

"Mr Holmes?"

"Sentiment is…not a liability."

"Ah. Good. You are learning. Do you love her then?"

"Yes."

The needle plunged in. Oliver removed the rubber band, capping the syringe as he indicated for Sherlock to exit. The helicopter was still hovering, and hadn't settled on the ground as all the other times that Oliver had taken him to his starting positions.

Sherlock deduced the situation, knew what was going to come next.

"Run to Molly, Sherlock." Oliver said. It was the first time he had used their first names since Sherlock had met the man. The underlying threat was hard to ignore. Sherlock did his best to avoid the mess but he had no defence as Oliver pushed him out of the helicopter.

He tumbled out, hit the ground hard and couldn't help the scream that erupted from somewhere deep inside him. He had curled his arms around his chest, rolled and let momentum take him as he tumbled across the grassland. He lay like a rag doll when he came to a stop, gasping for breath against a powerful fit of dry heaving. The ribs grated in his chest. His bruises flamed into white hot lances that danced across his body, overwhelming his senses.

He cried silent tears, letting the waves of pain rush over him as he tried his best to process it. He allowed time to flow in and around him while the drug weaved its way through his body.

Sleeping on the job, are we?

John's voice was light. It felt so real that he opened his eyes but off course, John wasn't there. Only open sky, the ever-present wind and the smell of soil, grass, and his own desperation.

His tears had dried. He sighed and rolled onto his side, panting heavily against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He made it to his knees, his vision edging to grey.

Molly won't like it if you're late.

He snorted. "Of course not, John. Don't state the obvious."

I'm not the one talking to a hallucination, am I. Now get up. You're going to be late.

Sherlock braced himself. Stood up and swayed against a wave of dizziness. He blinked as a kaleidoscope of colours flirted across his vision.

Get moving, you git.

Sherlock ground his teeth. "Little help, please."

One foot in front of the other Holmes. Just like when you learned to walk as a toddler.

His arm was tight against his side where his broken ribs grated. It felt like he couldn't get enough oxygen. His chest felt like a band was constricting his diaphragm.

A wave of nausea hit him. He vomited bile. Doubled over, he breathed heavily through his mouth. Focused on getting his stomach settled. Focused on pushing through the effects of the drug that was starting to take hold.

Sherlock!

He looked up, startled. John's voice reverberated around his head. But his friend wasn't there. He still stood at the same spot where he had gotten to his feet. Realised that not moving was not going to get him any closer to Molly.

One step, Sherlock.

"Fine, John. But if I fall flat on my face, it's on you." He breathed the words. John appeared in his vision, cardigan, and all. His friend stood to the side, arms folded, a small smile on his face.

Just one step. Come one, even the great Sherlock Holmes can manage one step.

He told John to sod off and took a step.

"Sir, I've got it."

Mycroft entered the dining room area, walking around to where the agent was indicating his screen.

"There are actually four cameras. The others were being masked. It was quite clever really. They have a booster, probably on the roof somewhere. I'm guessing standard, wireless high definition, similar to the ones we use. The signal gets bounced to here, see…" he said, showing a map, "…and then from there he pushes it onto this website using satellite."

"Address?"

"It's very remote. Will be hard to get too undetected." He zoomed out, showing the area. "I had a look. We'll have one of our own satellites over that area in about an hour."

"Very well." Mycroft paused. Wrote down a number on a pad he snagged from the table that had been by the analyst's hand. "Phone this number. Tell him what you need. I want full surveillance within the next two hours."

The game is afoot, dear brother. He thought. See you soon.

Moriarty put the phone to his ear as he entered the cottage with two men. Their faces were grim as they moved sideways to stand by the door, waiting for him to finish his conversation.

"What?" he barked into the phone, finger up as he silenced John with it. "How long?" A dark smile broadened as he listened to the information. "Fine. I'll get back to you." Finally disconnecting the call, he slipped the phone into a pocket and took out a notepad and a pen. He turned to one of the men with him, scribbling and then handing the slip of paper to the man.

"Make sure this is sanitised. You know what to do."

The man nodded and left and Moriarty turned to John with a smile on his face, hands wide as if greeting a friend.

"Missed me?"

"Moving day?"

Moriarty gave a low chuckle, waving the other man forward. He took out a pair of handcuffs, indicating to John to put his hands behind his back. John complied, winching slightly when the handcuffs closed none too gently.

"I'm taking you somewhere more secure, my dear. You're going to like it or maybe not." He stretched out the last two words, hand on his chin as his eyes met John. "The timetable is ramping up and I need you close by for Sherlocks final hurrah."

John had no choice as he was manhandled out of the cottage, down the driveway and bundled into the boot of the car. Moriarty gave him a smile and a small wave as the lid slammed shut, tumbling him into darkness.

