Fill: Find a Way to You - Chapter Six
Story Type: Prompt Fill
Fandom(s): Sherlock/The Swan Princess/Swan Lake
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Moriarty, Moran, Mycroft, Harry, Ann Watson, Vienne Holmes, Mike Stamford
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John, suggested Moriarty/Moran, very twisted semi-Moriarty/Sherlock
Warnings: Violence, torture, abduction, coersion, Jim Moriarty with access to magic.
Summary: The final part of The Swan Triad, following Till Now I Never Knew and Interlude. Sherlock struggles to escape Moriarty's prison with the help of two fellow prisoners. Meanwhile, John devotes every waking moment to a search and rescue of the man he loves.
Chapter Six
Sherlock's skin was warm and yielding under his fingers, flushed a soft pink from the heat between them. John let his hands explore the endless planes of Sherlock's body, and Sherlock let him, arching into the touch, inviting more with his breath and his lips and his eyes. They said nothing, moving together in silence, they didn't need words.
Sherlock shifted and flipped them over so he was above John, gazing down at him. He lowered his head and John was lost in the heat of Sherlock's lips. Sherlock pulled away, smiling, and John strained to find the kiss again. But Sherlock moved too far away for John to reach, still smiling.
The smile froze on Sherlock's face, and John watched a bright red hole appear on Sherlock's forehead, just above his left eyebrow. He screamed, but no sound came out. The hole widened, and Sherlock's face sagged. A stream of blood spilled from the hole, running over the curves and slopes of Sherlock's features. John screamed in silence and thrashed, but he couldn't move away. Sherlock's body slumped, and he was teetering forward, his bloodied face tumbling toward John, and John could already taste the hot iron tang of Sherlock's blood on his tongue. His voice returned to him, and he woke, screaming.
John clutched the duvet to his chest, gasping and shaking. He looked around, confused, then remembered he had fallen asleep in Sherlock's bedroom.
He collapsed back onto the pillow and clenched his eyes shut. He clutched his hands around his upper arms and squeezed bruises into his own skin. It sharpened him, pulled him the rest of the way clear of the nightmare.
Once he was alert, he stumbled out of the bed and into Sherlock's en suite. He splashed cold water over his face, then leaned on the sink, willing the strength back into his legs.
It wasn't the first time his first kill had invaded his dreams, but he'd never seen Sherlock in those nightmares before, and it shook him. He didn't want Sherlock to see him as a killer, didn't want to find out whether or not Sherlock could love a man with blood on his hands. But he would have to. Sooner or later, like it or not, Sherlock would see the man John Watson had become.
~~~
'Alright now, toward me.' Sherlock backed away from the lake and beckoned Molly with both hands.
Molly gulped visibly and took a few more steps toward the shoreline. Her steps were shaky, and her chest heaved with nervous breaths.
'Sherlock, stop this. Do you honestly think she hasn't tried? I've seen it.' Lestrade picked up a stone and skipped it over the water. Molly flinched and glared at him.
'She goes all splashy and gets sent back. Always happens. She can't do it.'
'Shut it, Greg. You're an idiot.'
'I've seen it happen!'
Sherlock dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging painfully, and gritted his teeth. "You said it yourself, Jim was a novice when he took you. Imagine how feeble his work must have been when he took Molly!"
'But Jim didn't take me.' Molly pointed out. 'The Old Man did.'
Sherlock froze. '…yes. Him. What more can you tell me about him?'
Molly shrugged. 'He frightened me. He was always looking. A bit like you, really. Only he wasn't curious like you are. It was more like…waiting. Like he knew it all already and he was just waiting for the show to start. And it was sort of…hungry, too.'
'Fascinating.' Sherlock deadpanned. 'But tell me something useful. Tell me how he behaved around Jim. Or, more to the point, how Jim behaved around him.'
Molly tilted her head. 'He was always there, whenever Jim came to look at me. Like you look at a fish in a tank. He stood behind Jim's shoulder, and he was always touching him in some way. He'd put a hand on Jim's head or his arm, or around his shoulders. He used to tell Jim to make me do things. Move the water or change my shape, things like that. And Jim did it, but he never looked like he wanted to. He looked bored.'
'They did this often? These lessons?'
Molly nodded. 'Most every day. And on nights when there was a lot of moonlight. Jim would hold out his hand and I'd…do things. I couldn't stop it. He used to make me dance for him…' And Molly crossed her arms over her chest as though to hide from leering eyes and averted her gaze.
'One day,' said Greg. 'I'm going to kill that little shit.' He said it the way other people might say 'One day I'll start a vegetable garden'.
'You won't Greg. You're an officer of the law. You don't execute criminals.' Sherlock replied with a dismissive wave. 'Molly, keep toward me. All the way to the edge.'
Molly did as instructed, and waited. There was a slight breeze and it caught at her skirts, occasionally pushing the hem past the lake's boundary. The fabric went transparent, then, nothing more than water moving like cloth.
'Alright. Fact: you can't move beyond the water's edge without losing control over your shape.'
'Right.'
'And fact: you can manipulate the water around you with an effort of will, even past the boundary line.'
Molly frowned. 'Not…really. I mean, once it passes the shoreline I don't control it anymore. I have to build up enough momentum on this side to make it carry over. And if I aim it at Jim it sort of…dribbles.'
'But you can send it past the boundary.' Sherlock pressed.
Molly nodded.
'Move the lake.'
'What?' Molly asked.
'What?' Greg echoed.
'You heard me perfectly well. The boundary is an imaginary line, it's nothing more than where the water happens to be. Move the line. Change the shape of the lake.'
Molly blinked at him in disbelief. 'The lake? The entire lake?'
'Just this shore for now, but yes. That's the general idea.'
Molly narrowed her eyes. 'Have you any idea how difficult it is to control the water like that? I can't just…just throw my weight around like that! I need…I don't know…something to put into it. I need to be scared or…or angry or something like that.'
Sherlock brought his hands together and rested his fingertips against his chin, prayer-like. 'Like when you were frightened for Greg. You stopped him challenging Moran.'
'Yes. Exactly. I need…a reason to do it.'
Sherlock shrugged. 'Fine then.' And he brought both his hands to Molly's shoulders and shoved, sending her tumbling onto her back. She hit the water with a solid thud, not sinking an inch, not making the slightest ripple or splash, as though the water were solid glass or plastic.
'Oi!' Greg shouted, and he rushed at Sherlock, pushing him away and nearly landing him on his arse. 'What the fuck, Sherlock?'
Sherlock gritted his teeth and knocked Greg back with a right hook to the jaw.
'Fuck!' Greg shouted, staggering away.
'Keep away, Lestrade. Molly's a big girl, she can handle herself.'
Greg glared at him and rushed forward again. Sherlock fended him off with a solid chest blow and a jab to the solar plexus. Greg staggered away, wheezing.
'Stop it!' Molly shouted. 'Stop it, you're being horrible!'
'Then stop me!' Sherlock challenged. 'Come over here and teach me a lesson. You've got the power to do it, I've seen you.'
'I can't move the whole lake!' She screamed, and she lashed out with one arm, sending a torrent of water at him.
He had to cross his arms in front of his face and brace his legs against the dirt to withstand it, but he managed. He stood, waterlogged and dripping, and faced her down.
'You can do better than that, Molly! Come on, get angry! '
'Sherlock, stop it. Leave her alone.' Greg gasped, still clutching his abdomen.
'Piss off, Greg.' Sherlock spat. He turned his attention back to the girl in the lake. 'Come on, six years as his little toy and this is all you have? A few splashes?'
