hubby approved. Phew 😉 (Thanking him for a wonderful and adventurous 20 years of marriage.)

Chapter 20

December

It was cold and miserable outside. The rain was a gentle steady rhythm against the roof. Inside they were seated underneath a blanket on the couch in front of the fireplace. Both held hot cups of hot chocolate in their hands. Molly was seated sideways, leaning against his body. It was cosy, comfortable and cathartic.

He had thought he'd miss the excitement of the hunt. Miss being out of the loop in finding Moriarty and the others. But he wasn't.

They had talked all of yesterday. Sharing their memories of the bothy. Of Oliver. The good and bad times they had experienced. They laughed. Got pensive. It had flowed so easily he had wondered why it hadn't happened before. Maybe because of where they were. The similarity to the bothy in a way with their isolation. But the difference lay in the fact that they were warm. The inside of the farmhouse was comfortable. The cupboards and fridge are full.

The fear and terror that had been their constant companion when they were with Oliver was gone. The knowledge that their friends and his brother were rooting out the last remnant threatening his and Molly's peace and happiness was comforting. He finally understood that he wasn't alone. That it was okay to allow others to sometimes carry the load.

His responsibility lay with his unborn daughter and Molly.

Something else had changed inside him. He can feel it. He felt …content. At peace. He had come to understand himself in that frantic race to get away from Moriarty and his goons. In making sure Molly was safe. In putting to bed Redbeard.

He had forgiven his brother somehow in the process and for the first time since that day, it felt like a great big weight had been removed from his shoulders.

"Truth or dare?"

He looked down in surprise to see Molly look up at him, a glint in her eye. She took a sip of her drink. Giggled.

"You really were bad at it, you know." She said.

He pulled her closer, his hand protectively over her stomach. Smiled. "Want to have another go?"

She laughed. "Uh…maybe later. This is nice. I don't want to move. Besides, we're going to be having visitors soon."

He kissed the top of her head. Leaned his head down. They sat in silence, watching the flames, finishing their drink. An alarm beeped and Sherlock took her cup and got up to put it in the kitchen. Shortly after, they both heard the crunch of wheels against the driveway. Two doors slammed and then a knock on the door.

Giles and Peter – the medic that had treated Molly at the bothy - entered, the latter carrying a bag that he put on the table. "Hey Molly, Sherlock." Peter said easily, opening the bag as he got his equipment out.

"Hey Peter. Good to see you." Molly said, as she got up from the couch. Moved to the kitchen table and sat down on one of the chairs.

"Okay, let's see how you're doing…" he started. Giles touched Sherlock's arm and he turned towards the psychiatrist.

"You two seem settled."

Sherlock nodded. "This is good. Thanks."

Peter inflated the blood pressure cuff. Wrote the numbers down. Asked Molly some more questions and seemed happy with the result. Gave Sherlock an encouraging smile. Placed the monitor on Molly's stomach. His daughter's heartbeat came loud and clear and he felt relieved to know everything was still good.

"Good strong heartbeat." Peter said, removing the monitor and packing up his bag. "Everything is looking good, Molly. I'll send your results to Dr Martens. Keep doing what you're doing, okay."

Molly thanked Peter. He exited the room, leaving Sherlock and Molly alone with Giles. They all sat down around the table. Sherlock reached out and held onto Molly's hand.

"How's John?" Sherlock asked.

"He's fine. He's being kept by Moriarty in a house in Chelsea. Mycroft is moving all the pieces in place."

Sherlock glanced at Molly. "We've been talking."

Giles suppress a smile. "That's always a good thing."

"The locked doors…it might be important. Molly remembers that they had come to fetch her. The one time that both of us were drugged. As I said before, I think it has to do with my brother. That would've been the only reason for Oliver to get Molly…" Sherlock ruffled his hair. Closed his eyes briefly and leaned back on the kitchen chair. "Logically it makes sense that whatever it was that Oliver required of me – it was sufficiently abhorrent enough to have Molly physically present." He looked at Molly. "Her wrists had been bound. She had bruises on her body." He gave a soft sigh of frustration. Molly squeezed his hand. "Throughout our captivity, Oliver had always hung those three days over my head. That he'd do to her what he'd done to me. If he did that…"

"I don't think he did, Sherlock." Giles said confidently. "Molly would've retained scars. I think he might've started and you did what you needed to do to get both of you out of that situation."

