Chapter 14

Day 13

"Sherlock, hey. Wake up."

Molly had sat up as the nightmare had taken hold. He was fully immersed. Soft whimpers now constant as he shifted on the mattress.

"Come on, Sherlock," she said softly again as she touched his shoulder. Pushed against it more forcefully when he didn't respond.

"Sherlock!" she said loudly, giving another push. This time his eyes opened and he gave a soft groan. Shifted onto his back and stared up at the roof.

"Hey," she managed to say, "you with me?"

He nodded. Hands wiped his face and he sat up. "Sorry."

She nodded and turned away from him. Added a log onto the fire and gave him a little space. After a month here in the bothy, the very act of keeping the fire going was in some ways a good distraction away from the fact that they both struggled with nightmares. That they both struggled with what Oliver was doing. It wasn't hard to see the man's end game.

"You want some water?" Sherlock asked. She nodded and he got up, made his way to the little corner they had made into a little makeshift area for keeping their water bottles and Ensure at. Grabbed a bottle and sat down next to her, passing one on. The water was cool. Helped but didn't still the hunger pangs. It seemed Oliver was determined to keep them forever hungry. They got just enough Ensure to live, no more.

"How's your stomach and back?"

She grimaced. Goon 2 had been particularly nasty the last round Sherlock had gone with Oliver. He had hit her almost with relish. She had learned early on that keeping quiet led to more hurt. Oliver wanted her vocal so he could use it to get Sherlock to do what he wanted. She was in a catch 22. If she stayed quiet, Oliver made sure to take it out on Sherlock. If she expressed pain, Sherlock was forced to comply by fear for her. It didn't matter what she did, Oliver had a plan. It was just easier in the end to do what the man wanted.

"It's okay," she said. Blinked against tears as he quietly slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Was my fault."

She shook her head. "No. Don't do this, Sherlock. It wasn't you that hit me, okay."

"I…," Sherlock took a deeper breath. Something was weighing heavy on him. "His last challenge was just…" He hung his head. Swallowed and then she knew that she had lost him to his mind palace. He seemed to struggle with something.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmmmh."

"Are you ever going to tell me what he's making you do?"

Sherlock got a faraway look on his face. She watched his profile as he worked his way around her question. He turned his head, looked down at her with eyes that had seen too much.

"It depends," he started. "Most of them are physical challenges. Get from A to B in the fastest way possible. Pretty much the easiest explanation I can give."

"It's just, sometimes when you get back you can barely move. And you were on the verge of full-blown hypothermia yesterday."

"Molly. I'm not very good with this." He whispers. He shuddered and looked away. Even with the warmth of the fire in front of him, he shivered. Removed his arm from around her and dragged the blanket from the mattress and pulled it around himself. Pulled his legs up and cocooned himself inside, not caring anymore on what Molly must think.

She had never seen him like this before. Knew that whatever had been done, that had led to her bruises had been traumatising to Sherlock. Molly suspected that whatever it had been, had led to Sherlock almost drowning. He had coughed water all night while she had tried to get his body temperature back up to normal. It had been a long night for both of them.

"I know you're not," she says softly. "I…uhm. Never mind," she said. Stared at the dancing flames while Sherlock shifted next to her. After a while, his head came up.

"Molly," he said, "When we're back in London, I think I'll skip swimming for a while."

"Oh. Okay." She gave him an encouraging smile. "Didn't know you swam."

He chuckled. "I actually enjoyed it before… ...before yesterday." He said quietly. "Besides my violin, it was a good way to just think. Just you and water, you know." He pulled the blanket tighter. Leaned his chin on his knees as he watched the flames in front of them.

"How long have we known each other, Sherlock?" she asked.

He frowned, and looked at her. "A long time, why?"

"And yet I had no idea about you swimming."

He blinked. His eyes widened. "Oh."

"Does John know?"

He was quiet. "Well, I usually go when he's not around. Uhm. I don't know," he said slowly. He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. "What do you like to do in your off time, Molly Hooper?" he asked.

"Can't you deduce me?" she asked instead.

He turned on the mattress so he was facing her fully now. The blanket still around his shoulders, he looked comfortable. She wondered how many times he had done this, sitting with a sheet or blanket wrapped around himself.

"Mmmmh. Let me see. I know about your cat. And your grandmother who likes her independence. You sometimes have crumbs on your jersey. You like your big bag. I would say …baking?"

