Chapter 21

Day 19 Part II

They found the house in the second cul-de-sac. Empty but enough evidence to show that Sherlock had been there, kept in the third level bedroom. Mycroft took note of the bed that had obvious signs of being slept in. The marks on the headboard revealing it clearly was used as an anchor for handcuffs. The bathroom mirror had been cleaned. More than likely Sherlock had attempted to leave a message and had failed. Blood was smeared on the carpet. His own SOCCO team was busy collecting evidence.

He made his way out of the house, seated himself in the car. Eyed the surrounding building area and noted the cameras at the junction of the road. Phoned a number he knew by heart.

"It's me."

"Yes."

"I want all footage combed for the last hour at …" he rattled off the street name. "Both ways. Tracking enabled for all cars."

"Okay."

He pinched his nose, eyes closed as he contemplated his next steps. The choices he had to make. Anthea was silent next to him. He sighed.

Why could it never be easy with his brother, he thought.

"Anderson," he said without opening his eyes. Tented his fingers beneath his chin. "Take me home."

He barely felt it when they started moving. Entered his mind palace and started to plan.

John and Molly were waiting for him in the sitting room, a fresh pot of tea on the table in front of them. Mycroft entered, seated himself in his chair.

"We found the place where Sherlock had been kept." He started by way of greeting. "They were gone by the time we arrived."

Molly had her hand in front of her mouth, eyes wide.

"Any idea who this man is?"

"I have agents looking at the rental agreement. I don't hold much hope, he is obviously smart enough to have used an alias." He paused. Made sure that he had their attention. "He is very clever. SOCCO are busy gathering evidence. There is fresh blood on the carpet. By all indications, it probably is the kidnappers as the blood type was different to Sherlock's."

"Ok. How did Sherlock sound? John says he phoned you?"

And here was the crux of it. How does he explain his own intuition when it comes to his brother? Explain the unease he had felt when he had talked to Sherlock. It was obvious that this man was doing what he had feared all along. Was using Oliver's conditioning to bring Sherlock to compliance. Messing with his brother's head.

He grimaced. Allowed himself that show of emotion.

"Mycroft? How was Sherlock?" Molly asked, stronger this time.

"He was lucid. He seemed aware of what was going on. He seemed to be …struggling. Indicated that this man had hold of Oliver's notes."

"No…" It was a denial sprung out of the depth of Molly. Her hands clenched and then she rose. Stepped away from the couch and towards the window. Her hands fumbled and he could see Molly visibly composing herself. Focusing on the garden just outside the window.

"Molly," he said softly. Glanced at John but stopped what he was about to say at the doctor's warning look. Leaned back, crossed his legs and just waited. It was another five minutes before she turned.

"What's next?" she asked softly.

"I have analysts tracing any cars that were in the area. We should know within the hour."

Molly nodded. "Okay. I can't keep waiting here, Mycroft. I need to do something or I'm going to go mad."

He nodded. "I've increased the security detail on you both. Sherlock indicated that there are others. That you are in danger."

Molly laughed. It was short and ugly, wiping wisps of hair behind her ear in a nervous habit Mycroft had come to know this past few weeks. "It never ends, does it."

John rose. Obviously concerned. Took a step towards her. "Molly…"

She had her hands up. Stopping his motion. "No. Just no. I can't do this anymore. I'm done playing the damsel in distress. Sherlock will need all of us. Each one of us, John. Do you understand." She met Mycroft's gaze, eyes blazing with an internal fire that he's rarely seen. "I'm going to Barts. I can help with the evidence. Catalogue them. Analyse the blood found."

He took the measure of her. Knew that she'd leave, even if no agents accompanied her. Mycroft took his phone, called Anthea.

"Have a protection detail setup at Barts. Bring a car to take Molly Hooper and John Watson to the hospital. I want eyes on them at all times."

Hung up after he got acknowledgement from her.

"10 minutes and the car would be in front. That enough time, Molly?"

She nodded. He left them and went to his study. Seated behind his desk until he heard the car leave. He felt suddenly restless. Went out to the kitchen and grabbed his stash. Sat on the bench and lit his first cigarette.

Watched the smoke rise as he contemplated his way forward. He had set in motion a few things now. It was very much a waiting game until he had more data. His hands effectively tied until then. He took another deeper drag, the smoke burning its way down to his lungs. He released, eyed the ash on the end before flicking it off.