"I just…" He wiped his forehead. Unwelcome memories were surging forward. He went into his mind palace. Focused on the images as they played across his mind's eye. Moved them into their appropriate folders. One image stuttered into focus.

Pages fluttered to the floor. Ending in a chaotic mess on the floor.

His breathing hitched. Terror made itself known for a brief moment. He breathed through it, automatically doing the exercise he and Giles had worked out. Turned the photo in his mind palace. Making it bigger.

The words were still a blur.

And then he stood in front of the door.

"Mr Holmes…"

Oliver's voice was a ghostly whisper but that was all it was.

He found he had the key in his hand.

John came down the stairs. The ankle monitor he had on his left ankle was snug and uncomfortable. He was allowed free reign between the bathroom, his bedroom which Moriarty had allocated to him yesterday and the living area and kitchen. Moriarty had shown him yesterday what would happen if he went outside the range that he had set for the ankle monitor.

It hadn't been pretty. He still had twin burn marks on his chest from the stun gun Moriarty had chosen to use. His muscles were still sore like he'd done an intense workout and he suspected it would be the case for at least another day. Moriarty had laughed afterwards as he lay on the ground, trying to gather himself. Had snarked that he got a taste of what Molly had done to the consulting criminal.

And that had been that. He had been shown his bedroom, a cupboard full of clothes – which had been worrying and the bathroom. Then Moriarty had left, citing that he had some business dealings to conclude. He could watch telly, make himself coffee or tea and enough food in the cupboard to do a full meal if he chose. Lyle had left with Moriarty, which left the other two men who had been part of his abduction to keep an eye on him. He pretty much ignored them as he settled down. It wasn't all that different to his previous incarceration by this man. He could deal with Moriarty, actually if he was completely honest he thought he could manage Moriarty better than Sherlock would've. At least the man still underestimated him and as far as John was aware, Moriarty still didn't know that he was part of the reason how Mycroft figured out where Sherlock was held.

Mycroft and he had sat down and based on his previous experience, had mapped out what Moriarty would do. So far it has been fairly accurate, well, apart from the stun gun experience. That was not something they could've predicted. So, it wasn't much of a surprise when he was washing his dishes in the basin when he saw a blond-haired woman wave at him from next door. He glanced towards the living area but the two men weren't interested at all in what he was doing in the kitchen so he tilted his head. She held up a card for a moment. It was bold, black on white and clear to read.

MC Plan on Track

SH/MH safe

Phone tonight

He glanced back at the other two men and then gave a brief nod as he looked down at the cup he's been washing. He looked back up but the curtains were drawn and she was gone. But he did feel better. At least now he knew Mycroft's team was close by. Right next door in fact.

Moriarty returned sans Lyle at noon. The man was upbeat, smiling as he entered the living area and came to a standstill before John, where he was seated on one of the chairs watching telly.

"Daddy's home, Johnny boy. Are you pleased to see me?"

John didn't comment, ignoring the other man as best he could. Moriarty leaned in, hands on the arm rests. "You can talk, Johnny boy. So go ahead."

John leaned his head back, met Moriarty's gaze and said, "You abducted me. Are keeping me here against my will. Why would I be pleased to see you?"

"Because my dear…if you don't then I can find ways to entertain myself and I assure you, you won't like it."

"I thought you didn't like to get your hands dirty."

"For you, John, I'll make an exception. You see, I owe Sherlock. You…well, your relationship with him has definitely gone a bit different hasn't it. Him shacking up with Molly and all, although if you were to believe Kitty there might be some kinky stuff happening behind the closed doors of 221B Baker Street."

"She's way off." John felt fresh anger at her articles rise to the surface.

Moriarty stood back up; one eyebrow raised. "Doth protest too much, I think my pet." He sat down in the chair opposite John and crossed his legs. "Tea would just about do it right now. Be a dear and off you pop."