Away from the other man's prying eyes, John smiled.

Finally.

I'm coming, Sherlock. Just hold on. I'm coming.

It was evening when they finally had an address to go with the IP. It was traced back to a man named Oliver Harbinger. Mycroft had a full profile in front of him, the file on his lap as he contemplated his next move. Lyle had been forthcoming after some persuasion. Mycroft had his men scouring Europe and England, gathering the rest of his kidnapping ring.

John had been moved. He suspected that Moriarty was close to finalising his plan for his brother. Mycroft was currently being driven to a location not far from where Doctor Watson was being kept, a team of specialists have already started setting up a base.

When they arrived, he entered chaos. They had commandeered an old farmhouse, laptops and gear had been set up in the main living room. Specialist warfare unit was busy checking weapons, ready for whatever would come next. Analysts were checking screens, maps and movement.

He knew they were close to Sherlock. His team had analysed as much of what they could see using satellites. Had worked out a two-pronged attack plan on both the main house and the bothy. The unknown is whether Oliver had plans in place if he ever got attacked. Whether the bothy would be safe or not. If he had wired it with explosives it would make it decidedly trickier than a simple extraction would warrant. So, he made plans, worked out the probabilities and let the experts sort out which would be the best way to go forward.

"Sir, ETA is set to 15 minutes. As soon as Dr Watson gives the signal, we're ready to move in."

He nodded his agreement.

Molly had said nothing when he had entered the bothy, still drugged out on the cocktail Oliver had pushed into him. His pupils dilated fully, he was antsy and high, babbling on about how John was pushing him to keep walking when all he wanted to do was sit still and watch the grass grow. She had taken him by his hand and sat him down outside against the wall and given him an empty bottle, telling him to open it. He had focused on the bottle for the next thirty minutes, watching the sunlight play across the plastic, fumbling with the lid until he triumphantly managed to finally get it open. She had said nothing when he had presented the cap and bottle to her, quite pleased with himself. Soon after a slump had plunged him into depths of despondency and he had struggled to understand why it wasn't raining when all he had was sun. Had complained that the sun was making his bruises hurt. Had told Molly in great detail why his ribs were sore and what she was supposed to do to fix it.

On some distant plane he was very aware of his actions but he couldn't stop himself. He had finally fallen asleep, his head in her lap while her fingers were playing with his hair, which had been nice. Calming. He had woken up later to the sun going down. He was still outside, on the ground by the wall, his head on Molly's lap, a blanket over him. His body was stiff and sore but the drug had worked itself out.

"Feeling better?" she had asked when Molly noticed him moving.

"That…wasn't fun." He managed. He turned so he was lying on his back, looking up at her. "Sorry."

"Maybe next time have a little think before putting yourself forward for Oliver's drug trials. You were the one who gave him this idea."

"I know." He was quiet then. Allowed himself to fully awaken. He was thirsty and hungry and starting to get cold. But he didn't move. It was nice to just lie like this.

"Oliver left you something."

"Yeah?"

She took something from next to her and dropped it on his chest. He lifted his head slightly as he took it in his hands. It was a new t-shirt.

"No food?" he asked, as he felt the material between his fingers and then let it drop back on his chest. They haven't eaten in four days. The hunger pangs were getting harder to ignore. Oliver had usually been pretty good at making sure that they didn't go too long without some Ensure.

"He said tomorrow after your big test with Moriarty."

"Oh." His fingers played with the material of the t-shirt while he inspected Molly's face. "Molly," he started. "What did he say to you?"

Her lips tightened. Her fingers in his hair stopped and she met his gaze solemnly.

"Okay. Let's do this. What happened over that three-day period when Oliver took you away?"

Sherlock looked away from her scrutiny. His face darkened as memories he would rather not revisit made itself known. His hand clenched around the material of his new shirt.

"Some things are best left alone, Sherlock. Do you understand?"

He nodded. Gathered himself and then looked back at her. "Sometimes hope is hard to find. And with Oliver…" he paused, searched her face. "…with Oliver it seems like it really is lost. I don't know how we're going to get home." His confession was hard. For the first time really since their capture it had really sunk in that he didn't have a ready answer. Oliver could do what he wanted. And Sherlock and Molly had no say in any of it. He wasn't sure if it was the last dregs of the Moriarty's drug he had been given working its way out but he felt defeated. Lost.

She gave him a look of fierce determination. "He's human, Sherlock." She leaned down and gave him a kiss on his forehead. Wiped it with her thumb. He remembers the previous time she had done this when he had been broken and she had fixed him up after his time with Oliver. "Don't let him win."

"Thank you." He said and meant it.

