Fanfic - Sherlock: "Vendetta" part 4
More of my little Sherlock/Molly story...
Start from the beginning here.
***********************************
Sherlock stood next to Lestrade, watching as a team swarmed over the house of Ellison Davies, prosecutor for the Crown. Davies was currently sequestered in a hotel, forbidden all items from his home until any possible booby traps had been identified. At Sherlock’s direction, Lestrade had the team examining the wiring first.
“Why the wiring, Sherlock? Could be anything.”
“Yes, but the murderer has been very careful to vary the methods of death. Dame Hillandale was almost certainly poisoned through leaving a contaminated pill in the bottle she always used. Lady Millbrook’s car was probably tampered with to cause her to crash. Finnegan and Molly were the only ones attacked in ways that were obviously murder, which suggests that they were the last people on the murderer’s list, that he was getting impatient to be done with it. Therefore whatever might have been done to Davies was set up much earlier, a trap made to look like a domestic accident. Something in this house is set up to cause that accident, something that Davies wouldn’t come across for some time-”
There was a thud that shook the house and shouts from upstairs. Sherlock and Lestrade sprinted to the stairs.
They found several of the forensics team working swiftly but carefully to extricate their fallen co-worker from a pile of lumber and the remains of a very heavy steamer trunk that had been loaded to the brim with books.
Sherlock nodded his head. “Such as going up to the attic to discover a poorly-stored trunk bringing the entire stepladder and part of the ceiling down on top of him.”
The injured man groaned as he was helped to his feet, supporting a broken arm. “I was off to the side before pulling down the ladder, just in case. I’d be dead if I’d been full under it.”
Lestrade looked at the mess. “Well, at least we know nothing will explode this time.”
*****
Molly awoke when she felt her arm being shaken gently. She rolled to one side to sit up, ready to dutifully recite the alphabet reversed or her grandparents’ birthdays or whatever John came up with this time to test her. She decided to get a jump on him. “Element number one is hydrogen, number two is helium, number three is lithium, four is-”
“Beryllium,” a rich baritone interrupted her in amusement.
Molly’s eyes snapped open. She was able to register Sherlock sitting beside her on his sinfully comfortable bed before closing them against a wave of dizziness.
He moved quickly to steady her, his hands gently cradling her head and lowering her to the pillows once more. “You sound as if you have all your faculties, but let’s make sure. Atomic number seventy-nine?”
“Gold.”
“And one hundred eight?”
“Um…hassium.”
“Well done. How do you feel?”
“Dizzy. Thirsty. Head hurts.”
She kept her eyes shut and listened as Sherlock went to the table John had set up with a carafe of water, glasses, and anything else he thought he might need. Water splashed into a glass, the carafe returned to the table, and Sherlock’s footsteps sounded as he came back to the bed. He helped her to sit up and drink.
“Do you remember how long ago you took anything?”
She shook her head, but John called from the sitting room, “Six hours. She’s due.”
Sherlock fetched her more paracetamol and sat beside her once more as she sat up to take the pills. “Would you like to know more about what happened?”
The sudden reminder of the explosion made her flash back to the moment of being hurled into the wall in the waiting room and she swayed, clamping her lips shut as her stomach roiled. Sherlock immediately leaned forward to catch her. “Molly?”
“Who-how many were killed?”
He looked slightly confused and a little put out, but answered. “Four people died on the scene. I don’t have information on anyone who might have succumbed to injuries later.”
“Do…did you get any names?”
“No, but Lestrade could probably tell you tomorrow.”
Molly nodded and swallowed, trying to stave off tears as she remembered Lucie, the one receptionist she knew by name. She would have been right by the bomb. She lay back and rolled onto her side. “Thank you, Sherlock.”
He sensed the dismissal and left.
*****
Sherlock sat in his chair and pressed his palms together, tapping his fingers against his lips. He could tell John was watching him over the screen to his laptop. After several minutes of silence, Sherlock stood and began pacing. He crossed the room, his speed increasing, until he was going too quickly for productive thought. He flung himself back into his chair and crossed his arms across his chest, looking like the world’s biggest petulant toddler.
“What am I missing? Molly usually likes hearing me talk about cases. Why did she all but order me out?”
“Really, Sherlock? Think about it from her point of view. She’s recovering from concussion and undoubtedly is feeling disconnected, fuzzy, like she can’t quite grasp reality. She knows the bomb was meant for her, but it ended up killing other people, people she worked with. She’s going to feel guilty over it-”
“Guilty? Whatever for? She didn’t ask to be attacked for doing her job!”
“No, but this is Molly. She’s going to feel that way. She’d have to, with a heart big enough to not only put up with you but actually enjoy your company. She’s going to blame herself. We can tell her it’s not so, but she’s going to need some time before she believes it.”
Sherlock was poised to continue arguing, but something in John’s voice made him pause and look at his flatmate…his friend. John was speaking in a slightly lower register and his own posture had tensed up. This was the voice of experience, the voice of someone who had been in a situation like Molly’s and had recovered. Or was still recovering.
Sherlock bowed to that experience and pulled out his phone to text Lestrade and get the names of the victims for Molly.