John grumbled but he got up and put the kettle on. Gathered cups, milk and sugar and placed it all on a tray. He steeped the tea only to look up as Jim made his presence known, leaning against the counter watching him work.

"You look well-trained, John. Did Sherlock teach you or…"

John stopped what he was doing and turned to the other man. "What is it you want, Jim?"

Moriarty leaned back in mock surprise. Mouth agape and then he grinned. "First name basis. Tsk tsk John…are we that familiar already?"

John sighed. Crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He still remembered the cottage and the way Moriarty had been back then. Not much could've changed in the past year and half. The consulting criminal might be a bit more unhinged but essentially he was still the same. And every bit as frightening as before. He reminded himself that there were agents next door that would kick the door down if he was deemed to be in a life-threatening danger. Reminded himself that he was doing this for Sherlock and Molly. Their unborn daughter. He wasn't about to let the other man win this game.

Moriarty seemed to consider his silence and for a moment John thought he had read the man wrong. Then Moriarty nodded as if he had taken the measure of John. "You have matured, haven't you, Johnny boy. Did Sherlock ever tell you what Oliver did to him?"

John dropped his hands and made to push past the other man. Moriarty grabbed his arm, forcing him to a standstill beside the other man. He almost rolled his eyes at the obvious tactic employed by the other man. It was cliché at best. He wondered what would happen if he chose to fight back now, punch Moriarty in the stomach and as he bends forward, knee him in the face. He reminded himself that this was more than Moriarty. That it was about finding the hidden man behind it all.

"I asked you a question, John." Moriarty said quietly. The menace was clear, his eyes dark with intent.

"Some." John said. "What is it to you?"

Moriarty gave a quick smile. It was barely there but enough to tighten his own muscles in preparation of what the other man was going to do. It seemed to please the consulting criminal because he let go of John's arm. He glanced at the other two men and something unspoken seemed to pass between them because John saw them relax back into the couch they had been seated in.

"That second week after he introduced himself to Sherlock, he had Sherlock move different size rocks to different piles. Then back into one pile." Moriarty giggled, seemingly to find it funny. "He had him do that mind-numbing exercise for three hours straight. When I asked Oliver about it – you know what he said. It was to teach Sherlock obedience. Every time he slowed down or protested Oliver had Molly beaten. She was hurting already so it wasn't too hard to get her to scream. Apparently that was incentive enough for Sherlock to do as he was told." Moriarty stilled; a thoughtful look came over his face. A finger tapped briefly against his lips "The things I can come up with to test Sherlock's obedience…" Malevolence flowed from Moriarty and it made John shudder in response. "What do you think I can get him to do if I promise to not hurt Molly or his child?"

John had no words to retort. He was shaken by what Moriarty was telling him. Disturbed to understand the depravity not only of the man in front of him but of Oliver. Of what his friends had endured. Not spoken off to those closest to them.

A feeling of protectiveness surged forward. He will do what is necessary to protect Molly and Sherlock. Promised himself that Moriarty wasn't going to live out the week. That he'll kill the man in front of him to make sure that he'd never come close to his friends again.

"Sherlock is broken, John. You do understand that don't you."

"If that is what you believe…"

Moriarty indicated to the kitchen and he turned back and finished the tea. Followed the consulting criminal into the living room and poured the tea. When they were both seated, Moriarty said, "Do you remember the photo and video I showed you back at the cottage?"

"Yes."

"Good. I've got more if you're interested."

John put his cup down. "I'm not. How did you meet Oliver?" he asked casually. Moriarty tilted his head slightly and he could see sudden interest in the other man's eyes. He thought for a moment that Moriarty wasn't going to answer him but then his captor placed his cup back in his saucer and balanced it on his knee.

"Interesting…you are definitely not boring, Johnny boy." He pursed his lips, seeming to consider the request and then he replied, "Very well. I caught Oliver's attention through some mutual acquaintances. We met up and it became apparent very quickly that we had a few things in common." Moriarty gave him an appraising look. "Among them was Sherlock."

"I heard it took some convincing before Oliver decided on Sherlock," John said.