That was the moment his phone rang.

And one more card fell into place.

"This is Sebastian Moran. And guess who we have as a guest."

"I'm assuming this is about Jim Moriarty?" Mycroft asked. Gave a small smile of triumph. This wasn't entirely unexpected. It had been one of the iterations he had envisioned. Planned for. That Sherlock would be used by his captor to get Moriarty released. Moran was a new player. He was certain that it wasn't the man that had been with Oliver. That had Sherlock plan his murders for him.

"You are to release him by 5pm tonight. He will give you instructions that you are to follow..."

"You know I can't do that, right." He said, interrupting Moran. Playing the game.

"Your brother means that little to you?"

"He does get annoying and clingy at times," he stated flatly. "Won't be a great loss."

Moran chuckled. "Really. You sent an army to fetch him from Oliver."

"They needed the exercise."

"Very well, Mycroft. How about this for incentive then. We have planted bombs around London. One will detonate tonight if Jim is not released. Then I'll send a finger. And tomorrow morning another bomb will go off. And I'll post another finger. You get my drift? How many fingers does your brother need to play the violin?"

"You're bluffing."

"I can set off a bomb now if you want proof."

Mycroft paused. It was entirely believable and conceivable that the bombs had been placed. It's going to take resources away from Sherlock to look for the threats. To find the bombs. And he had a sudden insight as another card fell into place. Could see what Sherlock's captor had planned.

It was utter brilliance.

"Mycroft?"

"Full disclosure on where the bombs are and my brother's release with Jim Moriarty." He negotiated.

"No. I'll release two of the bombs' placements. Your brother stays with me and I'll only release the rest when Jim is safely away."

There was a pregnant pause, filled with meaning as Mycroft considered all his options. His agent had already placed the tracker when he had phoned him earlier. Jim Moriarty unaware that he was tagged. It was dormant. Would bypass any electronic sweeps for bugs. Could be activated when necessary. But he still had to make it look good.

"My brother and at least one bomb placement. The rest after you deem Jim safe."

"No. Not negotiable."

"Very well. After we have confirmed the bombs."

"That I can live with."

The phone connection terminated. He was on the phone almost immediately.

"Operation Weasel is a go. Tag and release are in place. There are bombs involved."

His agent acknowledged the call. Mycroft dropped the cigarette, grinding it into the soil. The biggest unknown in his ever-evolving puzzle that was emerging was whether Sherlock was going to be present when Jim Moriarty met up with Sebastian Moran.

"I'm leaving the moment that Jim Moriarty is released." Alex stated to Sebastian. "That is the agreement."

"What if I was to keep Sherlock? Kill you? We outnumber you, Alex."

Alex gave a small smile. "You know who I am. You can try." Took a step back from the other man and opened his hands wide. "How about now?"

Moran met his eyes; his hands loose as he debated his options. Alex knew him. Knew what type of man he was. Moran dropped his gaze first. Relaxed his body to show he was no threat.

"Very well. You can always stay the night. Leave in the morning when you're rested. I'm sure Jim would love to see Sherlock one last time."

Alex shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

"Very well." Moran said and Alex closed his laptop, pulled his phone and switched it off. Put everything back into his backpack.

"Sherlock?" Alex asked.

"Back room. Two doors down."

He nodded. Turned his back on the man and made his way down the short hallway. Both guards were inside, watching the consulting detective. Sherlock was clearly still under the sedative's influence. His body was thrown in a heap against the wall.

"Leave us." He said as he made his way to the other man. He turned him onto his side in a mockery of a recovery position, checked his breathing. Happy with the result, he sat down next to Sherlock to wait.

He was good at waiting.

It wouldn't be long now and he'd be able to disappear with his prize. Mycroft would be distracted by sorting out Moran's little bomb surprises while Moriarty would become another headache and higher priority, giving him the room to move on.

He took out a water bottle. Took a sip. Glanced at his captive. Smiled.

His plans are coming together beautifully.

Now about Molly Hooper…

His smile widened. That indulgence will have to wait until he has Sherlock secured.

Only then will he permit himself. He's waited long enough.

Afterwards, he'll deal with Mycroft.