The sun slipped behind the mountains in the distance and the temperature was starting to drop. Sherlock had reluctantly gotten up and allowed Molly to take him to the well. She helped him wash, getting rid of the dirt and sweat and grass. He was in agony, his ribs making breathing hard. The bruises were a dull ache that didn't go away. He knew he was very close to a collapse. Was hoping that whatever Moriarty had planned for tomorrow didn't include any more physical challenges. He just didn't see a way forward if that was the case. Molly helped him slip the t-shirt over his head and his arms through the sleeves. He enjoyed the feel of having something clean to wear that wasn't full of holes or ripped to shreds. She filled their water bottles and he drank his fill, trying to fill the empty ache in his stomach. Told himself that they'd have food again tomorrow.

They made their way back to the bothy. He was tired. More than usual. Could logically see why. He had traumatic injuries his body was dealing on top of starvation. His kidneys were bruised. And the drugs he had been given just added to the whole mix that was his life right at this moment.

He and Molly sat in front of the fire, watching the flames dance. They talked about everyday things. Things people would be doing in London right about now. Things John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were up to. It somehow felt uplifting in a way. A promise of things to come when they got home. A promise to Molly to not let Oliver win the battle for his mind. Their conversation flowed comfortably until Sherlock felt his eyes drooping. They settled on the mattress and within moments Sherlock had fallen asleep, Molly safely ensconced in his arms.

What felt like seconds, Sherlock woke feeling disorientated. It took him a moment to realise that although he had fallen asleep he was now lying down with his head on his coat. Molly was asleep next to him, his body snug against her, his arm draped over her holding her tight. For a moment he allowed himself to enjoy the feel of her against his body. He closed his eyes, wondering just how Molly had sneaked into his consciousness, his being and had become a part of him as much as John was a part of him.

If anyone had said to him that he'd by spooning Molly five months ago he would've laughed and then made some disparaging remark that would probably have gotten him slapped by the pathologist. John would've disproved and made noise in some regard.

Now it brought comfort in a way that he couldn't explain.

Knowing he wasn't going to get anymore sleep, he slowly untangled himself from her and got up. He pulled the blanket over her to keep her warm. He thought about going outside and gathering more wood when a sixth sense had his hair stand on end. He looked around to the far side of the room where it was darkest to find that he wasn't alone.

Moriarty was seated in a chair, watching him silently. Sherlock tightened his lips, glancing down at Molly. The other man stood, motioning for Sherlock to follow him as he walked to the door and out the hut. It was night, the stars out, the moon giving the surrounding area a ghostly glow.

Sherlock had no choice and was not willing to let Moriarty near Molly again to prove how helpless he was, he followed. He closed the door softly, turning to face the man that was responsible for most of his last few days of misery.

"You looked cosy in there."

"How long were you watching us?"

Moriarty laughed. "Seriously. You must be out of sorts, Sherlock. I've been keeping my eye on you a lot longer than this little game, my dear. How's the ribs?"

"I'll survive."

"Oh, I'm sure you will. The question is, have you worked out what I plan to do next yet?"

"Mycroft?"

"Nooo, not yet. But soon. Think Sherlock or are you part of the ordinary people now. Have Oliver beaten you so completely that you have lost the ability to deduce?"

"You have John."

Moriarty smiled. "Of course. He's close by."

Sherlock nodded. "Obvious really."

"Do tell, my dear. I love revelations."

"Boring. Isn't this the plot for every story out there?"

"There's a reason why, don't you think my dear. And I know why it will work on you." He sang the last sentence, leaning forward and locked eyes with Sherlock. "I've got you, Sherlock. There's no way out. No way that big brain of yours can think of that will get you to win. Emotional context, Sherlock. It gets you every time. I have to say. Molly Hooper. Now that was a big surprise. I wasn't entirely certain that Oliver's plan would work. Oh well, you live and learn, eh." Moriarty stated, clapping Sherlock on his shoulder like they were old buddies out for a stroll.

"Let them go and I'll come with you." Sherlock stated softly, swallowing against the sudden feeling that John was watching with disapproval, making clucking noises and telling him what an idiot he was.

"No, no, no, no, no. That won't work." Moriarty stated, eyes glittering in the dark. "I told you at the pool. I'll burn the heart out of you, Sherlock. I want to watch you fall and break into a million billion pieces that no one would be able to fix. Only then I'll maybe give you back to Mycroft. Although Oliver might object. He's made quite a lot of money off you and I think he'd like to continue using you. How does a year sound? Or two? You think you'd be able to manage a whole year living like this? With John or Molly. Because you can only choose one."

Moriarty was silent then. Sherlock didn't reply. What was there to say? Seemingly satisfied, the Criminal Consultant indicated to Sherlock that he could go back inside.

"I wonder," he said as Sherlock's hand turned the door handle, "whether it would be Molly Hooper or John Watson in the end that will break you. I look forward to finding out."

Next chapter is the rescue - question is will Mycroft get there in time ;-)