"A little," Moriarty said. He gave a smug smile, "But once he had Sherlock…oh, Oliver was hooked. He realised the true value of our favourite consulting detective. He saw what I knew already. It was a real shame that Oliver died. Can you imagine the remake of Sherlock if he had stayed in Oliver's tender care."

"He was torturing him." John said, anger visibly vibrating off him.

"Oh that…" Moriarty waved a hand dismissively. "Sherlock didn't have it too bad. It could've been much worse, you know."

"You utter bloody cock." John rose from his chair, his hands fisted. The two guards had moved, stood from the couch but the consulting criminal waved them off.

"Please sit-down John before you hurt yourself." Dark eyes met him. "Sherlock and Molly owe me. Maybe once their child is born…who knows. You think I'll make a good dad?"

John couldn't help himself. He launched himself at the other man. The cup tilted, spilling the left-over tea onto the other man's trousers. He managed to get in a good left hook, connecting with Moriarty's face when the two men were on him, pulling him off and away. His arms held securely, they stood in silence while Moriarty dabbed at his cheek. John realised he had made a mistake. He shouldn't let the other man rile him up like that, he had a goal and he was potentially risking it by his behaviour. Moriarty stood, his trousers looked uncomfortable and John felt the corner of his lip move upwards briefly while he glared at the other man.

"We're done for today, John." Moriarty waved a hand at the two men and one of them took out the stun gun they had used previously. "Please teach Dr Watson some manners."

He braced himself, took a deep breath and widened his stance.

In the end it wasn't enough.

Lestrade motioned to the two specialist warfare men, his hand movement was choppy and urgent. They gave a brief nod in agreement, moving in on the unsuspecting man. It was quick, cold and calculating.

Lyle Bowman was unconscious by the time the van pulled away from the curb. Unaware of his own kidnapping, or the fact that they had used one of his favourite methods to subdue and capture targets.

Mycroft entered the meeting room. Inspector Thevenoux stood beside the windows, a cup of coffee in his hand and looking out at the dreary winter morning over London.

"At least Barcelona is a bit drier," the inspector deadpanned. Turned from the window to seat himself at the table. Opened a laptop that was on the table in front of him and typed in his password while Mycroft seated himself.

"The cell is quiet. We've identified four men. Uncertainty lies with another man. He comes and goes. Never stays long so not sure if he's just local help or part of the cell." Thevenoux plugged his laptop into the projector. A photo appeared on the wall in front of them.

"Brad Vine." Mycroft said. "Interesting…" He opened his phone. Made a call. Spoke to someone in Russian. The inspector took a sip of his coffee while he waited. With a curt thanks, Mycroft closed the connection.

"My contact that has him under surveillance just confirmed that he's still in Russia. Moscow to be exact. Apparently busy doing stock take at a warehouse."

"Mmmm." The inspector read over his notes. "He was last seen in Barcelona three days ago. Before that, two weeks ago."

"There's never been any indication that Moriarty and Brad Vines had crossed paths before now."

"No. My brother made his acquaintance on one of his cases that interjected with the smuggling channel we suspected Moriarty had set up. Whether the two knew each other personally…well, it seems to be the case looking at the data."

"Was it before or after Oliver?" the inspector asked. Clicked through to another series of photos. "This was taken three years ago in Belgium."

Oliver, Brad and two of the goons he had utilised in his brother's captivity were standing next to a truck. Oliver was clearly busy instructing the other man, who was listening intently. The two guards looked bored.

"One of Interpol's agents took these photos. Oliver was a person of interest in the kidnapping of a local boy. The boy had been found in Norway, traumatised. Told the police that he had escaped by hiking his way out of the forest. The psychiatrist indicated amnesia due to trauma so we never had enough proof."

Mycroft met his gaze. "It makes sense he made some changes after that. My brother and his wife had GPS locators embedded in their shoulders. Probably born out of the boy's escape. To prevent exactly the scenario that happened with the boy."

"Oui." The inspector said, "That makes sense." He clicked through a series of photos, most of whom Mycroft knew. "These were Oliver's known associates. As you know, most of them were picked up when you cleaned house."