'Shut up!' Molly all but shrieked. 'I know what you're doing! It won't work!'
'Why not? It's true, isn't it? Six fucking years and you've done nothing. You let him use you and play you like a fucking piano and you never fought back. Christ look at you! You own the bloody lake. His precious little pond and you control it. It never occurred to you to use that power?' He chuckled and shook his head. 'Of course not. No, that would require a bit of nerve, wouldn't it? Far easier just to hide away like a scared little mouse at the first sight of him, isn't it?
'Sherlock, enough!' Greg snapped.
'No!' Sherlock snarled. 'No, it isn't! She's so fucking weak, Greg! Can't you see it?'
'If she's so weak why do you keep coming back to her?' Greg demanded. 'Where the fuck would you be without her?'
'Please. You think that makes her strong? She's just hiding behind that one little trick so she doesn't have to admit how utterly useless she is!'
'That's. ENOUGH!' Molly roared. She raised both her arms and sent a massive wave at the two men, riding with it toward Sherlock, her hands balled into fists and her face as dark as a storm cloud.
Sherlock saw the blow coming a mile away. Molly was practically telegraphing it to Moscow. He took it anyway, square on the jaw. Molly's anger combined with the momentum of the water gave the punch enough force to send Sherlock spinning dizzily to the ground. Pain erupted across the lower half of his face, and he ended up with a mouthful of dirt and grit even as the water pounded against his back like a battering ram.
The force of the wave dissipated, and Sherlock waited for the water around him to recede.
It didn't.
He groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows. He looked around, blinking through the haze of pain in his face and his back at the water around him. With the kind of effort used to scale mountains, he turned himself over onto his back to get a better look.
Molly was stood, dazed and astonished, in a shallow expanse of water fully three feet past the original shoreline. The water extended a good five feet further, to where Sherlock and Greg lie, the ripples lapping at their clothes and hair.
Sherlock tried to grin, but his jaw protested and he ended up yelping instead. He gingerly put a hand to his aching mouth. There would be a fairly impressive bruise there.
'I…I…' Molly floundered.
'Fuck's sake, Moll.' Greg swore.
'I…did it.'
Sherlock sighed and let his head fall back to splash in the muddy water. 'Never doubted you.'
Molly blinked at him, and with a weary slump she moved to kneel by his head and placed her cool hand to his darkening skin. Her touch soothed the pain instantly, and Sherlock managed a weak smile.
'I didn't mean it.' He offered.
'You did, a little.' Molly told him.
Sherlock huffed. 'Yeah. A little. I guess I deserved that, then.'
'Damn right you did.' Greg confirmed. Then, to Molly, 'But did you have to knock me down with him?'
Molly giggled, and looked around and the altered lakeshore again. 'Jim is going to go spare when he sees this.'
Sherlock smirked. 'I can hardly wait.'
~~~
'Alright, cheers mate.' John said, slipping a few fifties into the man's hand before bounding back over to where Mike was leaning against the car.
'I feel like I just witnessed a drugs deal, John.' Mike pointed out.
John shrugged.
'John, you're starting to scare me, here. This isn't like you.'
John squinted into the light of the setting sun. 'And what am I like, Mike? How would you prefer I handle this?'
Mike kicked at the gravel under his toe. 'I don't know, mate. But not like this. You're dangerous. You barely eat, you look like you haven't slept in days, and now you're making clandestine deals with military liaisons?'
John set his jaw. 'I know Harlan. Okay? He supplied the base while I was training. He's got a line on damn near every supplier in the region. If anyone can find who manufactured the casing I found, he can.'
'Legally?'
John looked away, studying the landscape as though he found it infinitely more interesting than Mike. 'What difference does it make if it isn't? Legality isn't bringing Sherlock back to me. I'm not about to ignore any avenue available just because it might fracture a few laws.'
'John--'
'Leave off, Mike. Get in the fucking car. We're going back to the crash site. I want to see if our sniper friend has left me any more messages.'
Mike sighed, but when John slipped into the driver's seat and slammed the door closed, he climbed in beside him.
'Lead the way, mate.'
~~~
'What did you DO?!'
Sherlock jerked awake at the sound of Moriarty's scream. He spared a moment to be annoyed at himself for dozing off in Greg's arms. He detested sleeping while he was human, no matter how supple and warm the leather of Greg's jacket was.
He blinked blearily at Moriarty, who was staring in what appeared to be horror at the redefined lakeshore.
'Ah, Jim.' Sherlock said, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. 'Spot of redecorating. Hope you don't mind. We were getting bored with the place.'
Greg's body didn't lose a single bit of its care-free looseness, but his fingers tightened around Sherlock's bicep in a silent caution. Don't go too far, kid.
Moriarty bared his teeth. 'How did you do this, Holmes?'
Sherlock shrugged. 'Really, Jim, I expect better of you. An idiot could see I'm entirely incapable of something like this. No, this was Molly's handiwork.' He gestured at the water spread out before him.
Some of it fountained up and took Molly's shape. She smiled coyly at Jim and waggled her fingers.
Jim's head snapped back as though he'd been slapped, and Moran stepped closer to him, his body tense and protective. 'Molly…' He breathed.
Sherlock wondered how long it had been since he'd seen her, face to face.
'You…you can't do this.' Jim insisted, his eyes locked on the woman standing atop the water. 'I didn't give you permission! You're not supposed to DO THIS!'
Sherlock was honestly surprised that Jim's outburst wasn't accompanied by a petulant stamp.
Molly just kept smiling at him, and her eyes were both soft and hard with amused pity.
'Stop it! Put it back, right now!'
Molly shook her head.
'You're not allowed! You can't break the rules. Moran, make her put it back!'
'If he lays a finger on her I'll kiss Lestrade.' Sherlock interjected. He kept his voice calm, though his heart was pounding behind his ribs.
Moriarty froze, then jerked his head to face Sherlock. 'You'll…what?'
Sherlock shook his head. 'You insist my intelligence is the reason you captured me, and yet you constantly seem to expect me to act like a moron.' He glared up at his captor. 'I'm no fool, Jim. I know you built my Key around a kiss. Your man there told me as much.'
Moriarty stiffened and turned to glare burning holes into his enforcer. 'What. Did you do, Seb?'
Moran shook his head and stepped back, both hands raised in front of himself. 'He--I didn't--they were getting awfully close, Jim! I had to say something!'
'Idiot!' Moriarty snarled. 'How are you that stupid?! Sherlock is devoted to his little pet, he'd never kiss the cop!'
'I'm sorry, Jim!'
'I will kiss him.' Sherlock insisted. He meant it. He had to mean it, or Jim would know. 'I don't know what will happen if I do, but I have to say I'm more than a little curious to find out.'
Moriarty stalked over to him, knelt down and grabbed his arm. Greg sat up and started to wrap a protective arm around Sherlock's waist, but Sherlock pushed him gently back and let Jim tug him free.
'Keep this up, clever boy, and you'll find out soon enough. I wouldn't put too much faith in Greg here having the stones to follow through, though. I doubt even your precious Johnny has that much devotion in him.'
Sherlock forced his nausea down and smirked. 'So it is about John, then? I had suspected.'
Moriarty smiled, oily and sick. 'Everything is about John, Sherlock. It's his fault you're here. You never should have let him kiss you in the first place.'
'I'd do it again. I will do it again.'
He was aware of Greg braced to rush them both. He was aware of Moran's hand dangling a little too casually by his hip. He was aware of Molly standing statue-still and blank-faced nearby. He was aware of all three pairs of eyes trained on him and Moriarty, but they didn't seem important just then.