******************************************
Part 5
As always, feedback is most appreciated!
Start from the beginning here.
***********************************
Sherlock stood next to Lestrade, watching as a team swarmed over the house of Ellison Davies, prosecutor for the Crown. Davies was currently sequestered in a hotel, forbidden all items from his home until any possible booby traps had been identified. At Sherlock’s direction, Lestrade had the team examining the wiring first.
“Why the wiring, Sherlock? Could be anything.”
“Yes, but the murderer has been very careful to vary the methods of death. Dame Hillandale was almost certainly poisoned through leaving a contaminated pill in the bottle she always used. Lady Millbrook’s car was probably tampered with to cause her to crash. Finnegan and Molly were the only ones attacked in ways that were obviously murder, which suggests that they were the last people on the murderer’s list, that he was getting impatient to be done with it. Therefore whatever might have been done to Davies was set up much earlier, a trap made to look like a domestic accident. Something in this house is set up to cause that accident, something that Davies wouldn’t come across for some time-”
There was a thud that shook the house and shouts from upstairs. Sherlock and Lestrade sprinted to the stairs.
They found several of the forensics team working swiftly but carefully to extricate their fallen co-worker from a pile of lumber and the remains of a very heavy steamer trunk that had been loaded to the brim with books.
Sherlock nodded his head. “Such as going up to the attic to discover a poorly-stored trunk bringing the entire stepladder and part of the ceiling down on top of him.”
The injured man groaned as he was helped to his feet, supporting a broken arm. “I was off to the side before pulling down the ladder, just in case. I’d be dead if I’d been full under it.”
Lestrade looked at the mess. “Well, at least we know nothing will explode this time.”
*****
Molly awoke when she felt her arm being shaken gently. She rolled to one side to sit up, ready to dutifully recite the alphabet reversed or her grandparents’ birthdays or whatever John came up with this time to test her. She decided to get a jump on him. “Element number one is hydrogen, number two is helium, number three is lithium, four is-”
“Beryllium,” a rich baritone interrupted her in amusement.
Molly’s eyes snapped open. She was able to register Sherlock sitting beside her on his sinfully comfortable bed before closing them against a wave of dizziness.
He moved quickly to steady her, his hands gently cradling her head and lowering her to the pillows once more. “You sound as if you have all your faculties, but let’s make sure. Atomic number seventy-nine?”
“Gold.”
“And one hundred eight?”
“Um…hassium.”
“Well done. How do you feel?”
“Dizzy. Thirsty. Head hurts.”
She kept her eyes shut and listened as Sherlock went to the table John had set up with a carafe of water, glasses, and anything else he thought he might need. Water splashed into a glass, the carafe returned to the table, and Sherlock’s footsteps sounded as he came back to the bed. He helped her to sit up and drink.
“Do you remember how long ago you took anything?”
She shook her head, but John called from the sitting room, “Six hours. She’s due.”
Sherlock fetched her more paracetamol and sat beside her once more as she sat up to take the pills. “Would you like to know more about what happened?”
The sudden reminder of the explosion made her flash back to the moment of being hurled into the wall in the waiting room and she swayed, clamping her lips shut as her stomach roiled. Sherlock immediately leaned forward to catch her. “Molly?”
“Who-how many were killed?”
He looked slightly confused and a little put out, but answered. “Four people died on the scene. I don’t have information on anyone who might have succumbed to injuries later.”
“Do…did you get any names?”
“No, but Lestrade could probably tell you tomorrow.”
Molly nodded and swallowed, trying to stave off tears as she remembered Lucie, the one receptionist she knew by name. She would have been right by the bomb. She lay back and rolled onto her side. “Thank you, Sherlock.”
He sensed the dismissal and left.
*****
Sherlock sat in his chair and pressed his palms together, tapping his fingers against his lips. He could tell John was watching him over the screen to his laptop. After several minutes of silence, Sherlock stood and began pacing. He crossed the room, his speed increasing, until he was going too quickly for productive thought. He flung himself back into his chair and crossed his arms across his chest, looking like the world’s biggest petulant toddler.
“What am I missing? Molly usually likes hearing me talk about cases. Why did she all but order me out?”
“Really, Sherlock? Think about it from her point of view. She’s recovering from concussion and undoubtedly is feeling disconnected, fuzzy, like she can’t quite grasp reality. She knows the bomb was meant for her, but it ended up killing other people, people she worked with. She’s going to feel guilty over it-”
“Guilty? Whatever for? She didn’t ask to be attacked for doing her job!”
“No, but this is Molly. She’s going to feel that way. She’d have to, with a heart big enough to not only put up with you but actually enjoy your company. She’s going to blame herself. We can tell her it’s not so, but she’s going to need some time before she believes it.”
Sherlock was poised to continue arguing, but something in John’s voice made him pause and look at his flatmate…his friend. John was speaking in a slightly lower register and his own posture had tensed up. This was the voice of experience, the voice of someone who had been in a situation like Molly’s and had recovered. Or was still recovering.
Sherlock bowed to that experience and pulled out his phone to text Lestrade and get the names of the victims for Molly.
******************************************
Part 5
As always, feedback is most appreciated!