"Stop." Mycroft said when one photo flashed on the screen. Thevenoux lifted his hand from the laptop. On the screen was a photo of a blond-haired man. Blue eyes stared back at Mycroft, empty of all emotion. He got up to the side table, opened the doors and unlocked the safe. Took out a folder he had put in place earlier. Placed it on the table next to the French man.

"What do you have on him?" he asked when it became clear that the photos matched.

"Jason Albright. He was seen working with Oliver in Europe. Not much is known about him. His mother was British, his father French Canadian. He seemed to have ties to Europe's underground. He stays off radar mostly. Have never been arrested. He's a ghost, moving easily where he is needed. We suspected that he might be one of Oliver's closest associates."

"He didn't come up when I started to dismantle Oliver's network." Mycroft stated, sitting down again. He drummed his fingers on the table while he was thinking. "This …hidden element of Oliver. I wonder…" His eyes narrowed briefly. "His last sighting?" he asked.

"Two weeks ago," Thevenoux said, consulting his notes. Sat back and met Mycroft's gaze. "In Barcelona."

It felt like déjà vu, sitting in the chair again, across from a man he was interrogating. The drugs had worn off less than an hour ago, leaving the other man still a bit groggy and with an obvious splitting headache. Lestrade didn't care. This man was responsible for Sherlock's first kidnapping. For Molly's and John's and countless others.

"I want a lawyer." Lyle said obstinately. The handcuffs were snug over his wrists, leaving him uncomfortably twisted sideways on the table.

"It says here that you escaped in September."

"Lawyer."

"Who instigated your escape."

The man pressed his lips together. "Not talking."

He nodded. "It seems the United States doesn't want you back." Lestrade says, reading from the file folder in front of him. Fingered a page and looked up. "You have violated the visa requirements to stay in England. From what we could ascertain Mr Bowman that the only country willing to take you back resides in Africa."

"You can't."

"Why?" He closed the folder.

"You will send me to my death."

"Not my problem. You're not willing to cooperate. What am I to do but let due process follow. We obviously don't want to put you back in our prison system. The only other choice is to deport you. The USA doesn't want you. That leaves…" he tilted his head. "…Burundi. They are very, very interested in you, Mr Bowman."

Lyle swore. Pulled against his restraints. Tried to rise from the chair. Lestrade waited him out. A knock came on the door before it opened. A man entered that he only knew as Agent Smith. Lyle's eyes widened when he saw the man. His face drained of all colour and he sank down in his seat.

"Keep him away from me." He was suddenly subdued. Seemed to shrink into himself. Agent Smith put down a paper cup of water. "As requested, Sir." He said. "You need me for anything else."

Lestrade took a sip. Smiled up at the other man briefly in thanks. "We're good. Aren't we, Mr Bowman?"

"What is it you wanted to know?" Lyle said, his shoulders slumped.

Giles had left after lunch. Sherlock had cooked a quick chicken pasta with him. His brother phoned not long after the psychiatrist was gone.

"There seems to be a link between Brad Vines and Moriarty. We've identified Jason. Interpol is aware of him and he seems to have been active mostly in Europe. Lyle Bowman is in custody. He's indicated Jason's involvement. He was involved in my kidnapping. He was planning yours and Molly's."

"Is he working with Moriarty?"

"No. It seems he was recruited by Jason and an older man. We're looking into it."

"Fine. How's John?"

"We're keeping a close eye on him, brother mine. We're getting a phone to him tonight."

"I managed to open the door in my mind palace." He said quietly. Molly stepped from the kitchen, drying her hands on a washing cloth.

"Yes?"

"Oliver had me design a plan to kill you."

"I thought you did that for fun." Mycroft jested. "A weekend activity you told me about once."

It brought a brief flicker of gratitude. His brother understood. "You rate no more than a three." He bantered. This was familiar and he relaxed. "Strangling you in your sleep seemed to be a favourite of mine."

"Can you recall the specifics?" Mycroft asked.

"It involved a spoon." Sherlock said. "I got inventive. Probably in a way to throw off Oliver's client."

"Ah. No wonder they waited so long before trying anything." Mycroft chuckled. "Really? A spoon…"

"Redbeard came to mind when I designed it."

