Chapter 19

Day 18

Irene had spent the weekend away from home. She had travelled around England. Visited old friends and had quietly gone about the business to gather information on Lord Cavendish and his close friends. Managed to build up enough information that the man was starting to come to the fore.

She came back early Monday morning just before 5 am. Found Mycroft in his study, already awake and studying a file.

"Did you even sleep?" She asked softly. Slipped her shoes off and sat down in one of the chairs. Pulled her legs up sideways and massaged her feet.

"Enough."

She chuckled. "Clearly. You're worse than Sherlock."

"Irene…"

"No. Not going to work with me, Myc. You know that."

He sighed. Leaned back and tented his fingers. "What have you found?"

"Our Lord Cavendish is a very naughty boy, Mycroft. His secrets have secrets."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Tell me more."

Irene grinned wickedly. "There are four of them. Lords Cavendish, Marsden, Michaels, and Edwards. They all went to school together. Kept in touch during uni and their working careers. They all knew Oliver. Apparently they all love to hunt. Oliver had a club…" she grew silent. "They didn't just hunt ducks or deer, Mycroft."

"Ah."

"They called themselves the Phoenix Society. A rebirth of old. Oliver was the president."

"Moriarty…"

"I don't know. Maybe by association to Oliver but I couldn't find anything yet that tied them together yet. One of the men I spoke to was adamant that there were a lot of things they were running in the background. Hidden in plain sight. Edwards used his position as Commissioner of Police to squash any investigations ever done. It never came to light. Cavendish used his office to suppress any financial investigations if it ever pointed their way. It's the reason Oliver got away for so long with his hunts and games he liked to play on his estate."

Mycroft frowned. "If they were this good, why did Cavendish decide to show his hand? I wasn't aware of him until he showed up at Diogenes."

Irene sighed. "Because Myc, they plan on killing you. I'm guessing they figured it wouldn't matter in the end."

"What are they waiting for?" he asked quietly. Contemplative. "No. There's more than just my death they're planning." He turned his chair. "My brother…" He stood.

"I need to go into the office. Would you be alright?"

"Yes. I'll get some sleep and then have another go at our dear Kitty Riley."

The four men in question were seated at Lord Edwards' country house just south of London. It was a sprawling estate, not too far from the South Downs National Park.

Lord Marsden was pacing. Highly agitated. "Mycroft is becoming a problem and needs to be dealt with now."

Edwards took a sip of his single malt whiskey. "Sit down. You're not helping matters."

"Why did you show your hand, William?" Marsden said, finally relenting and plopping himself onto a chair. A hand waved towards Lord Cavendish, "You've put yourself and by definition us, under his scrutiny."

Cavendish narrowed his eyes as he studied Lord Marsden. "Because you were an idiot, Dean. If it wasn't for your bumbling of the whole affair, Mycroft would be dead and Oliver would have full control of his wayward brother."

"It wasn't my fault," he whined. "It wasn't." he repeated again at the look Cavendish threw at him. "If Jim hadn't interfered and gotten the doctor involved, Mycroft would never have found his brother."

"You are aware that Mycroft found his brother by the URL link to the cameras at the bothy, right?" Richard Edwards said softly.

"See, not my fault," Marsden said again, ignoring the looks the other three gave him. "And who's bright idea was it to have the cameras up and running and sharing it to the world to see for a fee?" he asked, looking pointedly at John Michaels.

"You know perfectly well; Oliver already had it setup to keep an eye on his experiments." John said, clearly irritated to have this mentioned again.

"Is that what we call them now?" Dean said. Wiped his face.

"You enjoyed the hunt as much as we did," Cavendish said. "Don't pretend otherwise."

"I'm not." He ran a hand through his hair. "Uhg…this is a mess. Why isn't he dead?"

"Because, Lord Marsden, Jim Moriarty hasn't been released yet. That's why."

"Since when do we care about that maniac? He's a liability too. He knows who we are…"

"…And that is why we have no choice. Unless you want the video released to the general public. I'm not even sure we'll be able to spin it any other way than what it shows, Dean. Not even William will be able to suppress the release of this evidence."

"Fine. When do we contact Alex?"

Cavendish looked at his watch. "Two days. By then he should have things in place with the younger Holmes."

"Alex has his instructions?"

Cavendish gave a wicked grin. "Yes. Before he pulls the trigger he will explain to Mycroft Holmes that it was his little brother that had worked out the plan for his death."

"And Sherlock?"