His eyes locked with Jim's, and the world made a little more sense. He felt something like a hot, tight shiver in his abdomen. It travelled along his spine, up to the base of his skull, and he fought back the urge to wriggle through it. This was what Jim wanted, this storm building between them, the beautiful disaster they could make together. Sherlock could feel it, and it terrified him how much he liked it.
'John will do whatever it takes to get me back.' Sherlock said, and he wondered which of them he was assuring.
'I'm sure he'll try. But you don't come cheap, darling.' Jim's hand snaked its way up to Sherlock's neck, his index finger toyed with the skin behind Sherlock's ear and he had to resist the urge to press into the touch even as he was repulsed by it. 'The price to claim you is a steep one. I made sure of that.'
'He'll pay it.' Sherlock whispered. He could hear Greg shifting behind him, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.
'He'll pay.' Jim nodded. 'I can promise you that much, my dear. Johnny Boy will pay.'
Sherlock grabbed Jim's wrist and yanked it back, removing Jim's hand from his skin. He met Jim's eyes steadily, refusing to look away from the intoxicating madness he saw there. 'We will end you, Jim.' He promised.
Moriarty just grinned. 'Get in the water, Sherlock.'
Sherlock drew a sharp breath, but he stood obediently and walked to the water's edge. He didn't hesitate to step in, and he didn't look back as he moved further into the shallows where Molly was waiting. He took her outstretched hand in his and turned around to face Jim. He kept his head high even as he felt the sunrise creep along his back. He kept his eyes locked on Moriarty, unblinking, until Molly's wave came between them, her hand turning liquid under his fingers before joining the rising water around him.
It wasn't until he was encased completely and he felt the change beginning that he finally closed his eyes and hid his face in his hands.
~~~
'Molly Hooper?' John asked, peering at the photograph. The girl in it was tiny and fragile-looking. She couldn't have been more than twelve, thirteen at the most.
'Schoolmate of Carl Powers.' Mycroft confirmed with a nod. 'She went missing at the end of term. There was a search, of course. Her parents searched for three years, but she was never found.'
'Oh God...' John breathed. He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye as she poured a glass of water, which she then pressed into his hand.
'Mye thinks she might be connected. To Sherlock.'
John blinked. 'Why?'
Mycroft took a deep breath. 'I've been looking into the death of Carl Powers. You must recall Sherlock's obsession.'
John snorted. 'Yeah, he half-drowned me trying to make a re-enactment.'
'Miss Hooper's disappearance is the second and only other bizarre occurrence at that school in that year. Indeed, in any year. Every other incident is easily explicable, commonplace, but not those two. The Carl Powers case was Sherlock's public debut. His name found its way onto a number of lists after that. Working on the assumption that this was how his captor learned of him, the subsequent disappearance became increasingly suspicious. So I did some prying.'
'And?'
Mycroft handed John a folder. He opened it, and saw a school report inside.
'That's is Molly Hooper's evaluation. Does any of that strike you as familiar.'
John read through the teacher's observations on the young girl, and his eyes widened.
'Bright, passionate, isolated, with a pronounced interest in chemistry and biology. I find the bit about her performance in the dissection lab particularly enlightening.'
John's hands were shaking. He set down the folder. 'She reads like Sherlock.'
'Her disappearance was similar as well. Abducted in the open, no witness recollection of the event, no ransom, no body, no leads. The kidnapper never contacted her family, there were never any demands, the investigation hit dead ends at every turn. It's identical, John, insomuch as nothing can be considered a modus operandi.'
'Which means whoever took Sherlock has done this before.' Harry added.
'Indicating, it would seem, that our quarry is older. Old enough to have established sufficient resources to carry out such a flawless abduction six years ago.'
'Or they were working with someone who was.' John said. He licked his lips. 'Mycroft…they took Molly Hooper six years ago, and she was never found?'
Mycroft nodded. 'That's correct.'
John swallowed past the painful mass in his throat. 'All that time, whatever they did to her…Mye, what are they doing to him?'
~~~
'Let go of me!' Sherlock shouted, writhing under Seb's hold. He may as well have been struggling against solid iron.
'Shut up.' Seb said, forcing Sherlock through the doorway.
Sherlock struggled on. He hated it when Moran touched him. It never ended well. He could still feel the phantom ache from the dislocated shoulder he'd received last time.
For all that, he paid close attention to his surroundings. He'd always meant to get into the house, after all. It would be foolish to waste the opportunity just because it was on Moriarty's terms.
The house did not look lived in. Everything was too neat, too precise, and much too dusty. Jim clearly didn't hire a cleaning service, nor did he find it necessary to maintain the place himself. The foyer was dark and empty, flanked by closed doors. Moran opened one of them at the far side of the room and propelled Sherlock through it.
It was warmer through here. There was much less in the way of dust and there were comfortable furnishings arranged throughout the rooms. It looked to be some sort of servants' area, everything too small and too modest to fit with the grandeur of the house itself.
And that was odd, because if Jim was anything he was a megalomaniac. Why would he deliberately inhabit the humblest part of the mansion?
Jim himself was waiting in a small kitchen, sat at a weathered wooden table arrayed with covered dishes. He smiled up at Sherlock and stood, gesturing to the chair opposite his. Seb forced Sherlock down onto it, and he sat there, glaring at Jim.
'Ah, Sherlock. So glad you could make it. Are you hungry?'
'No.' It wasn't a lie. Jim kept them sufficiently fed at least.
'Are you sure?' Jim lifted one of the silver covers, and beneath it was a glistening roast, still steaming. The aroma hit Sherlock like a fist, and he couldn't keep his mouth from watering, or his stomach from rumbling.
More covers were removed. Smoked salmon, mashed potato, veal, beef soup, artichoke hearts, even caviar all laid out before him, all fresh and decadent, and his knees felt weak.
'I'm sure.' He squeaked, then he cleared his throat and, more forcefully, 'Definitely.'
Jim tutted. 'Oh, such a shame. So much waste.' He shrugged. 'Oh, well. Hope you don't mind if I indulge. I'm quite famished.' He took his own seat. Seb remained standing, but he moved to the door and crossed his hands in front of him.
Jim loaded his plate with food, and Sherlock couldn't help but stare. Nearly two months of sandwiches, cool pasta, and cold fruit and veg and he had almost forgotten what hot food smelled like. He wasn't entirely sure he remembered how it tasted.
'I can't stay.' He said, and his throat felt tight. 'You can't keep me here. You can't do that to me again.'
Jim raised his eyebrows, affecting surprise. 'Really, Sherlock, you wound me. You should know me better than that. I promise I'll have you back to your precious little water fairy before sunrise.' He chuckled. 'Although I am gratified to see the lesson has stuck. You do see what happens when you experiment with my rules, don't you?' He spooned some hot soup into his mouth and smiled.
Sherlock flinched. He did remember. There were days when he awoke screaming in Greg and Molly's minds from the memory of those first two mornings. 'You can't expect me to sit quietly and wait.' He said. 'You know me too well for that.'
'Have you succeeded in freeing Molly from the water?' Jim asked.
Sherlock scowled down at his hands. 'You know we haven't.'
Jim smiled. 'No. You haven't. And I do know. I know everything you're doing, Sherlock. I know you've been nicking containers from your food deliveries.'
Sherlock gulped. 'So?'
Moriarty tsked, 'Oh, Sherlock. It's so much more complicated than that. What do you think you'll achieve? You're not tied to the water, Sherlock. You're tied to the lake. You and the feather duster.'