She grinned like a schoolgirl. "So, you do notice." She said without thinking. Blushed when she realised what she'd implied.

Sherlock shrugged. "Of course. Who wouldn't." He gave her a half smile. "John likes crap telly. Mrs Hudson likes her evening soothers. And you, Molly Hooper likes baking. There. I'm not that clueless to the people in my life that matter."

Her mouth gaped open. "Uh, do I really matter?"

"Of course. Who else is going to provide me with body parts when I need it, Molly."

And there was Sherlock, she thought. Oblivious. They sat for a while in silence, watching the flames until she gave a small yawn. Sherlock stretched himself out on the mattress, patted the spot in front of him.

"Sleep time?"

"Yeah. Okay." She settled in his arms and he pulled the blanket over both of them.

"Sleep well, Molly Hooper" he said, his arm tightening around her middle. She relaxed, closed her eyes and sank into sleep after completing their nightly ritual.

Molly woke alone in their bed, the dream still lingering. She wasn't entirely sure why this particular memory had come forward. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant one. It had been pretty early in their captivity that it had taken place, the night after Sherlock had been returned dressed in nothing more than his pants and so cold to the touch that she had thought for a moment that he could've been one of the bodies in the morgue. She had climbed under the blankets with him, lying in his arms as he shivered, his teeth chattering. It had taken half the night for his body temperature to rise where he wasn't shivering. Where he wasn't cold to the touch. And the other half of the night had been spent listening to the wheeze of his lungs as he coughed and sputtered until whatever water he had inhaled and swallowed had been purged from him.

Why are you doing this alone again, Sherlock. She thought. John had explained to her yesterday that Sherlock hadn't intentionally injected himself. That he'd been coerced by a man that had looked like Oliver. Had explained that Mycroft had set up protection again and the reason Sherlock had disappeared was because of the mistaken belief that he was protecting them. She had been angry then. Truly angry. John had wisely slipped away to his room. She had banged pots. Slammed cupboard doors and had started food. Half-way through making pasta Alfredo, she had stopped and leaned against the table as the realisation had come that she and Sherlock weren't finished with Oliver. That even beyond the grave, the man had control. John had chosen that moment to enter the kitchen. Had took her in his arms and had just held her as tears had come. Had promised her that once this was over, they would take turns having a go at Sherlock. She had smiled through her tears then. Had finished the food and they had eaten while the ideas on what they'd do to Sherlock became more outrageous as the night wore on. It had been good to let go in that way.

She rolled onto her back. Got up and showered. Fully dressed and ready, she entered the living area to find John was there with breakfast.

"Sleep okay?" he asked as they sat down by the table.

"Yeah. Just dealing with some memories, you know." She said as she took a bite of bacon.

"Sorry, Molly." He said sincerely, focused on his plate and getting beans on his fork.

"Don't be, John. It wasn't that bad a memory. I just…" she pressed her lips together as she thought about her next words. "He is utterly brilliant yet completely clueless all at the same time, you know."

John gave a short laugh. Leans back and looks at her. "He can deduce a man's life in seconds yet doesn't know the sun revolves around the earth. That what you mean?" he said with a wink.

"Something like that. He nearly died, you know. Early on. This was before Oliver. They had left us in the middle of the estate in the open. We were walking, trying to find a way to people. We had stopped at this little hollow that had water. We rested there and when he fell asleep I took a look at his feet. He had probably been walking on blisters for a week. I could see the signs of infection. I knew we needed to rest. When he woke up, he pretended that he was okay. He wouldn't listen. Two days later we got to the edge of the estate. Found the fence and that's where he collapsed. There was nothing I could do. His fever was high, the infection fully developed. Oliver's men came and got us and they had a doctor with them. He examined him, started antibiotics and basically left me with everything to make sure that Sherlock didn't die. And you know what, when I had asked him in the hollow if we can rest he had told me that he couldn't. That he was completely oblivious to the fact that he was forcing the infection. That he was making himself sick."

"Sometimes he's a complete twit." John said.

"A bastard." Molly stated.

"An arse." John matched her.

"Moronic."

"Idiot."

They both smiled. Grinned. Then laughed. And it did feel good. Even though Sherlock was not here.

"Thanks John," Molly said as she got back to her breakfast. "I really needed that."

"Anytime."

They finished their food, made their way to the sitting room. Molly sat in Sherlock's chair and John settled with a paper in his. They both looked up when Mycroft entered.

