Chapter 13

Day 12

"How can that be Oliver?" John asked as he watched the video of the man exiting Sherlock's room. "He's dead."

"Take a closer look, John." Mycroft stated, leaning back in his chair.

John moved closer. Ignored the fact that the man was carrying a pistol with a silencer. It was very obvious now why Sherlock had injected himself. John hadn't even been aware of the man behind him.

"He's taller? More muscular." He hesitantly says. "Wig?" he asks, glancing at Mycroft. The other man nodded briefly.

"Bloody hell." He wipes his mouth.

Mycroft sighed. "We can safely say that this is the mystery man that had paid Oliver to activate Sherlock for his dark purposes. I surmise Oliver probably passed along detailed notes of invoking subliminal programming and hypnotic suggestion designed to secure Sherlock's compliance. That and to threaten your life."

"I never even saw him."

Mycroft gave a half smile. "That was his plan. He's cunning and dangerous. And clearly confident in his execution."

"Okay, I get that. What now? You realise that Sherlock is in danger, right. He needs to be in hospital, not out there running after this man." John states, arm gesturing to the screen.

"My brother can look after himself."

"No!" John huffed. "Are the Holmes brothers born with the same defective gene? Sherlock needs medical care, Mycroft. Do I need to remind you he almost died? Do you understand what that means even remotely?"

"What do you propose I do, John? I've got agents out looking for him. Lestrade has an active B.O.L.O. out on him. My little brother can and will disappear if he wants to."

"Why does he have to be such a stubborn, idiotic arse. Does he have any idea what he's doing to Molly? This is a step too far…" John growled. "He can be passed out somewhere and no-one will be the wiser."

"Sherlock is smarter than that."

"Really. Can you honestly say Mycroft that Sherlock is thinking straight right now? That he wouldn't do something extraordinarily stupid.

Mycroft's silence was answer enough.

"Oh, this is just…great." John said, sitting down across from Mycroft. He gave a small sigh, met Mycroft's gaze fully. "We need to tell Molly."

"I agree. You realise that this will not be a pleasant conversation."

John gave a wry chuckle. "When is it?"

"Indeed. Concerning Sherlock, there are some more things that you and I need to discuss."

"I'm assuming this has to do with Moriarty?"

Mycroft gave a curt nod. "He's getting desperate. I'm thinking that Sherlock remembering this particular aspect of Oliver's had brought forward his plans he had in place. We will have to consider the fact that Sherlock's silence so far could mean that he's been found already by this man." Mycroft tented his fingers, looking at John with a serious expression on his face. "You realise the moment this man was in my brother's room; Sherlock would've started to plan. He probably realised that he wasn't Oliver and set a gambit in motion. He would've wanted to keep you and Molly as far away from this man as possible. The only logical conclusion he would've drawn is to disappear, rightly or wrongly. Then to find a way to look for him without endangering you or Molly. Do you understand, John."

John frowned. "I thought we were past this, Sherlock understood that to do things alone doesn't bode well for him."

"I very much doubt my brother is entirely in the right frame of mind to make these decisions, John. It is easier to fall back on …previous thought patterns then it is to consider the potential for him that you or Molly could be hurt. He probably considered this to protect both of you."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"We need to wait for him to contact us. Even if he's in the hands of this man, my brother will find a way. I very much doubt we'll find him otherwise."

"You realise that he can hurt Sherlock, right? Or worse…"

"No. I don't think he'd want Sherlock dead. Moriarty has plans for my brother. He's hinted at them. Sherlock will be fine."

"No. I disagree. Your brother has been struggling, Mycroft. This could set his healing back."

"Sherlock is not like other people, John. As harsh as this might sound, I do know my little brother. He needs to do this if he's going to put this behind him and move on. The only way he'll get to accept what's been done to him and Molly and what he'd needed to do to survive would be to confront his demons. It's going to get ugly before it's going to get better."

John's face twitched as he considered Mycroft's words. In the end he had no choice but to submit to Mycroft's logic. It would be a bridge too far to verbally acknowledge that so instead gave him the only briefest of nods, without looking at him.

Bloody hell, Sherlock. Why do you always have to be so stubborn?

"As a precaution, I'm going to increase the surveillance on Baker Street. Two agents will be assigned to each of you, Molly, Greg and Mrs Hudson. We want to ensure my brother has a little space to manoeuvre.

"What about Moriarty?"

"I have plans in place for him. You don't need to concern yourself too much with him, John. As I said, he's desperate. Desperate men inevitably end up making mistakes. More so, desperate men blinded by delusions of grandeur."

"Okay. I'll meet up with Molly this afternoon. Let her know what's going on." John said as he stood. He turned at the door, looking back at the older Holmes. "I hope you know what you're doing."