'And what, precisely, is the difference?' The smells were worming their way into his brain, and he was getting lightheaded. He wanted to pounce on the food and shove as much into his mouth as he could fit. He wanted to grab the roast with both hands and sink his teeth into it, wanted to feel the juices from the meat explode over his tongue. He sat still.
Moriarty laughed. 'This is metaphysics, my dear. It's not so easy as that. You can't break things down into their smallest component parts. Magic, as you persist in calling it, is rather more all or nothing, I'm afraid.'
'The water is part of the lake.' Sherlock insisted.
'So are you.' Jim replied. 'But you are not the lake, Sherlock. Not by a long shot. And, even if you could take a piece of the lake wherever you go, you can't take the moonlight. I've been building your cage for two years. Do you really think you can break out of it so quickly?'
'Is that what you want, Jim? Me in a cage?'
Moriarty shrugged. 'Possibly. You are very pretty. Maybe one day you'll even sing for me.'
Sherlock grimaced. 'Not bloody likely.'
Moriarty smirked. 'But I'd much prefer to let you out and see you choose to stay. You've seen what I can do. You've felt it. You can't tell me you don't want to taste this power for yourself.'
'I want to go home.'
Jim snorted. 'This is your home, now. When are you going to accept that?'
'I'll never give myself to you.'
Jim laughed aloud at that. 'Oh, Sherlock. I've already taken you. And I can keep you, just like this, until we both die. I wouldn't mind it terribly. You make such a lovely pet. But one day you will realise how much you want what I'm offering. You'll forget all about your little soldier and those ridiculous fools you lived with, and you'll only want me, and what I can give you.'
The words burned Sherlock, and he was assaulted with sense memories. Harry's hands, deft and confident, arranging him in front of a slate grey backdrop. His mother's lips, warm and soft, pressed against his feverish brow as she slipped the blanket over his body. Ann's laughter tinkling in his ears, her hands clapping along as his fingers and bow danced across the violin strings. Mycroft's arm slipping around his shoulders, pulling him in close enough to hear the steady rhythm of Mycroft's heartbeat. His father's eyes, gazing out at him from the mirror, smiling a secret smile at him from behind a book.
'I want the necklace back.' He said.
Jim's face fell, and his eyebrows knitted together. It was like watching something hatch from a smooth egg. Something with teeth. The fury peeked through the cracks, growing until it consumed the façade.
'No. You gave it to me. It's mine. You are mine.'
'I'm not. You can hold me, but you'll never possess me.'
There were striking snakes which moved slower than Moriarty's hand. The slap took Sherlock by surprise, snapping his head back and to the side. Moran was on him a breath later, wrenching his arms behind the chair and holding him in place.
'Do you have any idea what I've done to you, Sherlock?' Moriarty demanded.
Sherlock glared up at him through his fringe and said nothing.
'I've changed you. Do you get that?' He waved his hand, and the food on the table changed into sad-looking takeaway. It smelled like McDonald's, actually, and Sherlock's stomach lurched. He'd always hated that smell. 'I can change things. I can make them different. I made you different. You're not a man anymore, Sherlock. That's why you change every morning. That's why you can't change back without the lake. You aren't human. You're a swan. I made you a swan. That's you're true form, now. This, this,' He gestured at Sherlock, the motion taking in his whole body. 'Is the disguise. That's what you are, without me. You're nothing but a long-necked duck! You need me! I make you whole. I make you more!'
'You make me sick.'
Moriarty slapped him again, so hard Sherlock feared his neck might snap.
'Throw him back in the lake.' Moriarty snarled. 'No food for a week. And take this.'
He threw a leather cord to Moran, who caught it one-handed and grinned.
Jim glared down at Sherlock, his eyes black pits of hate. 'I want his little policeman grounded until further notice. Nobody's flying anywhere.'
Sherlock sneered up at Moriarty, then spat in his face. Moriarty gestured with one hand, Sherlock felt Seb move behind him, then everything went black.
~~~
'I don't…understand.' Said Mrs Hooper. 'You think your friend's abduction has something to do with Molly?'
She was sat on the sofa, her husband beside her with his arm around her shoulders. John was sitting in a plush chair opposite, holding a cup of tea in his hands and not drinking it. 'I think it's a possibility.' He said.
'How? I mean, it's been so long.' Mr Hooper looked lost and a little frightened.
'I know, and…I know it sounds strange. But this is pretty much the only lead we've got. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something, about Molly, about how she disappeared.'
'We've told the police everything we know.' Mrs Hooper protested. 'We wouldn't hold anything back. We would never do anything that could keep them from finding her.'
'I know. But circumstances have changed, now. Please, all I'm asking for is a little time. If we're right, and these two events are connected, there's a chance I could find them both.'
Mr Hooper pressed his lips together. 'It's been six years. What makes you think there's anything to find?'
John fixed his eyes on the man. 'For the same reason you do. I'm not going to believe he's dead until I see the body with my own eyes. Until I have proof otherwise, Sherlock is still alive and I will keep searching for him.'
Mr Hooper heaved a long breath. 'Okay. Yes. What do you want to know?'
'Did Molly know a boy named Carl Powers?'
Mr and Mrs Hooper exchanged a glance, and Mrs Hooper frowned in concentration. 'I…think…wasn't he that swimmer boy? The one she--'
'Oh yes! Oh…oh he died, didn't he? In London at that tournament.'
'That's him.' John confirmed. 'Molly knew him?'
'Tutored him, yes.' Said Mrs Hooper. 'They weren't close. He was having trouble with his science classes. They were going to take him off the team, so his teacher asked Molly if she'd mind working with him.'
'He wasn't happy about it.' Mr Hooper added. 'She was two years younger than him. She said she hated it, but she was getting credits for it. She came home crying once or twice. We tried to convince her to give it up, but she said if Jimmy could do it, she could.'
John perked up. 'Jimmy?'
'A boy from Carl's year.' Mrs Hooper explained. 'He worked with them sometimes, for the bits Molly's year hadn't covered yet.'
'Do you remember anything about him?'
She shrugged. 'We never met him. Molly talked about him sometimes. Carl was horrible to him, apparently. He was apparently a very clever boy. Quiet, too. Molly said he didn't have any friends.'
'He wasn't local.' Mr Hooper went on. 'Irish, I think. The other children laughed at his accent.'
'Were he and Molly close?' John asked.
Mrs Hooper shook her head. 'She liked him, I think. A bit, anyway. But he never really spoke to her. You know how it is with children. Two years is as good as two decades for them.'
John remembered the sprawling gap he'd felt between him and Sherlock growing up, and his stomach fell. Three years. May as well have been a lifetime. God they were so stupid.
'What was Jimmy's surname, do you remember?'
'Morse…or something?' Said Mrs Hooper. 'Began with an M, I'm fairly sure. Or an N…'
'Morgan. Or Morris.' Mr Hooper suggested. 'Mor-something.'
John nodded. 'Thank you.'
'You don't…think he could have done it?' Mrs Hooper looked worried.
John sighed. 'I can't rule it out. I can't rule anything out, not when I've got so little. Thank you for your help.'
Mr Hooper put a hand on John's arm to stop him standing up. 'If you can…find her. Please, just…just make sure she knows we never really stopped looking.'
John covered the hand with his own. 'I'll do everything I can.'
He left the house and got into the car. Mike sat behind the wheel, looking at him.
'How did it go?'
John smiled, and it very nearly reached his eyes this time. 'I might have something for Mycroft to play with.'
Mike nodded. 'Good. The crash site?'