Mycroft had just put his stash back when Irene entered the kitchen. When he saw her, he felt his stomach flutter. He wasn't used to his body reacting this way. Felt the twinges of fear and firmly squashed it down.

"What's wrong?" he said. Waited for her but she had come to a standstill by the table. Placed a memory stick on the surface. Her hand twinged and then she let go. Sighed as she met Mycroft's gaze. Tears were suspiciously hovering, very close to realising in her eyes. He took four steps to her. Pulled her close and then her arms came around him. They stood silently for a minute before she stepped back. Composed once again. Indicated the memory stick.

"You need to see this."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Myc…" she trailed off. "I can't watch it again. I'll wait here."

He nodded. Suddenly resolute and grabbed the stick. Held onto it as he made his way to his study. Closed and locked the door and opened his laptop. Inserted the memory stick and opened the file.

There was a movie file attached. He hovered the mouse over it. Uncertain at the cusp whether he wanted to see what had so obviously shocked Irene Adler. Wondered if he needed to know but she had been adamant.

He clicked the icon.

"Is this on?" A voice laughed.

"Think he'll be good?" another voice asked. It sounded familiar. Mycroft frowned. Realised who it was a moment later when a face materialised in front of the camera. Lord Marsden bent down, his face filling the camera view and a thumb appeared. Wiped and then the view was unimpeded again. Showing a vista of open grassland. Broken with tors not too far away. The stone grey and standing like sentinels in the green of the waving grass.

"Oliver promised a good run," a third voice said. It was Cavendish. His cultured voice tinged with excitement. The camera moved and Mycroft realised that it had to be a body cam.

"There. Now we can watch this again." Marsden said. He heard the sound of a gun being cocked. "I'm good. Enough ammo."

"Fine. So bets are set?" Lord Marsden turned. The camera now shows Edwards looking at his pockets. Pushing a flap down. "Yeah. First hit gets a bottle of Macallan."

"You're on." Michaels came into view. A predatory look on his face. Gun set at an angle on his shoulder.

Mycroft realised the guns were wrong. They didn't look like hunting rifles. The bore was smaller and it took another minute before he realised that he was looking at paintball guns.

"It sucks that we have to use these," Marsden complained. "What does it matter in the end?"

"Oliver has plans. You know that, Dean."

"Fine. But Mycroft is interfering. If it wasn't for him, this deal with the Russians would be in place."

"There's always Alex," Edwards said. "We can use him."

"No. Not yet," Cavendish said. "Jim thinks we should wait."

"Why are we trusting that maniac?" Marsden clearly didn't like Moriarty. Mycroft could understand why. Had obviously been under Moriarty's control even then. He wondered what it was that he'd done to give that much leverage to the other man.

The sound of a helicopter started to come over the speakers. Marsden turned and Mycroft watched as a helicopter landed on a flat piece of grass not too far away. Oliver stepped out first. Dangerous as ever, a smile on his face as he walked closer.

"Ready?"

"Yes. Bloody hell, Oliver. You took your time today."

"I needed to prepare him. He obviously wasn't too keen on today. But he will give you a good run for your money."

"You didn't hurt him? It won't be as much fun if we catch him in the first kilometre, Oliver." Michaels said.

"He'll be fine. He knows what's at stake." Oliver said menacingly. Motioned to the men still inside. Mycroft watched as his brother stepped out. Blanched when he saw him. His lip was split. Blood had dried but he clearly had been beaten. He was dressed in camouflage gear. Not the shirt and trousers that he'd worn on the other videos Mycroft had seen. Clearly Oliver wanted a good game. Sherlock stepped up and came to a standstill next to Oliver.

"You understand the rules?" Oliver stated flatly to Sherlock. His brother didn't reply or even look at the other men. Mycroft surmised that he'd been warned against it. His eyes either on his feet or Oliver. Sherlock gave a sharp nod. Turned his back to the camera. Mycroft saw his left-hand clench. Knew it was an indication of his brother's stress, manifesting itself into the unconscious tell.

"Can we start?" Edwards clearly was keen to go. Oliver gave a brief grin.

"This game stops the moment any of you hit him in the head. Is that understood? Otherwise, you have him for the day."