Molly was at Barts but she found she couldn't concentrate. Mrs Rutherford was waiting for her but she just didn't have the energy to start. Mike had gently asked her earlier if she wouldn't rather be at home. But what was she going to do? Sit and wait for Sherlock to come to his senses and come home.

No. She wasn't going to be that woman. If Sherlock had even remotely considered her in his current action, he would've said something. Included her in his plans. But he hadn't. And that hurt more than his disappearing act. It reminded her too much of the hollow. Of Sherlock dismissing her as he had trudged on, even while infection spread and nearly killed him in the end.

Idiot.

This was very familiar territory unfortunately. Something she had thought she and Sherlock had moved past during their time with Oliver and afterwards. She grabbed her cup. Decided that tea would be a good idea. Made her way to the small little staff kitchen and put the kettle on. Her actions were automatic as she grabbed a tea bag, sugar and milk. Only when she was done did she realise that she had made the tea exactly the way Sherlock liked it. She sat down abruptly by the table, the drink in her hand. Tears shimmered and she took a shuddering breath.

She wasn't about to cry over tea.

Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She pushed the tea away and sighed. Looked at the number and frowned but still answered.

"Ms Molly Hooper?"

"Yes?"

"Apologies. This is DI Dylan McMullen. Do you know a Sue Cropper?"

"Uh. I met her at a pathology conference. I had to leave early…Is she okay?"

There was a brief silence. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"What is this about?"

"Can you please recall the last time you saw her."

"Uh…okay. Uhm, probably 3 days ago. At the conference"

"Thank you. Was this at the conference?"

"Yes. I left mid-morning. What happened to Sue?"

"I'm sorry to tell you this. She was found this morning murdered at a local park. We're trying to ascertain her movements before she was reported missing at the conference."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. Not the best news to get over the phone, I'm afraid. I'll contact you for a formal interview. Is this number appropriate?"

"Uh. Yes. Yes, that would be fine…"

She closed the connection, dropping the phone on the table. She took a sip of tea on automatic pilot. Sue had been someone she was getting close to. Someone she would've considered to be a friend.

Dammit Sherlock. Just when I'd need you. She thought, her head leaning on her hands, elbows on the table. You had to choose now to disappear.

Her phone rang again and she wanted nothing more to ignore it. But the little voice of hope that this could be Sherlock stirred her to answer.

"Hey Molly, you okay?"

She sniffed. "Oh, hey Alex."

"DI McMullen has just phoned me. I gather you know. It's awful, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I just…I can't believe it."

"Do you have anyone to talk to? Your fiancé?"

"Oh. Uhm, he's …busy at the moment."

"Hey, I'm in London for now. Do you want to meet up?"

"Yeah, thanks Alex. Not so sure."

"No intentions. I promise. Just a cuppa for Sue."

Molly sighed. Sherlock wasn't here. Mrs Rutherford isn't going anywhere. "Okay."

"Great. I'll see you at Costa Coffee House on Bridge Street in about an hour? That okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks Alex."

She wasn't really in the mood, to be honest. But it might be a good distraction away from Sherlock's actions. And drinking to Sue with the only other person she had become acquainted with at the conference might just be helpful.


She stood at the entrance to the coffee house. For a brief moment she wondered what she was doing and why. Sherlock was missing. Sue was dead. Work was waiting. This was such a wrong time to go out with someone she barely knew for a cup of coffee.

There seemed something fundamentally wrong with this image. She shouldn't be doing this. She turned to leave and almost stepped into Alex. The man had clearly just arrived. His eyes crinkled as he gave her a small smile.

"Hey. Sorry for being a little late. I had some things to take care of. A …difficult patient that just didn't want to settle."

"Oh. Yeah. Hi," she stammered as he stepped past her into the shop. She duly followed, politeness dictating her actions more than anything.

"Tea or coffee?" he asked as he stepped towards the counter.

"Chai please," she said, not really having the mental energy to browse the menu and make a decision. She made her way to a table and seated herself while Alex sorted their drinks. He came over soon after, seated across the table from her.

"You doing okay?" he asked gently.

"Yeah. Just a bit of a shock, you know. Didn't expect it, to be honest. Do you know anything at all?" she asked, rushing her words. She suddenly felt very unsure. Fidgeted with her bag that she had placed on her lap. Alex leaned forward, stilled her hand with one of his own. When she looked up, he leaned back and gave her space.

"Hey, not going to bite, okay. I know you've been through a tough time."

Molly frowned. "What…how'd you know?"

Alex gave her a quick smile. "A few months ago, you were on the news, Molly. Didn't you realise?"

"Uh, no. I didn't…Oh…I just never thought…"

"Hey, I don't know much more about Sue except that they found her in the park. I had to leave early. My …cousin has some issues with addiction and had a relapse."