'Please.'
~~~
Chapter Seven
Fandom(s): Sherlock/The Swan Princess/Swan Lake
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Moriarty, Moran, Mycroft, Harry, Ann Watson, Vienne Holmes, Mike Stamford
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John, suggested Moriarty/Moran, very twisted semi-Moriarty/Sherlock
Warnings: Violence, torture, abduction, coersion, Jim Moriarty with access to magic.
Summary: The final part of The Swan Triad, following Till Now I Never Knew and Interlude. Sherlock struggles to escape Moriarty's prison with the help of two fellow prisoners. Meanwhile, John devotes every waking moment to a search and rescue of the man he loves.
Chapter Six
Sherlock's skin was warm and yielding under his fingers, flushed a soft pink from the heat between them. John let his hands explore the endless planes of Sherlock's body, and Sherlock let him, arching into the touch, inviting more with his breath and his lips and his eyes. They said nothing, moving together in silence, they didn't need words.
Sherlock shifted and flipped them over so he was above John, gazing down at him. He lowered his head and John was lost in the heat of Sherlock's lips. Sherlock pulled away, smiling, and John strained to find the kiss again. But Sherlock moved too far away for John to reach, still smiling.
The smile froze on Sherlock's face, and John watched a bright red hole appear on Sherlock's forehead, just above his left eyebrow. He screamed, but no sound came out. The hole widened, and Sherlock's face sagged. A stream of blood spilled from the hole, running over the curves and slopes of Sherlock's features. John screamed in silence and thrashed, but he couldn't move away. Sherlock's body slumped, and he was teetering forward, his bloodied face tumbling toward John, and John could already taste the hot iron tang of Sherlock's blood on his tongue. His voice returned to him, and he woke, screaming.
John clutched the duvet to his chest, gasping and shaking. He looked around, confused, then remembered he had fallen asleep in Sherlock's bedroom.
He collapsed back onto the pillow and clenched his eyes shut. He clutched his hands around his upper arms and squeezed bruises into his own skin. It sharpened him, pulled him the rest of the way clear of the nightmare.
Once he was alert, he stumbled out of the bed and into Sherlock's en suite. He splashed cold water over his face, then leaned on the sink, willing the strength back into his legs.
It wasn't the first time his first kill had invaded his dreams, but he'd never seen Sherlock in those nightmares before, and it shook him. He didn't want Sherlock to see him as a killer, didn't want to find out whether or not Sherlock could love a man with blood on his hands. But he would have to. Sooner or later, like it or not, Sherlock would see the man John Watson had become.
~~~
'Alright now, toward me.' Sherlock backed away from the lake and beckoned Molly with both hands.
Molly gulped visibly and took a few more steps toward the shoreline. Her steps were shaky, and her chest heaved with nervous breaths.
'Sherlock, stop this. Do you honestly think she hasn't tried? I've seen it.' Lestrade picked up a stone and skipped it over the water. Molly flinched and glared at him.
'She goes all splashy and gets sent back. Always happens. She can't do it.'
'Shut it, Greg. You're an idiot.'
'I've seen it happen!'
Sherlock dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging painfully, and gritted his teeth. "You said it yourself, Jim was a novice when he took you. Imagine how feeble his work must have been when he took Molly!"
'But Jim didn't take me.' Molly pointed out. 'The Old Man did.'
Sherlock froze. '…yes. Him. What more can you tell me about him?'
Molly shrugged. 'He frightened me. He was always looking. A bit like you, really. Only he wasn't curious like you are. It was more like…waiting. Like he knew it all already and he was just waiting for the show to start. And it was sort of…hungry, too.'
'Fascinating.' Sherlock deadpanned. 'But tell me something useful. Tell me how he behaved around Jim. Or, more to the point, how Jim behaved around him.'
Molly tilted her head. 'He was always there, whenever Jim came to look at me. Like you look at a fish in a tank. He stood behind Jim's shoulder, and he was always touching him in some way. He'd put a hand on Jim's head or his arm, or around his shoulders. He used to tell Jim to make me do things. Move the water or change my shape, things like that. And Jim did it, but he never looked like he wanted to. He looked bored.'
'They did this often? These lessons?'
Molly nodded. 'Most every day. And on nights when there was a lot of moonlight. Jim would hold out his hand and I'd…do things. I couldn't stop it. He used to make me dance for him…' And Molly crossed her arms over her chest as though to hide from leering eyes and averted her gaze.
'One day,' said Greg. 'I'm going to kill that little shit.' He said it the way other people might say 'One day I'll start a vegetable garden'.
'You won't Greg. You're an officer of the law. You don't execute criminals.' Sherlock replied with a dismissive wave. 'Molly, keep toward me. All the way to the edge.'
Molly did as instructed, and waited. There was a slight breeze and it caught at her skirts, occasionally pushing the hem past the lake's boundary. The fabric went transparent, then, nothing more than water moving like cloth.
'Alright. Fact: you can't move beyond the water's edge without losing control over your shape.'
'Right.'
'And fact: you can manipulate the water around you with an effort of will, even past the boundary line.'
Molly frowned. 'Not…really. I mean, once it passes the shoreline I don't control it anymore. I have to build up enough momentum on this side to make it carry over. And if I aim it at Jim it sort of…dribbles.'
'But you can send it past the boundary.' Sherlock pressed.
Molly nodded.
'Move the lake.'
'What?' Molly asked.
'What?' Greg echoed.
'You heard me perfectly well. The boundary is an imaginary line, it's nothing more than where the water happens to be. Move the line. Change the shape of the lake.'
Molly blinked at him in disbelief. 'The lake? The entire lake?'
'Just this shore for now, but yes. That's the general idea.'
Molly narrowed her eyes. 'Have you any idea how difficult it is to control the water like that? I can't just…just throw my weight around like that! I need…I don't know…something to put into it. I need to be scared or…or angry or something like that.'
Sherlock brought his hands together and rested his fingertips against his chin, prayer-like. 'Like when you were frightened for Greg. You stopped him challenging Moran.'
'Yes. Exactly. I need…a reason to do it.'
Sherlock shrugged. 'Fine then.' And he brought both his hands to Molly's shoulders and shoved, sending her tumbling onto her back. She hit the water with a solid thud, not sinking an inch, not making the slightest ripple or splash, as though the water were solid glass or plastic.
'Oi!' Greg shouted, and he rushed at Sherlock, pushing him away and nearly landing him on his arse. 'What the fuck, Sherlock?'
Sherlock gritted his teeth and knocked Greg back with a right hook to the jaw.
'Fuck!' Greg shouted, staggering away.
'Keep away, Lestrade. Molly's a big girl, she can handle herself.'
Greg glared at him and rushed forward again. Sherlock fended him off with a solid chest blow and a jab to the solar plexus. Greg staggered away, wheezing.
'Stop it!' Molly shouted. 'Stop it, you're being horrible!'
'Then stop me!' Sherlock challenged. 'Come over here and teach me a lesson. You've got the power to do it, I've seen you.'
'I can't move the whole lake!' She screamed, and she lashed out with one arm, sending a torrent of water at him.
He had to cross his arms in front of his face and brace his legs against the dirt to withstand it, but he managed. He stood, waterlogged and dripping, and faced her down.
'You can do better than that, Molly! Come on, get angry! '
'Sherlock, stop it. Leave her alone.' Greg gasped, still clutching his abdomen.
'Piss off, Greg.' Sherlock spat. He turned his attention back to the girl in the lake. 'Come on, six years as his little toy and this is all you have? A few splashes?'