"Fine. Agreed," Cavendish stepped into view. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Indicated the back. "Hitting here is worth 50 points." He pointed to Sherlock's legs. "100 for hitting his legs." Turning Sherlock as if he was a doll, he indicated his chest.

"Heart hit here and you win outright. Stomach and you get 20 points."

"That's not fair," Marsden whined. "Surely that should be worth more."

"No. Heart or legs. Those are the only high value points."

"Fine." Marsden stepped up to Sherlock. Turned him so he was facing away from them and leaned in. "You're mine," he whispered. Clearly audible over the microphone of the camera. "Now off you go. Run!"

It was painful to watch. There were 5 hours' worth of video. Mycroft fast-forwarded through most of it. Unable to watch as his brother was repeatedly shot in various places on his body throughout the day. The complaints from those that lost a round were grinding. The silence of Sherlock as he endured the abuse without complaint was heartbreaking. Mycroft wondered what threats Oliver had levered to get Sherlock to not protest.

He never said a word except for grunts of pain. He screamed once, when a shot hit him straight in his groin making Mycroft wince in sympathy. A brief argument ensued over how many points that was worth and whether it counted as a leg shot or a stomach shot. They ended with a compromise of 30 points to Marsden.

At the end of the day, Oliver had Sherlock strip down the clothes he wore in front of the men who had been hunting him. The bruises were red on his skin, spread out across a body already thin from starvation. Mish mashed over darker bruises and scars. The toll of Oliver and these four men written on his skin. He got dressed in his tattered shirt and trousers. His shoulders slumped and his body hunched into himself as he waited.

One of Oliver's men stepped from the helicopter with a black satchel in his hand. Handed it over to him. Sherlock didn't blink when Oliver opened the satchel and took out a syringe that had obviously been prepared earlier. Gave no resistance as Oliver injected him.

His breathing changed and a distant look came over his eyes as whatever was in the syringe took hold. He was led back to the helicopter and seated. By the time Oliver had put everything away, Mycroft could see his brother's head unconscious against the back of the seat.

"Fun?" Oliver asked.

"We should do it again," Michaels said. "He was the best hunt we had. It took an hour before we found him that first time.

"What about next time we use rubber bullets?" Edwards suggested.

"That will make it harder so see who won," Cavendish said.

"But we have the video. We can replay and then add the points up." Marsden said.

"It will cost you gentleman if you want to use rubber bullets. And the rules will be stricter. I don't want him dead."

The men conferred. Mycroft felt anger stirred when Edwards moved into the camera's view. "How much?"

He stopped the video. Took a measured breath. Calmed his transport. Closed the lid of his laptop. Made his way out his study and found Irene in the sitting room.

"I'm going into the office," he said softly.

"Mycroft?"

Irene looked frightened by whatever she saw in his face. "What are you going to do?" she asked in the end.

"Whatever is necessary," he said coldly.

"Good," she said with conviction. He left her there. Anger has turned cold inside him. A driving force as he got into the car, ignored the agents in front and slotted the puzzle pieces together of Oliver, Moriarty, the four Lords and the mystery assassin.

He'll give them rope.

And then watch as they hang themselves. For what they've done to his brother. And by extension Molly Hooper.

They will burn.

Molly kept herself busy most of the afternoon, analysing the blood. It wasn't even rare. Very common O positive blood type. She set things in motion to extract the DNA. Helped with analysing a used syringe that was found in a bin in the garage. The fingerprints weren't a match to anyone in the system. The syringe contained trace amounts of sedative. Which ratcheted up her concern but there was nothing she could do about the fact that Sherlock in all probability had been sedated. John helped, going through the crime scene photos. Placing everything in perspective.

He was silent on one of the photos. His face scrunching up and she knew it was something she wasn't going to like. She made her way to him and then he showed her the photo. It was of a bottle of Ensure. She swallowed. The memories of the only food Oliver had given them for 4 and half months too vivid. She had rushed to the toilet, threw up as she tried to process. Tears had started and she had sat on the toilet lid, wiping at them furiously.

Focused on getting back on even keel and when she couldn't, she phoned Giles.

"Molly, you okay?"

"No." She paused. Took a cleansing breath. "The man that has Sherlock is giving him Ensure."