"Anything?" John asked as he closed the paper.

"Nothing yet. Molly, I wanted to discuss a few things with you if it was okay. The memories might not be pleasant, unfortunately."

"Okay."

"Did Sherlock ever mention the side project he was working on with Oliver."

Molly shook her head. Looked at John who suddenly looked a little guilty. She knew then that he hadn't told her everything yesterday.

"What's going on?" She asked. "And don't lie to me."

Mycroft gave a soft sigh. His eyes softened and then he said, "The man that was in your room with Sherlock knew him from your time at the bothy."

"I don't understand," she said. "It was only ever Oliver and his three men that we saw. Sherlock never said anything."

"Very well. Let me give you some background Molly. It might be helpful to see if Sherlock ever let on although knowing Oliver, I'm fairly certain he had sworn Sherlock to secrecy. Had used your wellbeing as a manner to force my brother to compliance."

"Mycroft!" John explained.

"No. It's okay, John," Molly stated wearily. "Not a state secret and I knew he was doing it. I have the scars to prove it."

"Molly…"

She gave John a tired smile. "It's okay. Truly. I've dealt with it. Giles had been good at helping me deal with my guilt." Molly shifted in her seat. Hugged a pillow. "The first day we met Oliver, he gave Sherlock two days to make his way back to the bothy. It was a task he gave Sherlock that he meant to fail from the start so he could teach Sherlock a lesson. That's when I got this scar," she said, indicating the small scar above her eyebrow. "He had one of his men beat me to a pulp. Made Sherlock watch. Told him that if Sherlock didn't do as he was told that I would carry the consequences. After that…any time Oliver felt Sherlock didn't listen, he would have one of his men hurt me. It wasn't that hard to figure out that Oliver had gotten me to keep Sherlock in line."

"I'm so sorry," John said.

"It is what it is, John. Sherlock and I survived. We made do. We both understood."

"Very well. Did my brother ever let on?"

Molly shook her head. "There was a time…" she started, frowning. "Just after his time with Oliver, that I thought something more was going on." Molly didn't look at any of the men. "You know the scar on Sherlock's arm? I fixed that. He uhm…he fell, off a cliff I think doing one of Oliver's challenges in the rain. He was really hurt badly. Oliver brought me a medical kit. Wanted me to fix him up because he needed Sherlock ready in four days' time. There was no way Sherlock could physically do any challenge, yet Oliver had come to fetch him anyways. He had drugged Sherlock up on painkillers to get him to do whatever it was. Had brought him back and Sherlock had slept. Had not said anything on what he'd done."

"Okay. That's okay, thanks Molly."

"Why? You obviously know something, Mycroft. What did Oliver make Sherlock do."

"Molly, I'm not sure if you should know."

She gave a snort of derision. "Seriously. Do you think I'm an idiot? I lived through that hell. I have a right to know."

Mycroft glanced at John. Came to a decision. "Oliver had sold Sherlock's skills to another man who had used it to plan murders. Sherlock had no choice. As stated, Oliver threatened him with your wellbeing in getting my brother to comply. There were at least five of these puzzles my brother had to solve."

Molly held a hand in front of her lips, her eyes wide.

"Sherlock understandably didn't want to share this as he feared your and John's reaction."

"When will he learn…" Molly stated softly. "…that he matters. That what he did while we were with Oliver…How could he ever think…" She sniffed. Wiped at her eyes. "No wonder his nightmares are so bad." She gathered herself visibly. "I'm assuming you know some of the puzzles he worked on."

"We know of three. A drug lord, a corrupt banker and a hacker. It seems the hacker might have unearthed some information on this man which was the reason why she was killed."

"Okay." Molly said, taking a deep breath. Eyes clear now she focused on Mycroft. "Do we know who they were?"

"We do on the first two. Lestrade is still trying to find the hacker. The only information we had was that she was drowned in London. No Jane Does match her description. It is slow going as you can imagine as Greg has to do this unofficially. I can't take the chance that this man finds out we're looking."

Molly nodded. "Let me help."

Mycroft studied her. She let him. Had enough experience with the Holmes brothers by now to understand how their minds worked. "Okay. I'll agree. I think finding this hacker might lead us closer to this man and in all probability to Sherlock. John, would you mind helping Molly? I can sort things out with the clinic."

"Yeah, no problem mate. Molly?"

She stood up. "Let me gather my stuff. We can leave in the next 10 minutes?"