'Shut up!' Molly all but shrieked. 'I know what you're doing! It won't work!'
'Why not? It's true, isn't it? Six fucking years and you've done nothing. You let him use you and play you like a fucking piano and you never fought back. Christ look at you! You own the bloody lake. His precious little pond and you control it. It never occurred to you to use that power?' He chuckled and shook his head. 'Of course not. No, that would require a bit of nerve, wouldn't it? Far easier just to hide away like a scared little mouse at the first sight of him, isn't it?
'Sherlock, enough!' Greg snapped.
'No!' Sherlock snarled. 'No, it isn't! She's so fucking weak, Greg! Can't you see it?'
'If she's so weak why do you keep coming back to her?' Greg demanded. 'Where the fuck would you be without her?'
'Please. You think that makes her strong? She's just hiding behind that one little trick so she doesn't have to admit how utterly useless she is!'
'That's. ENOUGH!' Molly roared. She raised both her arms and sent a massive wave at the two men, riding with it toward Sherlock, her hands balled into fists and her face as dark as a storm cloud.
Sherlock saw the blow coming a mile away. Molly was practically telegraphing it to Moscow. He took it anyway, square on the jaw. Molly's anger combined with the momentum of the water gave the punch enough force to send Sherlock spinning dizzily to the ground. Pain erupted across the lower half of his face, and he ended up with a mouthful of dirt and grit even as the water pounded against his back like a battering ram.
The force of the wave dissipated, and Sherlock waited for the water around him to recede.
It didn't.
He groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows. He looked around, blinking through the haze of pain in his face and his back at the water around him. With the kind of effort used to scale mountains, he turned himself over onto his back to get a better look.
Molly was stood, dazed and astonished, in a shallow expanse of water fully three feet past the original shoreline. The water extended a good five feet further, to where Sherlock and Greg lie, the ripples lapping at their clothes and hair.
Sherlock tried to grin, but his jaw protested and he ended up yelping instead. He gingerly put a hand to his aching mouth. There would be a fairly impressive bruise there.
'I…I…' Molly floundered.
'Fuck's sake, Moll.' Greg swore.
'I…did it.'
Sherlock sighed and let his head fall back to splash in the muddy water. 'Never doubted you.'
Molly blinked at him, and with a weary slump she moved to kneel by his head and placed her cool hand to his darkening skin. Her touch soothed the pain instantly, and Sherlock managed a weak smile.
'I didn't mean it.' He offered.
'You did, a little.' Molly told him.
Sherlock huffed. 'Yeah. A little. I guess I deserved that, then.'
'Damn right you did.' Greg confirmed. Then, to Molly, 'But did you have to knock me down with him?'
Molly giggled, and looked around and the altered lakeshore again. 'Jim is going to go spare when he sees this.'
Sherlock smirked. 'I can hardly wait.'
~~~
'Alright, cheers mate.' John said, slipping a few fifties into the man's hand before bounding back over to where Mike was leaning against the car.
'I feel like I just witnessed a drugs deal, John.' Mike pointed out.
John shrugged.
'John, you're starting to scare me, here. This isn't like you.'
John squinted into the light of the setting sun. 'And what am I like, Mike? How would you prefer I handle this?'
Mike kicked at the gravel under his toe. 'I don't know, mate. But not like this. You're dangerous. You barely eat, you look like you haven't slept in days, and now you're making clandestine deals with military liaisons?'
John set his jaw. 'I know Harlan. Okay? He supplied the base while I was training. He's got a line on damn near every supplier in the region. If anyone can find who manufactured the casing I found, he can.'
'Legally?'
John looked away, studying the landscape as though he found it infinitely more interesting than Mike. 'What difference does it make if it isn't? Legality isn't bringing Sherlock back to me. I'm not about to ignore any avenue available just because it might fracture a few laws.'
'John--'
'Leave off, Mike. Get in the fucking car. We're going back to the crash site. I want to see if our sniper friend has left me any more messages.'
Mike sighed, but when John slipped into the driver's seat and slammed the door closed, he climbed in beside him.
'Lead the way, mate.'
~~~
'What did you DO?!'
Sherlock jerked awake at the sound of Moriarty's scream. He spared a moment to be annoyed at himself for dozing off in Greg's arms. He detested sleeping while he was human, no matter how supple and warm the leather of Greg's jacket was.
He blinked blearily at Moriarty, who was staring in what appeared to be horror at the redefined lakeshore.
'Ah, Jim.' Sherlock said, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. 'Spot of redecorating. Hope you don't mind. We were getting bored with the place.'
Greg's body didn't lose a single bit of its care-free looseness, but his fingers tightened around Sherlock's bicep in a silent caution. Don't go too far, kid.
Moriarty bared his teeth. 'How did you do this, Holmes?'
Sherlock shrugged. 'Really, Jim, I expect better of you. An idiot could see I'm entirely incapable of something like this. No, this was Molly's handiwork.' He gestured at the water spread out before him.
Some of it fountained up and took Molly's shape. She smiled coyly at Jim and waggled her fingers.
Jim's head snapped back as though he'd been slapped, and Moran stepped closer to him, his body tense and protective. 'Molly…' He breathed.
Sherlock wondered how long it had been since he'd seen her, face to face.
'You…you can't do this.' Jim insisted, his eyes locked on the woman standing atop the water. 'I didn't give you permission! You're not supposed to DO THIS!'
Sherlock was honestly surprised that Jim's outburst wasn't accompanied by a petulant stamp.
Molly just kept smiling at him, and her eyes were both soft and hard with amused pity.
'Stop it! Put it back, right now!'
Molly shook her head.
'You're not allowed! You can't break the rules. Moran, make her put it back!'
'If he lays a finger on her I'll kiss Lestrade.' Sherlock interjected. He kept his voice calm, though his heart was pounding behind his ribs.
Moriarty froze, then jerked his head to face Sherlock. 'You'll…what?'
Sherlock shook his head. 'You insist my intelligence is the reason you captured me, and yet you constantly seem to expect me to act like a moron.' He glared up at his captor. 'I'm no fool, Jim. I know you built my Key around a kiss. Your man there told me as much.'
Moriarty stiffened and turned to glare burning holes into his enforcer. 'What. Did you do, Seb?'
Moran shook his head and stepped back, both hands raised in front of himself. 'He--I didn't--they were getting awfully close, Jim! I had to say something!'
'Idiot!' Moriarty snarled. 'How are you that stupid?! Sherlock is devoted to his little pet, he'd never kiss the cop!'
'I'm sorry, Jim!'
'I will kiss him.' Sherlock insisted. He meant it. He had to mean it, or Jim would know. 'I don't know what will happen if I do, but I have to say I'm more than a little curious to find out.'
Moriarty stalked over to him, knelt down and grabbed his arm. Greg sat up and started to wrap a protective arm around Sherlock's waist, but Sherlock pushed him gently back and let Jim tug him free.
'Keep this up, clever boy, and you'll find out soon enough. I wouldn't put too much faith in Greg here having the stones to follow through, though. I doubt even your precious Johnny has that much devotion in him.'
Sherlock forced his nausea down and smirked. 'So it is about John, then? I had suspected.'
Moriarty smiled, oily and sick. 'Everything is about John, Sherlock. It's his fault you're here. You never should have let him kiss you in the first place.'
'I'd do it again. I will do it again.'
He was aware of Greg braced to rush them both. He was aware of Moran's hand dangling a little too casually by his hip. He was aware of Molly standing statue-still and blank-faced nearby. He was aware of all three pairs of eyes trained on him and Moriarty, but they didn't seem important just then.