Silence met her statement. "I…I think he's trying to copy Oliver. Make Sherlock believe he's back there. Back at the bothy. What if we lose him…what if Sherlock forgets…"

"Okay. Right now, Molly. What can you control?"

She sniffled. Closed her eyes and focused. "My response to my thoughts."

"What are the facts?"

"Uhm. We know that he's giving Sherlock Ensure. We have his blood type. We have fingerprints. We're busy working on extracting his DNA. He's probably sedated Sherlock at least once. Sherlock spoke to Mycroft and he sounded okay."

"Good. Sherlock has worked through a few things, as you are well aware. He's strong. He will do what he needs to, to survive. You're also aware of this. How is this going to be different from your time with Oliver?"

"We knew where he was. He managed to get away once and could get hold of Mycroft. He knows what is happening."

"Exactly. What can you do right now?"

She gave a watery laugh. "Not discussing this with you in the ladies bathroom."

Giles chuckled. "That could be a good start. What else?"

"Keep busy."

"Good. Chin up, Molly."

She sighed. Took another cleansing breath. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She hung up and washed her face, hoping to clean all traces away of her momentary panic attack. Knew she wasn't about to fool John but it just had to be good enough.

John was waiting for her just outside the bathroom, concern for her very evident on his whole demeanour.

"Sorry," she started. Wiped her face with trembling fingers. Dropped her face in her hands then and took a shaky breath. "It's…just bad memories, you know." She looked up. Met his eyes. "I…uhm. Not sure how long it will be before I forget about the Ensure. It does taste horrible, you know." She said in the end, rushing her last few words. They tumbled out and she did a shudder, the memory of the familiar but disgusting taste of chalky pseudo drink like acid in her mouth. She pushed a hand against her lips, swallowed to stop another bout of nausea.

"Apparently the chocolate flavoured drink is the best of the lot." John said softly.

A chuckle escaped. "Really?"

"Yep. Just not that chocolatey. Tastes like a badly made hot chocolate but a bit more preferable than the Strawberry."

"Yeah. Don't think I'll give it a go."

John gave her a small smile. Shifted on his feet. "Do you want to go back in or go home?"

"Home? Mycroft's house or Baker Street?"

He sighed. "Molly…"

She lifted a hand, waved it dismissively. "Sorry, John. Not your fault. No. I'd rather keep busy. Lab."

"Okay." He said, hand leading the way as he turned down the hall that led back to the labs. She started down the hallway, John falling into step next to her. She appreciated him just being there. His steadfastness. Very much the reason Sherlock tempered his own impulsive actions.

Back in the lab, John made his way back to the files. Molly focused on the centrifuge. It still was going to be a while. She didn't want to look at the photos. Wary of any more triggers that could set her off. Looked at her computer.

Without thinking, she sat down and started up the machine. Maybe what would help is to be distracted away from the current evidence. The current thoughts on Sherlock and what the other man might or might not be doing.

She opened the application she had gotten at the conference. The one she had just started to play four days ago. She couldn't believe how much time had since passed.

It would now be a week since Sherlock had disappeared. It felt like a lifetime. She paused. Stopped her own thoughts before it went down the rabbit hole too far. Focused back on the program, deliberately shoving any other thoughts to the side.

What to choose. Thought about Sue and the questions the DI had asked her a few days ago. She moved the mouse. Hovered over the method of death. Sat back and thought about it.

Sue who had loved life. Who had been loud and noisy. Someone she had thought could become a friend.

And maybe by focusing on this, she wouldn't be thinking about the sedative…the Ensure…

Stop it Molly. Not helping.

She shook herself. Determined, she took the mouse in her hand and selected stabbing. Entered most of the criteria she could remember. Sue's height. Hair colour. The way she was found. Where she was found. All general information that had come to the fore in her conversation with the investigator. She obviously didn't have her autopsy file. Didn't have that detail. But this should be enough for her to see how good the program was.

When she was done, she clicked on the submit button. Waited while the program started, the loading bar slowly moving along. It was taking its time. She ended up making her way back to the kitchen and got another cuppa for herself and John. Handed it to him, he barely acknowledged the drink, his focus completely on the file in front of him. Hands curled around her mug as she sat back down at the desk, watching the screen. It took another minute and then the application came back up. 24 records showed up. She was a little surprised. Hadn't thought it would work.