"My dear Lord Marsden…Sherlock will be officially declared dead. No-one will be looking for him."

Dean Marsden matched William Cavendish' grin. "He'll be ours?"

"We'll let Alex keep him for a while until his house-broken. Then…he'll be ours."

Molly and John had spent the weekend at Mycroft. Hadn't gone anywhere. It was hard but John could manage, as he'd been here before. He knew what it was like not knowing. Waiting for news. But Molly was struggling. In the end, Giles had come out and she had spent time with him. Giles had called John in afterwards, and had provided him with a prescription for Molly. They had talked briefly about what he could do to help Molly be safe. For her to deal with the uncertainty. John had spoken briefly about his fears for Sherlock. Giles had allayed them a bit. Had told him not to underestimate Sherlock and his capacity to deal with adversity. Despite the damage that Oliver had done, his friend was resilient. Would be able to think things through. John wasn't so sure but kept quiet.

Monday morning, he was up early. Made his way to the kitchen to find Molly already seated, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Hey," he said as he made his way to the kettle, switched it on.

"Mycroft's already left."

"Okay. Plans for the day?"

She wiped her forehead. "Not sure yet. Mike said I don't have to come in. They can cover for me."

"Is that what you want to do?"

She sighed. Placed her cup on the table. Sat back. "How did you manage, John? I mean…when Sherlock and I were with Oliver…"

John leaned against the kitchen bench. "It was bloody hard, I'm not going to lie, Molly."

"Okay," she said, closing her eyes briefly. "okay…" she said softer.

"Hey. You know what's different this time?"

She looked up. Shook her head.

"There're clues. The hacker girl. Moriarty. It's a lot more than we had last time."

"The best we can do Molly, is to do what we can, okay. Keep busy until Sherlock either contacts us or Mycroft figures out the clues. He's bloody good at what he does."

"Why don't you go to work? I can go with you and we can find things to keep us busy?"

"Uh, yeah. Okay…"

John's phone chose the moment to interrupt them. It was Mycroft and he answered.

"Don't leave."

"What?"

"Where is Molly?"

John looked up. There was something in Mycroft's voice. He didn't like it at all. "She's with me. We're in the kitchen."

Mycroft sighed. "Is there any way you can excuse yourself?"

"Uh. Okay." He dropped his hand that held the phone. "I'll be right back, Molly." She went white, her eyes wide. "John?" she asked breathlessly. "It's okay. I'll be right back, okay." She nodded but he noticed her knuckles white where they gripped the table. He didn't like where this was going.

He made his way to the study, closed the door behind him.

"What is it, Mycroft?"

"They found a body."

John slowly sank into a chair. His legs have gone rubbery. "What…"

"It matches my brother's dental and DNA records."

John made a sound in the back of his throat.

"John. I'm on my way to the mortuary. Don't say anything yet. You remember what Irene did?"

John wiped his face, his hand trembling. Took a deep breath. "Yes."

"The hacker…remember the hacker we're looking for?"

"Bloody hell…"

"Records can be changed if you know what you're doing. I think Oliver had a contingency plan. There was a video he had Sherlock make. It was to be posted to me after a year. Irene found it through one of her contacts when Sherlock and Molly were in hospital. It is not inconceivable that Oliver had a body on ice. Someone who would look like Sherlock so I'd stop looking. He would've known that I wouldn't stop unless there was a reason for me not to continue searching."

"Okay. But Sherlock has scars…the brand."

"Not that hard to replicate John. Believe me. Before we put this on Molly, let me confirm. Would you be able to keep this from her?"

"I…" he ran a hand through his hair. "No." he said. "I won't, Mycroft. Secrets are what got us to this point. I'm not going to keep this from her."

Silence met his statement.

"Very well, do as you think best, John. I'll talk to you once I've seen the body." Mycroft said finally and hung up.

John's legs were still rubbery, his insides clenched. He resolutely rose, made his way back to the kitchen. Pulled Molly into a hug wordlessly.

"John…"

"They found a body," he started.

"Noooo."

He pushed her away, forced her to look at him. "Mycroft has gone to take a look. He thinks this is a ruse. That this was a plan of Oliver's that this man is using."

Molly wiped tears away. Nodded and then a frown formed. "Uh, Oliver said…" she gulped. Sat down on the chair by the table. Looked up at John. "I remember…" She wiped tears away again. "…he told Sherlock that he was going to take us away after Jim was finished with his test. That we won't be found…"

"Okay. This is good…"

"How?"