His eyes locked with Jim's, and the world made a little more sense. He felt something like a hot, tight shiver in his abdomen. It travelled along his spine, up to the base of his skull, and he fought back the urge to wriggle through it. This was what Jim wanted, this storm building between them, the beautiful disaster they could make together. Sherlock could feel it, and it terrified him how much he liked it.
'John will do whatever it takes to get me back.' Sherlock said, and he wondered which of them he was assuring.
'I'm sure he'll try. But you don't come cheap, darling.' Jim's hand snaked its way up to Sherlock's neck, his index finger toyed with the skin behind Sherlock's ear and he had to resist the urge to press into the touch even as he was repulsed by it. 'The price to claim you is a steep one. I made sure of that.'
'He'll pay it.' Sherlock whispered. He could hear Greg shifting behind him, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.
'He'll pay.' Jim nodded. 'I can promise you that much, my dear. Johnny Boy will pay.'
Sherlock grabbed Jim's wrist and yanked it back, removing Jim's hand from his skin. He met Jim's eyes steadily, refusing to look away from the intoxicating madness he saw there. 'We will end you, Jim.' He promised.
Moriarty just grinned. 'Get in the water, Sherlock.'
Sherlock drew a sharp breath, but he stood obediently and walked to the water's edge. He didn't hesitate to step in, and he didn't look back as he moved further into the shallows where Molly was waiting. He took her outstretched hand in his and turned around to face Jim. He kept his head high even as he felt the sunrise creep along his back. He kept his eyes locked on Moriarty, unblinking, until Molly's wave came between them, her hand turning liquid under his fingers before joining the rising water around him.
It wasn't until he was encased completely and he felt the change beginning that he finally closed his eyes and hid his face in his hands.
~~~
'Molly Hooper?' John asked, peering at the photograph. The girl in it was tiny and fragile-looking. She couldn't have been more than twelve, thirteen at the most.
'Schoolmate of Carl Powers.' Mycroft confirmed with a nod. 'She went missing at the end of term. There was a search, of course. Her parents searched for three years, but she was never found.'
'Oh God...' John breathed. He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye as she poured a glass of water, which she then pressed into his hand.
'Mye thinks she might be connected. To Sherlock.'
John blinked. 'Why?'
Mycroft took a deep breath. 'I've been looking into the death of Carl Powers. You must recall Sherlock's obsession.'
John snorted. 'Yeah, he half-drowned me trying to make a re-enactment.'
'Miss Hooper's disappearance is the second and only other bizarre occurrence at that school in that year. Indeed, in any year. Every other incident is easily explicable, commonplace, but not those two. The Carl Powers case was Sherlock's public debut. His name found its way onto a number of lists after that. Working on the assumption that this was how his captor learned of him, the subsequent disappearance became increasingly suspicious. So I did some prying.'
'And?'
Mycroft handed John a folder. He opened it, and saw a school report inside.
'That's is Molly Hooper's evaluation. Does any of that strike you as familiar.'
John read through the teacher's observations on the young girl, and his eyes widened.
'Bright, passionate, isolated, with a pronounced interest in chemistry and biology. I find the bit about her performance in the dissection lab particularly enlightening.'
John's hands were shaking. He set down the folder. 'She reads like Sherlock.'
'Her disappearance was similar as well. Abducted in the open, no witness recollection of the event, no ransom, no body, no leads. The kidnapper never contacted her family, there were never any demands, the investigation hit dead ends at every turn. It's identical, John, insomuch as nothing can be considered a modus operandi.'
'Which means whoever took Sherlock has done this before.' Harry added.
'Indicating, it would seem, that our quarry is older. Old enough to have established sufficient resources to carry out such a flawless abduction six years ago.'
'Or they were working with someone who was.' John said. He licked his lips. 'Mycroft…they took Molly Hooper six years ago, and she was never found?'
Mycroft nodded. 'That's correct.'
John swallowed past the painful mass in his throat. 'All that time, whatever they did to her…Mye, what are they doing to him?'
~~~
'Let go of me!' Sherlock shouted, writhing under Seb's hold. He may as well have been struggling against solid iron.
'Shut up.' Seb said, forcing Sherlock through the doorway.
Sherlock struggled on. He hated it when Moran touched him. It never ended well. He could still feel the phantom ache from the dislocated shoulder he'd received last time.
For all that, he paid close attention to his surroundings. He'd always meant to get into the house, after all. It would be foolish to waste the opportunity just because it was on Moriarty's terms.
The house did not look lived in. Everything was too neat, too precise, and much too dusty. Jim clearly didn't hire a cleaning service, nor did he find it necessary to maintain the place himself. The foyer was dark and empty, flanked by closed doors. Moran opened one of them at the far side of the room and propelled Sherlock through it.
It was warmer through here. There was much less in the way of dust and there were comfortable furnishings arranged throughout the rooms. It looked to be some sort of servants' area, everything too small and too modest to fit with the grandeur of the house itself.
And that was odd, because if Jim was anything he was a megalomaniac. Why would he deliberately inhabit the humblest part of the mansion?
Jim himself was waiting in a small kitchen, sat at a weathered wooden table arrayed with covered dishes. He smiled up at Sherlock and stood, gesturing to the chair opposite his. Seb forced Sherlock down onto it, and he sat there, glaring at Jim.
'Ah, Sherlock. So glad you could make it. Are you hungry?'
'No.' It wasn't a lie. Jim kept them sufficiently fed at least.
'Are you sure?' Jim lifted one of the silver covers, and beneath it was a glistening roast, still steaming. The aroma hit Sherlock like a fist, and he couldn't keep his mouth from watering, or his stomach from rumbling.
More covers were removed. Smoked salmon, mashed potato, veal, beef soup, artichoke hearts, even caviar all laid out before him, all fresh and decadent, and his knees felt weak.
'I'm sure.' He squeaked, then he cleared his throat and, more forcefully, 'Definitely.'
Jim tutted. 'Oh, such a shame. So much waste.' He shrugged. 'Oh, well. Hope you don't mind if I indulge. I'm quite famished.' He took his own seat. Seb remained standing, but he moved to the door and crossed his hands in front of him.
Jim loaded his plate with food, and Sherlock couldn't help but stare. Nearly two months of sandwiches, cool pasta, and cold fruit and veg and he had almost forgotten what hot food smelled like. He wasn't entirely sure he remembered how it tasted.
'I can't stay.' He said, and his throat felt tight. 'You can't keep me here. You can't do that to me again.'
Jim raised his eyebrows, affecting surprise. 'Really, Sherlock, you wound me. You should know me better than that. I promise I'll have you back to your precious little water fairy before sunrise.' He chuckled. 'Although I am gratified to see the lesson has stuck. You do see what happens when you experiment with my rules, don't you?' He spooned some hot soup into his mouth and smiled.
Sherlock flinched. He did remember. There were days when he awoke screaming in Greg and Molly's minds from the memory of those first two mornings. 'You can't expect me to sit quietly and wait.' He said. 'You know me too well for that.'
'Have you succeeded in freeing Molly from the water?' Jim asked.
Sherlock scowled down at his hands. 'You know we haven't.'
Jim smiled. 'No. You haven't. And I do know. I know everything you're doing, Sherlock. I know you've been nicking containers from your food deliveries.'
Sherlock gulped. 'So?'
Moriarty tsked, 'Oh, Sherlock. It's so much more complicated than that. What do you think you'll achieve? You're not tied to the water, Sherlock. You're tied to the lake. You and the feather duster.'