Contemplated what to do next. Put her cup down and clicked on the first record. It was from five years ago in Manchester. Similar age to Sue. Died from multiple stab wounds. Left in a park. Sexually assaulted. Killer never found. The next three she clicked through all the same. All different parts of the country.

The program actually worked.

She was stunned.

Who would she phone? She had no idea what to do with this information. Greg might be a good choice but she wasn't sure what he'll do about it. Whether he could do anything. She pulled her phone closer, opened it up and then she phoned the one person who she thought would be able to help.

He looked at the number and answered when he saw who it was.

The conversation was brief. To the point and he rose immediately, grabbed his jacket, and exited his office. Anthea was waiting outside and he asked her to organise a car.

It didn't take long to get to Barts.

"Show me," he said as a way of greeting. Molly Hooper rose from the computer, clicked through the list and showed him the application. John was standing behind her, hovering.

He absorbed what he saw.

He almost smiled. Here was the missing link. He was certain of it. Remembered Sherlock's last words before he got cut off.

Molly knows…

"Get this program to the analysts. Add it to the criteria for the hacker we're looking for. She must've found this database. Did what hackers do best when they find new software. Something in here that would lead us to the man that was with Oliver."

Anthea nodded, already typing away on her phone.

"What about these murders, Mycroft?" Molly asked, indicating the list. "There's 24 women that were probably killed by the same man."

"I understand Molly. I'll assign a taskforce to re-investigate these murders. But finding this program has been incredibly helpful. It could lead us to the man that we're looking for. Thank you."

"Okay. Can I help?"

"Molly…"

"No, uhm. I mean. With the taskforce. Someone I know is on the list…I just…" she trailed off. Mycroft studied her. Gave a fleeting frown. "What do you mean someone you know?"

"Oh. I didn't…of course I didn't." She stuttered. Clicked back and showed him her initial filters. "This was someone I met at the pathology conference. Sue Cropper. She was stabbed to death. Left in the park. I used her because I wanted to see how good the program was. If it'd pick her up, uhm…her details I mean. Because she was recent, I thought she'd be in the database."

"Who's in charge of her case?" Something in the back of his head was pulling threads together.

"A DI Dylan McMullen. I have his number, hold on…" she said as she rummaged in her bag. Managed to locate her wallet and his business card. Passed it on to Mycroft.

"Excuse me," Mycroft said as he thumbed the number into his phone. Moved into the staff room, listening to the ring.

"DI Dylan McMullen"

"My name is Mycroft Holmes and I am speaking to you from the Cabinet office."

"Sir?"

"I want all the files you have pertaining to Sue Cropper. One of my agents will be at your office in 30 minutes."

"Excuse me?"

"30 minutes Detective Inspector. Good day."

He made another phone call, calling the director of the conference. Asked for information on all attendees. Done, he went back to Molly's lab. Told Anthea to organise a pickup of the Sue Cropper files before focusing back on Molly.

"Who else did you interact with at the conference, Molly?"

"What?"

"The conference. Who else did you interact with?"

"I uh. Mainly Sue and Alex. Why?"

"Alex who?"

"Uh. I don't know. He's from Manchester. He is in London currently. Looking after his cousin."

"What do you mean in London?"

"His cousin is currently going through withdrawal. He needed to help out."

"Have you seen him at all since the conference?"

"Uh. Twice." She flushed red. "He just wanted to touch base, you know. We had coffee. And then when DI McMullen called us in for interviews at New Scotland Yard. He phoned after the newspaper article of Sherlock's…" she swallowed, closed her eyes briefly and willed herself to continue, "…after the announcement of his death. Just for condolences you know. John was with me when he phoned." She added as an afterthought. As if that would make the false guilt any better. Suddenly felt overwhelmed. Not sure what was happening.

"Do you have his number?"

"What's going on, Mycroft. What does Alex have to do with Sue's death? He's nice…" she didn't finish her sentence. John made a noise in the back of his throat. Shook his head.

"I wouldn't call him nice, Molly. I told you. There's something off about him," he said, focusing back on Mycroft. "I met him at the interview. He definitely was interested in Molly."

Molly was silent through John's words. She didn't know what to make of this. Grabbed her phone and looked through her contacts. "Here," she said, passing her phone to Mycroft.