John gave a small smile. "He's improvising. This wasn't planned. He's piggy backing off Oliver's plan."

"Oh…"

John sat down on the chair next to Molly. His phone is on the table between them. "He's not as smart as he thinks he is. He needed Sherlock, remember. Needed him to work out solutions to his little problems."

Molly's eyes lit up with hope. It was good to see. Good to notice that for the first time she was straightening, sitting up, shoulders back.

"Sherlock will figure it out. We need to trust him that he'll do what he can, Molly."

It was an hour before Mycroft called. John put it on speaker. Not willing anymore to keep things hidden.

"They were good. Very good," Mycroft said. "If I hadn't suspected…"

"Not Sherlock." John asked.

"No. But I think we should use this…"

"What do you mean? Pretend he's dead?"

"This man, John, would expect something to come out regarding the body that was found. It might make him more confident. More prone to mistakes. We let this play out and we will be ahead of the game."

John looked at Molly. "Can you do this?" he asked.

Molly was quiet. "Yeah. Okay."

"What do you want us to do, Mycroft?"

"I'll be home in an hour. We'll discuss it then."

The weekend had been hard. He was not prone to exaggeration. In fact, he was very typically underplayed. Friday night after he had put on the clothes that Alex had provided, he had needed to help the other man dress the corpse in the clothes he had worn. Had helped Alex take the bag downstairs to the car. Had gone back up to his room where Alex had left him alone, with instructions to finish the Ensure. He had done as the man wanted. He just didn't have the mental capacity at that stage to think of much besides how easy it had been for the other man to manipulate him. Get him to do exactly what he wanted.

All because he knew Oliver. Understood the trigger words. This was going wrong on so many levels. He had underestimated Alex. Underestimated his own visceral reactions. This was not how he had imagined it would go at all. Granted he was still recovering from the overdose. Still didn't feel a hundred percent since walking out of the hospital. The blood loss. The sedatives today didn't help either. He knew he'd been dosed more than once. Fully aware of how his body reacted to them. Something inside him was starting to brew. The beginning of an infection. He felt rundown. Fatigued. Sore – more than the bruises that Alex had been responsible for. Was now a lot more cognisant of his own body and how he reacts since the bothy. Remembered his infection and the trek he'd done with Molly while fever raged throughout his body. This was starting to feel a lot similar to the beginning of that time when he started to get sick.

Alex had stayed away for at least an hour and he had finished the bottle. He was seated at the table when Alex had returned, entering the room. Laptop in hand with his phone. Placed both on the table and this time Sherlock didn't reach out to take either. Ignored the other man as he tried to find a semblance of control over his transport. His hard drive. Alex let him be, worked until late and then indicated to him to get back on the bed. Without a word, Sherlock had done as the other man had asked. Had provided his arm to be cuffed and had settled under the blanket. Pretended to sleep, but it had been slow in coming and when it did come, the nightmares had been vivid. In the end he had gotten very little actual rest.

Saturday, Alex had left him alone for the morning and then returned midday with more Ensure. Had uncuffed him and allowed him to take a shower. Then he had started again with Oliver's questions. Pulling apart his relationship with his brother this time. Sherlock had tried lying. That hadn't gone well. His body sports more bruises as a result. That he could take but when the man had reached for his phone with the promise of hurting John and Sherlock had relented. Had shared as little as possible in the end yet Alex always was able to expand on his answers with Oliver's notes. He didn't see the point. If he had all the details why he was doing this. It just brought back all the feelings of helplessness he had experienced with Oliver. Of violation. In the end he had pleaded with Alex to stop. To let him be.

Saturday night he didn't sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, he would hear the questions. See Oliver. Feel his touch. It was worse than it had been just after his rescue. Sunday morning Alex had given him some more Ensure and had continued, this time around his relationship with John. Here, he had resisted as long as he could. Had ended up on the floor, bleeding and groaning. Then he had made another phone call and Sherlock had relented.

What did it matter in the end, he had thought traitorously. Alex already knew the answers. It wasn't as if he wasn't sharing something the other man already didn't know.

But it still felt wrong. And he was frustrated. Angry. Didn't have time to think. Time to just get back on even keel. Time to figure out what all of this was for. Sunday night Alex had sedated him again. Despite his protestations. Had told him that he needed him to sleep. He had explained that sedation wasn't the same. It had fallen on deaf ears.

And here he was, Monday morning. Alone and no Alex. He could move freely. Do what he wants. And in the end, he did nothing. He sat in the chair by the table, focused inward and tried to repair the damage done over the weekend. Tried to put files back in order. Tried to reason a way out.