'And what, precisely, is the difference?' The smells were worming their way into his brain, and he was getting lightheaded. He wanted to pounce on the food and shove as much into his mouth as he could fit. He wanted to grab the roast with both hands and sink his teeth into it, wanted to feel the juices from the meat explode over his tongue. He sat still.
Moriarty laughed. 'This is metaphysics, my dear. It's not so easy as that. You can't break things down into their smallest component parts. Magic, as you persist in calling it, is rather more all or nothing, I'm afraid.'
'The water is part of the lake.' Sherlock insisted.
'So are you.' Jim replied. 'But you are not the lake, Sherlock. Not by a long shot. And, even if you could take a piece of the lake wherever you go, you can't take the moonlight. I've been building your cage for two years. Do you really think you can break out of it so quickly?'
'Is that what you want, Jim? Me in a cage?'
Moriarty shrugged. 'Possibly. You are very pretty. Maybe one day you'll even sing for me.'
Sherlock grimaced. 'Not bloody likely.'
Moriarty smirked. 'But I'd much prefer to let you out and see you choose to stay. You've seen what I can do. You've felt it. You can't tell me you don't want to taste this power for yourself.'
'I want to go home.'
Jim snorted. 'This is your home, now. When are you going to accept that?'
'I'll never give myself to you.'
Jim laughed aloud at that. 'Oh, Sherlock. I've already taken you. And I can keep you, just like this, until we both die. I wouldn't mind it terribly. You make such a lovely pet. But one day you will realise how much you want what I'm offering. You'll forget all about your little soldier and those ridiculous fools you lived with, and you'll only want me, and what I can give you.'
The words burned Sherlock, and he was assaulted with sense memories. Harry's hands, deft and confident, arranging him in front of a slate grey backdrop. His mother's lips, warm and soft, pressed against his feverish brow as she slipped the blanket over his body. Ann's laughter tinkling in his ears, her hands clapping along as his fingers and bow danced across the violin strings. Mycroft's arm slipping around his shoulders, pulling him in close enough to hear the steady rhythm of Mycroft's heartbeat. His father's eyes, gazing out at him from the mirror, smiling a secret smile at him from behind a book.
'I want the necklace back.' He said.
Jim's face fell, and his eyebrows knitted together. It was like watching something hatch from a smooth egg. Something with teeth. The fury peeked through the cracks, growing until it consumed the façade.
'No. You gave it to me. It's mine. You are mine.'
'I'm not. You can hold me, but you'll never possess me.'
There were striking snakes which moved slower than Moriarty's hand. The slap took Sherlock by surprise, snapping his head back and to the side. Moran was on him a breath later, wrenching his arms behind the chair and holding him in place.
'Do you have any idea what I've done to you, Sherlock?' Moriarty demanded.
Sherlock glared up at him through his fringe and said nothing.
'I've changed you. Do you get that?' He waved his hand, and the food on the table changed into sad-looking takeaway. It smelled like McDonald's, actually, and Sherlock's stomach lurched. He'd always hated that smell. 'I can change things. I can make them different. I made you different. You're not a man anymore, Sherlock. That's why you change every morning. That's why you can't change back without the lake. You aren't human. You're a swan. I made you a swan. That's you're true form, now. This, this,' He gestured at Sherlock, the motion taking in his whole body. 'Is the disguise. That's what you are, without me. You're nothing but a long-necked duck! You need me! I make you whole. I make you more!'
'You make me sick.'
Moriarty slapped him again, so hard Sherlock feared his neck might snap.
'Throw him back in the lake.' Moriarty snarled. 'No food for a week. And take this.'
He threw a leather cord to Moran, who caught it one-handed and grinned.
Jim glared down at Sherlock, his eyes black pits of hate. 'I want his little policeman grounded until further notice. Nobody's flying anywhere.'
Sherlock sneered up at Moriarty, then spat in his face. Moriarty gestured with one hand, Sherlock felt Seb move behind him, then everything went black.
~~~
'I don't…understand.' Said Mrs Hooper. 'You think your friend's abduction has something to do with Molly?'
She was sat on the sofa, her husband beside her with his arm around her shoulders. John was sitting in a plush chair opposite, holding a cup of tea in his hands and not drinking it. 'I think it's a possibility.' He said.
'How? I mean, it's been so long.' Mr Hooper looked lost and a little frightened.
'I know, and…I know it sounds strange. But this is pretty much the only lead we've got. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something, about Molly, about how she disappeared.'
'We've told the police everything we know.' Mrs Hooper protested. 'We wouldn't hold anything back. We would never do anything that could keep them from finding her.'
'I know. But circumstances have changed, now. Please, all I'm asking for is a little time. If we're right, and these two events are connected, there's a chance I could find them both.'
Mr Hooper pressed his lips together. 'It's been six years. What makes you think there's anything to find?'
John fixed his eyes on the man. 'For the same reason you do. I'm not going to believe he's dead until I see the body with my own eyes. Until I have proof otherwise, Sherlock is still alive and I will keep searching for him.'
Mr Hooper heaved a long breath. 'Okay. Yes. What do you want to know?'
'Did Molly know a boy named Carl Powers?'
Mr and Mrs Hooper exchanged a glance, and Mrs Hooper frowned in concentration. 'I…think…wasn't he that swimmer boy? The one she--'
'Oh yes! Oh…oh he died, didn't he? In London at that tournament.'
'That's him.' John confirmed. 'Molly knew him?'
'Tutored him, yes.' Said Mrs Hooper. 'They weren't close. He was having trouble with his science classes. They were going to take him off the team, so his teacher asked Molly if she'd mind working with him.'
'He wasn't happy about it.' Mr Hooper added. 'She was two years younger than him. She said she hated it, but she was getting credits for it. She came home crying once or twice. We tried to convince her to give it up, but she said if Jimmy could do it, she could.'
John perked up. 'Jimmy?'
'A boy from Carl's year.' Mrs Hooper explained. 'He worked with them sometimes, for the bits Molly's year hadn't covered yet.'
'Do you remember anything about him?'
She shrugged. 'We never met him. Molly talked about him sometimes. Carl was horrible to him, apparently. He was apparently a very clever boy. Quiet, too. Molly said he didn't have any friends.'
'He wasn't local.' Mr Hooper went on. 'Irish, I think. The other children laughed at his accent.'
'Were he and Molly close?' John asked.
Mrs Hooper shook her head. 'She liked him, I think. A bit, anyway. But he never really spoke to her. You know how it is with children. Two years is as good as two decades for them.'
John remembered the sprawling gap he'd felt between him and Sherlock growing up, and his stomach fell. Three years. May as well have been a lifetime. God they were so stupid.
'What was Jimmy's surname, do you remember?'
'Morse…or something?' Said Mrs Hooper. 'Began with an M, I'm fairly sure. Or an N…'
'Morgan. Or Morris.' Mr Hooper suggested. 'Mor-something.'
John nodded. 'Thank you.'
'You don't…think he could have done it?' Mrs Hooper looked worried.
John sighed. 'I can't rule it out. I can't rule anything out, not when I've got so little. Thank you for your help.'
Mr Hooper put a hand on John's arm to stop him standing up. 'If you can…find her. Please, just…just make sure she knows we never really stopped looking.'
John covered the hand with his own. 'I'll do everything I can.'
He left the house and got into the car. Mike sat behind the wheel, looking at him.
'How did it go?'
John smiled, and it very nearly reached his eyes this time. 'I might have something for Mycroft to play with.'
Mike nodded. 'Good. The crash site?'
'Please.'
~~~
Chapter Seven