"Okay."

"Molly, please make sure you don't go anywhere without the agents assigned to you. I don't want to give this man any opportunity to grab you or John. We all know that Sherlock would do anything to keep both of you safe. Let's make his task a little easier."

"Yeah. You know what Mycroft. If Sherlock had trusted us, he wouldn't be going off on his own, now would he?"

With that she turned and left the room. Her anger still simmered but she also understood a little more. And it broke her heart again on what Oliver had done to them. To Sherlock.

May you rot in hell, she thought. If you weren't dead already, I'd kill you myself.

"His brother. Really?"

Alex sat down across from Oliver. He nodded. Pleased that he had somehow managed to surprise the other man. Crossed his legs as he leaned forward and picked up the glass of wine.

"Was he …difficult?" he asked. Took a sip and enjoyed the full-bodied flavour of the red wine. Oliver always had good taste when it came to wine. He would have to someday get his supplier details.

"Initially. I needed to apply some corrective measures. I convinced him in the end that cooperation would be beneficial for him and Molly Hooper." Oliver said. Swirled his own glass and took a sip.

"I don't want him to remember what he did, Oliver."

"Taken care of." Oliver stated. Alex could see he was getting annoyed. "Why is it important? He's not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry, Oliver. I have to insist. How are you going to prevent Sherlock Holmes from remembering that he had provided the plans on how to kill his own brother."

"I gave him Rohypnol."

"The date rape drug? Really?" He laughed. "Brilliant."

"It messes with short-term memory. He woke up the next day. He has no clue." Oliver placed his wine glass on the table next to him. Scrutinised Alex. "It has been two weeks, Alex. Why is Mycroft still alive?"

Alex gave a chuckle. "Because my client doesn't want him dead, yet."

"Is there a timeline?" he asked.

"You know that I can't give you that information, Oliver. It will happen. But not now."

"Very well."

"How is your training going?"

Oliver looked pleased. Smiled. "Good. I rarely have to discipline him now. Working on your plan for Mycroft has impacted his conditioning somewhat but that was easily remedied by the Rohypnol. I'm on schedule."

"What happens if he escapes?"

"That's not possible," Oliver states.

"It can always happen, Oliver. You should know that."

"There are trackers embedded in both of them. I know exactly where they are at all times."

"Fine," Alex said. Finished the wine. "For argument's sake, let's say Sherlock Holmes manages to escape. Get back and work through his …conditioning."

Oliver gave a self-satisfied smirk. "I built in redundancy."

Alex frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I can make sure he regresses back to a point where he is malleable. Where he will …forget."

"What do you mean forget? Trigger amnesia? Is that even possible?"

"No. This isn't Hollywood," Oliver sneered. "It simulates a flashback. Just…a bit more aggressively. He will remember his conditioning. And it will trigger his programming. There are risks involved off course but it can be mitigated with a slower approach."

"Tell me more." Alex said. Leaned back in his chair. He was genuinely interested. He had known Oliver was good.

He had just never realised how good.

Alex sipped his coffee. He was sitting at a little café that wasn't too far from the place where he was keeping Sherlock. He switched windows on his laptop. It was a camera view of the bedroom. Sherlock was still asleep in the bed. He hadn't moved from the position he had been in since last night. He ended up needing to get an IV into the man. Sherlock really hadn't been well and was still obviously struggling to recover from his overdose. His initial reaction had been unfortunate but it might be helpful to the next steps he was going to take. Having Sherlock Holmes still a little off-centre would mean it might be easier in the end to work and influence the man.

By no means was he going to underestimate the consulting detective. He had Oliver's plans. He'll have to start with bringing in a little uncertainty. Let the man believe him that he wasn't entirely sure yet on what to do with him. Focus the attention away on why he wanted Sherlock. Get him further on the backfoot before he starts on Oliver's steps to trigger a full regression.

He almost hummed. To have Sherlock Holmes fully under his control. Now that would be a rush. Almost more than his usual hobby he allowed himself to partake in occasionally. He understood suddenly why Oliver had done it. Knew then that when he succeeded in this, he would have in his hands what Jim Moriarty had envisioned. What Oliver had attempted.

This was going to make him a lot of money.

And Sherlock Holmes would be his. Alone without interference from any of the other men. He'd be able to mould him. Shape him into exactly what he wanted.

He leaned back. Eyed the sleeping man.

The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Oh, this is going to be …just …perfect.