"Oh, sorry." Molly said automatically. She was still thrown that she and Sherlock had been in the news. Had never ever considered that others would know about their kidnapping and rescue. Had always assumed that Mycroft would suppress any of the details. This was completely new information and her mind was struggling to find even keel. "Your cousin okay?" She asked softly. Looked up when their drinks were brought over.

"Yeah. Not the first time unfortunately. Addiction is hard. He's not going to like the next little bit," Alex said, his eyes reflecting concern.

"Are you a doctor?" she asked. "Uhm, sorry. That's a bit rude. It's just at the conference you never said…"

Alex gave a soft chuckle. "No. That's fine. I studied medicine. I'm a consultant with a pharmaceutical company. Travel a lot."

"Why were you at a pathology conference?"

"Sometimes people die from drug overdose or medical misadventure or just plain old simple medical malpractice. It's just a way to learn and inform policies so we can better manage pharmacological protocols, inventory management, and preventative dosage controls.. Although this conference leaned more towards the use of technology than determining incidental overdose. Still interesting though."

Molly frowned. "Okay." She took a sip of her chai.

"You're fiancé? You said he was busy?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sherlock…" she took another sip. Caution made her wary. "Why?"

"No reason." Alex finished his coffee. "Look, thanks for meeting me, Molly. I appreciate it under the circumstances. Would it be okay if we do it again? I can meet Sherlock next time."

Molly stood, clutching her bag as Alex rose. "Uh, yeah. I'll let you know. Hope your cousin's going to be okay."

"Yeah. Thanks. We're going to have a good hard conversation once he's lucid. Thanks again for coffee, Molly. It was great seeing you again. To Sue." He said, lifting his hand in a small salute.

"To Sue," she said softly. Watched him leave. Something still felt incredibly off and she couldn't put her finger on it. She wished for Sherlock more than ever. Wondered if she was just being paranoid because of Oliver. Her phone dinged and she sat back down, looking at her message. It was from John, asking to meet her at Baker Street later this afternoon.

She finished her chai. Contemplated going back to work and in the end decided against it. She just wasn't in the right place for it right now. Messaged Mike to say that she wouldn't be in for the afternoon and then she got a taxi back to Baker Street.

Hopefully John would have some answers.


Sherlock came to awareness slowly. He was lying on his left side, his right arm slightly in front of him, stretched up past his face. Everything hurt and he was feeling incredibly nauseous. He focused for a while on just breathing through the feeling of wanting to be sick. Somehow he knew it wouldn't be a good idea right at this moment to allow his transport the luxury of taking over. After a time when he was sure that he wasn't about to throw up, did he open his eyes.

Right mess you got yourself into, Sherlock.

Shut up, John, he thought. Not needing you right now.

He was in a bedroom. His right arm was shackled to the bedpost and he understood why he was lying the way he had. He wasn't entirely uncomfortable. The mattress was firm, a blanket pulled over him. The door was closed and he knew that if he had managed to get out of bed, that it'd be locked.

Did you even think this through properly, brother mine?

He ignored Mycroft and closed his eyes again, fatigue dragging him back into oblivion. He shifted under the blanket, pulling it higher over his shoulder.

You complete and utter bastard.

Molly was angry. Her voice in his head vibrated. He wondered briefly if she'd ever forgive him for taking off the way he had. But then he reminded himself. He had a plan.

Really? What plan, Sherlock?

"Just, shut up, John. I have a plan. I just need to remember it, that's all…"

Oh, so you forgot. Or was there ever really a plan?

"Don't start Molly."

Why?

"The plan is to keep you safe, okay."

How's that working out for you?

"Not doing this right now. I need to rest."

The voices got quiet. He couldn't hear them anymore. He was just too tired.

Without another thought he fell asleep again.


"What plan?"

"Molly," he started. Snarled as he turned away from her. Eyed the distant mountains ahead of him. Clouds where dark and rain was threatening, the wind pushing his hair into different directions. He shivered but pretended to not be cold. That everything was okay.

Molly wasn't budging. She stood by the well, her arms crossed as she stared at him.

"How exactly do you think this will work, Sherlock?"

"I don't know!" he shouted. Turning to her, his eyes wild. He swore. Looked at her and the still barely healed wound on her eyebrow. The faded bruises, still tinging her cheek in multilayers of green and blue.

"In case you haven't noticed, Sherlock. You have no shoes. We have barely enough food to last us until Oliver comes back in two days' time. What you propose is insanity."

"John would've…" he trailed off. Seemingly suddenly aware that he was on dangerous ground.

"What?" Her voice had risen. Her arms wide, her eyes had a dangerous glint to them. "What would John bloody Watson have done differently? Please explain. After all, I'm just stupid Molly Hooper. Not – walk on water – John."

"You'renotstupid," he mumbled. But anger rose again. Anger and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. An undercurrent of fear, perhaps. Or desperation. He wasn't sure anymore. But he wasn't about to admit to Molly Hooper that he was afraid. That he could see what Oliver was planning on doing. That they weren't going to go home anytime soon. "So what," he started again, "John would've been game. Given it a go."