The one thing he wasn't sure about was the man on the outside. Whether Alex truly was alone or if he had others. He couldn't deduce that. The man was unreadable in that regard. He was either so accomplished in lying, that Sherlock just couldn't deduce him or he really did have people watching his friends and ready to act on Alex' instructions. He wasn't sure if he wanted to take that chance. Place Molly and John's life on the line for a hunch.

The other big unknown was Mycroft. He was certain his brother would see through the ruse of the body. The houseboat. What his brother would do with the knowledge was where his decision tree kept branching. He was still in his mind palace, still trying to find a solution when Alex had returned midday, a paper in his hands. Plopped it down triumphantly on the table between them. Sherlock turned the front page, read the heading.

Body found in Thames, presumed to be missing Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes

He glanced over the article. A photo of a police tent setup on the foreshore. He could just make out Lestrade in the photo, his back to the camera while he was talking to Donovan. A formal identification and statement would be made as soon as next of kin was notified. Very standard. Very mundane.

He looked up, pushed the paper away.

"This doesn't mean my brother believes." He said flatly.

"No? Your brother was the one who identified you after the dental and DNA flagged the body as belonging to you."

"I don't believe you."

"When have I lied to you, Mr Holmes."

He glared at Alex.

"Bored yet, Mr Holmes?"

He wasn't stupid. He knew why Alex was asking. "Why do you rehash Oliver's questions?" he asked instead. Alex didn't answer him. Opened the laptop.

"Let's discuss Molly Hooper."

"Piss off."

Alex leaned back. Sighed. "An impasse. Not ideal. Very well."

Sherlock did his best. But his body was still very much recovering from the sedative. The beatings over the weekend. The overdose. The slight fever that has started this morning, adding to his misery. All of it combined and he found himself on the floor, his hands cuffed and lying on his back and gagged. Watched as Alex sat down on the chair by the table and made a phone call.

"Molly, hi."

His eyes widened. He moaned and tried to get into a seated position. Alex casually stood up and crouched beside Sherlock. A hand carded through his hair; a warning look in his eyes.

"Hey, just wanted to know how you are doing? I saw the newspaper article…"

Sherlock shook his head but the hand in his hair tightened. It had Oliver's familiar feel, the way Alex was petting him. He stilled, his body still remembering the rules. Tears were forming. He couldn't help it.

"I know. I'm sorry. I know how hard it must be."

Sherlock tried to listen. He could just hear the tinny of Molly's voice coming over the phone.

"No. I understand completely. If there's anything I can do for you, just give me a shout."

A pause then.

"Yes okay. No problem. Take care, Molly."

He switched the phone off. Grinned down at Sherlock. "It's that easy, Mr Holmes. Ready?"

Sherlock looked away. His nostrils flared as he focused on breathing the way Giles had taught him. The way John usually helped him to settle.

Stupid bloody transport. Just stop reacting.

But his body wasn't listening. He was just so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of feeling this way. Tired of all of it. Alex removed his gag. Tenderly pushed Sherlock's hair away from his forehead.

"Come now, Mr Holmes. It will be easier for you to just let go. To surrender. To accept."

"No." He didn't know where he got the strength from.

"You and Molly were never meant to be. Your relationship was engineered. How can you trust any of your other memories, Mr Holmes? Molly Hooper is not yours. She never was." Alex' words were strangely gentle. "And she believes you're dead. I could hear it in her voice.

"Not true." he said again, not looking at Alex. The hand continued to play with his hair, just like Oliver would do when he wanted Sherlock to be quiet. To sit still and listen.

"They are busy planning your funeral, Mr Holmes."

He pushed his body to turn onto his side, his back to Alex. Curled into himself on the floor.

"You belong to me now, Mr Holmes. As long as you do as you're told, Molly will be safe. I will not harm her; you have my word. John will be left alone."

"Don't believe you," he managed.

"Very well. Are you ready or should I show you my resolve."

Sherlock was silent. His body tense. He heard the other man sigh. Rustle of clothes and then the zipper of his bag opening. Photos dropped on the floor in front of his face.

"We spoke about hobbies a few days ago." Alex stated. "I asked you if I should introduce my hobby to Molly." The photos stopped. Fanned out in front of Sherlock's face. He was confronted for the first time on what it was that Alex did. On his depravity. Bile pushed upward and he swallowed hard.

"Are you ready?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. Tried not to overlay Molly Hooper on any of the other women in the photos. It was what nightmares were made of. So much more than Oliver.