"Trace the GPS of this number," he said to Anthea, rattling the number to her.

"Phone him." He said to Molly. "Tell him that you want to see him."

"Why?"

"Molly, do keep up. I think Alex might know more than he's letting on. Now please, phone him."

"Okay." She fumbled with her phone. Aware of everyone suddenly focused on her. She felt flustered. "Can you just…you know. Give me a bit of space."

Mycroft was clearly annoyed. But he stepped away, giving her distance as she sat down on her own chair. She took a breath. Calmed herself and then pressed the call button.

It was pretty anticlimactic.

It went straight to voicemail. The default voicemail relegates the number and asks her to leave a message after the tone. She looked at Mycroft who shook his head, so she ended the call. Anthea stepped up, whispered into the other man's ear. His lips thinned at what was said, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Mycroft." John admonished. Stood straighter, chin out. Willing the other man to let them know what was said in secret. Molly watched the older Holmes contemplate his next actions, the familiar stance with his nose in the air all indicative that he wasn't entirely happy. He huffed.

"The phone is switched off. The GPS cannot be activated until he uses the phone again."

"Okay. So now what?" Molly asked. Suddenly aware of how close she had been to the man that was for all intents and purposes the killer of at least 24 women. She shuddered.

"What does he want with Sherlock? He obviously has a preferred target," she said, indicating the screen.

"I think he's more than just a serial killer, Molly," Mycroft said softly. Almost gently, which was so unlike him. Fear was sudden, leaving a bad aftertaste in her mouth. She was glad she was sitting. Wasn't sure her legs would've held her up otherwise.

"My brother was used by this man to help plan some of his kills. I'm guessing his day job is murderer for hire. And that," he indicated with his hand to the screen. Grimaced. "…that he does for fun."

"No." It was nothing more than a breath as the word left her lips.

"Yes. I'm afraid that Alex wants my brother under his control. And once he does, he will continue what he started with Oliver."

Molly shook her head. Glanced at the screen and the number 24. Glanced at Mycroft. She couldn't fathom…

The room wavered. She suddenly felt lightheaded. Gripped the chair tight, her knuckles white as she fought the wave of dizziness.

Dammit. She wasn't about to swoon like some lady in waiting.

"Molly," she heard John. Felt his hand on her shoulder. "Molly, just breathe. You have to breathe."

What the hell do you think I'm doing? I am breathing, John.

She leaned forward, closed her eyes and focused on the chair. On John's hand. On the feel of her knees against her forehead.

"Mycroft…water. Now!"

John's voice, vibrating somewhere in the air above her. He's hand on the back of her neck.

"Molly, come on now. Breathe. 3 seconds in. 4 seconds out okay."

She nodded into her knees, ashamed of her perceived weakness. Focused on the counts. It was getting better, in all honesty. The wave of dizziness was passing. It probably took her another minute before she was able to sit up. John's hand was still grounding where it was on her shoulder now. He pressed a glass against her lips and she took a sip. The water was cold and refreshing against the dryness of her mouth. He moved into her field of vision, his eyes meeting hers.

"Better?"

She nodded. Took another deep breath. He held the glass against her lips again and she took another sip. Pushed the glass away and leaned back. Took another deep breath.

"Sorry. It's okay. I'm okay now."

He squeezed her shoulder and then let go. She focused on Mycroft, who somehow in the intervening time, had pulled a chair close and seated himself by her desk.

"I've instructed Anthea to find anything we can on Alex. A man like that will be known. Easier to find than Oliver."

She nodded.

"Molly," he started. Looked away and she could see his discomfort. "Irene will use the contacts she has." He gave a wistful smile. "You know, she was instrumental last time in helping us find you and Sherlock."

Molly couldn't help a small smile. "So, you and her…"

He met her gaze. There was no embarrassment. "Yes."

Despite the situation, she couldn't help the giggle. Stopped herself before it became hysteria. "Now a lot of things make sense…" she said softly.

"Yes, well. Enough of that," Mycroft said. Rose smoothly and buttoned his jacket. "Shall we?" he asked.

Molly rose. Followed him, John right behind her. They split up at the car park. Mycroft indicated he needed to go back to the office. For her and John to wait at his house. That he'd be back by 6.

Hopefully by then there should be some answers on who and what Alex was.