Molly gave a laugh of derision. Stared him down. "Really?"

He turned away. Huffed. Couldn't contain the energy inside his body anymore and gave a wild scream. It seemed to be swallowed up by the open vista before him. Muting his frustration and anger into impotence. His shoulders sagged. He heard her behind him then. A hand tentative on his shoulder. Turning him so he faced her.

"How far…" she asked softly. Paused and met his eyes. "…would you go on bare feet before Oliver's men found us?"

He broke his gaze. "I'll make it work. There're still the bandages. The blanket."

She shook her head. A pained grimace flirted briefly across her face. He knew what it was. Molly's nightmares real enough these last few nights to know that it had to do with her beating she had received. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the thud of Goon 2's fists as it hit flesh. Molly's whimpers and screams seemed to fill his head, adding to the cacophony of his own helplessness at their situation. He couldn't seem to think his way out of this one. There was no intellectual exercise that would get them past Oliver and his plans.

They were stuck. They both knew it. And it grated on him to think that he'd have to wait for his brother to rescue them. Because currently there doesn't seem to be any other way out of their current situation.

"Oliver was very clear about how far you're allowed to go outside the bothy."

"There are no cameras. He won't know. We can make it back to the fence. Find the gate and a road. People. Escape Oliver." He wasn't convincing. He knew it as well as what Molly had said was true. But he railed against the invisible bonds that seemed to shackle them to this place. Against the fact that Oliver had been clear that they were going to be here for at least four months. And his first introduction to Oliver's challenges had been a primer on what he'd get to expect to come in the future.

Oliver definitely had plans. And it scared the hell out of him.

She sighed. Moved to the well and sat down on the wall. Her ponytail was fluttering in the wind that smelled of cold and rain. She pushed her hands into her pockets. Hunched into the jacket.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

He frowned. Stepped towards her and then sat next to her. Felt her body tense next to his own.

"Why?"

She looked at her feet. Her voice was a whisper, riding on the wind. "For not being John."

He didn't know what to say to her. Looked at his own hands that were fumbling fingers, playing with his torn shirt.

You're an idiot, you know that, right?

John's voice seemed so real. He looked up, expected his friend to stand there but there was nothing but the promise of the storm. Molly sighed. Her hand came out of her jacket. Wiped at her face. "Maybe…" her voice broke. She seemed to gather herself, "…maybe if John was here instead of me it would've worked out, you know. You'll probably have commandeered the helicopter by now. Flown off to London. Be back at Baker Street."

He was silent. Shivered in the cold as windshear came down. They didn't move from their spot. Sherlock wasn't sure he could.

Bloody do something, Sherlock. Don't just sit there. This isn't Molly's fault. Tell her!

He reached out. Pulled her hand to his own. Held on to it. "Molly," he stuttered. He was cold and they really needed to be inside before the rain started but he knew this was important. "You are not John."

She tried to pull her hand away. "I know that Sherlock. That's the whole point."

He shook his head. Held onto her. Refusing to let go. Turned to her so that he could see her better in the fading light of the storm that was gathering around them. "Molly Hooper. You…are…not…John."

She stilled. Looked up at him. Bit her bottom lip in a familiar action that he knew so very well. Her uncertainty radiating from her.

"I'm sorry," he said then. "I…uhm…" he looked down at their hands. His own engulfing hers. She seemed so tiny. Gave a hint of a smile. "I don't think John would've thought to give me stretching exercises yesterday. Or massaged my calf muscles the night before. And the sleeping arrangement would've been decidedly awkward."

This brought a fleeting smile. He dropped her hand, stood up as the wind caused ripples to ebb and flow across the grass. The smell of rain was now heavy, permeating the air in ozone and a subtle hint of earthy loam. Turned and held out his hand to her.

"I think it's time to go inside." He said, looked up as the first drops of rain started to fall. She took his hand.


The storm raged outside that night as Molly lay in Sherlock's arms. Thinking of the time ahead. She knew without a doubt that it was going to be hard. The violence was already proven. She had the proof of Oliver's malevolence written on her body. Knew that suffering lay ahead. For Sherlock. For her. They needed to focus on surviving Oliver. Surviving until they could find a way to escape or until rescue came. She was certain that Mycroft and John would be looking. Even if Sherlock didn't see it, he was loved. Valued. They wouldn't give up. She thought of her own feelings. Remembered something her nan had said to her once when she was little.

"No one has control of your thoughts but yourself. Focus on the positive. The rest will work itself out."

Sherlock's arm tightened around her automatically. He pulled her closer unconsciously. Settled back down. Molly Hooper determined to do what she could for both of them. To do more than just survive.

To not let Oliver win.