"Mr Holmes?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, let's discuss Molly Hooper."

"Oh, Hi Alex.".

John looked up. He and Molly were seated outside in the garden. Ironically on the same bench Mycroft and Lestrade had sat a few months ago. It was cold outside but Molly had wanted to get out of the house.

"Oh. Now is not really a good time…" she trailed off. John shifted in the seat, tried his best not to look like he was eavesdropping.

"Alex do you mind, it's not something I can discuss right now." Her voice held a hint of exasperation.

"Thank you. I appreciate it. I'll let you know, okay." She hung up, placed the phone on the bench between them. Rolled her shoulders and looked up. Clouds hung low and dark. It would be raining soon but for now it was quiet. Still before the storm.

"Molly, who is Alex?" John finally asked. Decided in the end that he needed to know.

"Oh. Uhm, I met him at the conference." She wiped a stray hair behind her ear, "It feels like a lifetime ago. I can't believe it's been a little more than two weeks…" She focused on John. "That first day at the conference, I didn't know anyone. Sue…" she smiled a sad smile. "Uhm…she was so full of life you know. Someone I thought I'll be able to call friend. She and Alex were already together. She pulled me into their group. Introduced me. He lives in Manchester, I think. Works for a pharmaceutical company. Was at the conference I guess for his company. They're worried about overdoses or something like that." She frowned. Dismissed whatever thought she had. "He's kinda nice, you know. And now with his cousin…I guess he just wanted to make sure I'm okay."

John didn't know what to make of it. Despite what Molly was saying, there was something in Alex he didn't trust at all. He was inclined to go with his gut on this one. "Is he bothering you, Molly?" he asked gently.

"What? Oh. No. I guess I will have to deal with people phoning to convey their condolences. I just didn't really expect…you know. We barely know each other."

"Yeah," John said, "About Alex…Molly don't take this the wrong way but there's something off about him."

"Maybe," she conceded. "I don't feel entirely comfortable with him. But as I said, he's just …nice. Like an older brother maybe."

John cleared his throat. "I think he wants to be more than that, Molly."

She looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

John was embarrassed. He looked away, watching the sway of a leaf on the tree beside the bench before it detached. Dancing its way down to the ground. Cleared his throat again. "Uhm. When you went for your interview, we had a brief chat."

"When. At Scotland Yard?"

He nodded. Focus on her. "He wants more than friendship, Molly. Believe me, it's very obvious. He doesn't really care for Sherlock. He's probably glad to find out that he's dead."

Molly shook her head. "No. He wasn't…he's not like that. I…"

John's lips thinned and then resolve set in. He wanted Molly to understand. "I don't think he's as nice as you think he is. Just…as a friend. Be careful, okay."

Molly was silent at his revelation. John rubbed his hands, blew on them in an attempt to warm them up. The temperature was dropping and he knew that it would start raining soon.

"Molly," he started. "…about what Oliver did…" he wasn't sure how to continue. Shifted on the bench.

She sighed. She was pulling on her jersey sleeves, pulling them down over her hands. Hugged herself. "Oliver knew what to do to get Sherlock to do what he wanted. It's like he could unravel and take apart and use his knowledge to push and manipulate."

"Yeah, but if this man knew Oliver…"

Tears shimmered in Molly's eyes. She bit her lower lip. "I don't know, John. Sherlock…" a haunted look came over her and she shivered. "I tried my best, you know. Tried to focus Sherlock onto going home. On hope. On helping him carry the load that Oliver put on him. But you know Sherlock…" She gave a wistful smile. "He's never been the best at sharing…at accepting help."

John chuckled. "Not Sherlock, surely," he joked. Silence stretched. A little uncomfortable. John took the plunge. "I know…" he cleared his throat. Not really wanting to voice the thoughts deep inside him.

"He hasn't accepted it yet," Molly said suddenly. Brown eyes met his, the trauma of her shared experience with his best friend, just visible for him to see. He frowned.

Molly sighed. Wiped her nose. Looked away. "That's why this is so hard for him. He wants everything to be back the way it was. But it can't, can it. What Oliver did to him…it can't be undone."

"I'm sorry, Molly," John said softly. "I truly am."

She swallowed. John could see tears were very close. In a moment of compassion, he scooted close, pulled her into a hug. She gave a small sob. He kissed the top of her head. "I just want him back, John." She said into his shoulder. He could feel her tears through his cardigan.

"I know... Me too."