"Okay. Yes, that makes sense then." Mycroft paused. "Sherlock…"

"Uhm…Can we not…" Sherlock asked. He reached out and pulled Molly in. She placed both arms around him. Hugged him quietly in support. "Once this is all done, can we open up the well…I know it's been ages but…" He suddenly felt vulnerable. His heart was on the table and he wondered why he was asking his brother.

"I'll schedule it in." Mycroft said softly. "Agreed."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Agreed."

John hurt. He had to be at least honest about it. He vowed to never discount the feel of a taser gun again. He lay in the dark on his bed, trying to get comfortable but it was hard. His muscles on occasion still seemed to vibrate. He had no other way to describe it. He glanced at the clock again.

It was 2 am. The house was quiet. For a brief moment he wondered what would happen if he chose now to try and escape. Not that it was really part of the plan but it was nice to think he had that option. Would the two men have guard duty downstairs with a schedule. Making sure someone has an eye on the stairs and front door in case he tries his luck. Probably. He didn't think Moriarty would leave it too much to chance. There were undoubtedly more men than the two goons he'd seen.

He shifted on the mattress again. Grimaced and lay an arm over his forehead as he stared upwards into the darkness. He was completely unprepared when the next moment he had the brief glimmer of a shadow in the darkness and then there was a hand over his mouth. He started to move when a whisper sounded in his ear.

"John."

It was barely there but it brought pause to his next movements and he ended in a half awkward position with hands pushed against the chest of the person that was kneeling by his bedside. An uncomfortable moment later he realised that what he felt was definitely not something he would associate with the male variety.

She leaned in closer and he didn't know what to do with his hands. He fumbled and ended up half hugging the women to his own chest. Her mouth was by his ear, apparently what she wanted.

"Mycroft wants to know your status."

Her breath tickled his ear but it was warm and the feel of her in his arms were very quickly becoming apparent to his body. He closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but the women in his arms. He cleared his throat and whispered back. "I'm fine."

"A camera covers the living area and part of the kitchen."

He nodded.

"Lyle was picked up and interrogated. Two men are indicated and Mycroft has resources looking for them. Sherrinford is secure. Mycroft is waiting for Moriarty to access the hidden bank accounts so he can trace the last assets and remove them."

"He definitely wants Sherlock and Molly. He's looking for them."

"They're safe. If he leaves London…we have standing orders regarding that scenario."

He felt her shift and then something was pushed against his chest. He let go of one arm around her and felt the familiar feel of a mobile. "Keep it hidden."

He nodded. She moved then and he tried to make out the features of her face but she had dark face paint on and he could barely see as it was. It must be the blond-haired woman he had seen earlier, he surmised. He remembers blue eyes.

"What is your name?" he asks then, surprising himself. He sincerely wanted to know. Keep a tangible reminder beside the phone that he wasn't alone in this.

A quick smile. His own heart thudded in his chest. He pretended it had to do with the adrenaline of finding a stranger on top of him in his bedroom and that it had nothing to do with a sudden interest. She glanced towards the door, leaned down and whispered, "Mary."

He gave her his best smile he could muster under the circumstances. Wondered suddenly why he bothered. It was obviously a bit dark and she wouldn't see much more than he could. He held onto the phone and watched as she moved away, effortlessly and without any sound. A moment later his door opened and closed and he realised only then that she hadn't come in via his bedroom window. Not that he could utilise it at all – Moriarty had put a child lock on it. It could barely open enough to let in air if he so chose.

The phone in his hand lit up briefly and turned it over. It was locked but it wasn't that hard to guess the password and he entered it. It worked and a text message showed up.

We'll keep an eye on you.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wasn't sure what to say. In the end he gave a terse OK back. It wasn't much but at least he had a way to contact those outside if he needed to but he did instinctively understand that the phone was only to be used in emergency or to pass on information that was vital to mission success.

He hid the phone under his mattress and only after that did he fall asleep.

Thanks for reading. 😊
For Sherlock's memory please read - The fourth Scenario
The bulk of Molly and Sherlock's bothy scenes are in Redemption (if you haven't read it.)