Chapter 21: Relentless You Survive

Summary: 'Something hidden in plain sight', Sherlock said.

The men- the same man- looked up at the camera, winked and then mouthed:

'Did you miss me?"

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, property of the BBC, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss. No money is being made from this. No copyright infringments intended.

Author's note: So this is...a bit weird. First of all- hi, remember me? I'm the one who started this story about, oh, five years ago and then disappeared off the face of the earth. With good reason, seeing as i moved homes about twenty times, left my job, started the most time-sucking PhD ever, got married, travelled a lot, faced a few family crises.

The main reason i didn't come back to this story for so long is because my laptop broke down, and i lost the outline to the story. I can't tell you how disappointed i was with myself. So, 5 years later, I have no idea what i originally intended for this story. However, i didn't want to leave this story incomplete. So I came up with a new plot, which i hope still works and you guys can still digest.

The main reason that i CAME BACK to this story, is because of those of you who commented and sent me messages on tumblr over the years. You guys are relentless. I love you for it and i thank you. i never thought this story would receive so much love.

I hope i can still do justice to this story and the characters, and i hope the time gap between the last chapter and this one isn't too obvious. i'm not sure if my writing style is still the same.

So without future ado, this chapter is dedicated to you guys, the relentless ones.

This chapter is named after the lyrics of 'Legends Never Die', by League of Legends.

Chapter 21:

People always make mistakes.

There are always mistakes.

Somewhere, somehow, there will, inevitably and oh so predictably, that very, very shiny mistake.

Now it was just a matter of remaining a genius and sniffing it out the way Mycroft would a sticky toffee pudding. That is to say, from a mile away.

'I must have done something really terrible in a past life to somehow always end up stuck with you', Sherlock heard Mycroft's assistant (Annie? Alice? Anthea?) say from behind him.

Sherlock gleefully clicked through Mycroft's private files, scanning security footage after security footage, passing encrypted barriers and firewalls after encrypted barriers and firewalls. Of course, he could have hacked through the barriers without Anthea's (Alex? Arabella? Anastasia?) super-top-secret-data-protection-is-taken-so-seriously-in-england codes, but something about Mycroft and his assistant being forced to give them to him was exhilarating.

The game was afoot.

This must be what other humans feel when they find out that their spouse hadn't run off with a lover after all and was, in fact, just dead. What tiny, boring lives they must lead.

'I didn't think that you would be religious', Sherlock replied. 'Unless you consider Mycroft a deity in which case I think you have done plenty in your present life to deserve a lot of things'.

Deduction wasn't really necessary for the thoughts he knew were going through Alice's (Alicia? Alina? Amelia?) head, and he wouldn't care to use his energy to do so anyways.

'I thought you said our resources are useless', the assistant (names are boring) said.

'I may have over exaggerated. Mycroft's head barely fit through his over starched shirts as it is'.

Do what you have to do and nothing more'.

'of course', Sherlock said, simultaneously plastering his best smile (which John often said reminded him of the Joker, whatever that means) and copying one of Mycroft's files on Charles Augustus Magnussen (the name rings a bell) to a USB stick he most definitely wasn't hiding with his coat sleeve (so what if John isn't here, he's too busy with mundane things like sex). 'Don't you trust your deity's baby brother?'

(Don't think about John).

A-whatever glared at him, her eyes narrow.

'Whenever you're ready', she hissed. ' I will escort you to Molly's flat.'

'Not necessary', Sherlock said, eyes back on the screen, flicking through security footage. 'Just give me Mycroft's pass and I'll talk to Lestrade and whoever else is charge'.

'I've already told you your beloved Lestrade won't be there', the assistant said. ' The situation is complicated as it is and at this moment we don't really know who we can trust'.

'But I need-'

'This might be a game to you', A-whatever interrupted. 'And as hilariously ridiculous a concept it might seem to what you probably consider a more highly evolved brain, but Molly means something to your brother. And whatever you feel about Mycroft, he has never made a joke of those you love. Even when that doesn't include him'.

Sherlock stopped typing.

'I never said my brain was more highly evolved', he said. 'I'm simply just more exceptional than everyone else'.

Eyes were being rolled. Sherlock supposed he was lucky his head wasn't. Suddenly, he noticed something shiny.

'Did Mycroft put a camera outside St Bart's?" he said. 'I didn't realise he was such a pervert'.

'That's what I've been trying to tell you about on the way here, but you were too busy mind-palacing' , A-whatever said shortly. 'Mycroft didn't have a camera installed there'.

(How does she know about my mind palace).

A-whatever pushed Sherlock's hands off the computer, and deftly guided him to another folder. 'This is what I was busy extracting while you were copying Mycroft's files to that USB. That will be corrupted by now, by the way'.

(Maybe the assistant is more useful than he thought)

(Not as useful as John)

(Don't think about John)

'I haven't had a chance to review the footage properly yet', the assistant said. 'It seems to have been installed years ago, I'm not sure how it escaped us at all-'

'-How far did you get?", Sherlock said, his mouth suddenly dry.

(I don't understand)

'You realise that extracted this literally five minutes ago in the car, using my phone-'

(There's the mistake)

(it's not shiny at all, it's dark, dark as the dungeon he was tied up in when Mycroft found him- why did Mycroft have to go find him, if he hasn't found him Sherlock might have realised, he might have noticed that he was-)

'Sorry', Sherlock said, eyes burning.

The assistant stopped, suddenly wrong-footed.

'I- you're what?''

'I'm not saying it again', Sherlock hissed out from between his teeth. 'But I think I may have missed something during my time away'.

On the screen was several different clips of camera footage.

A post delivery man, carrying in the package with the bomb.

A man in a lab coat and googles, smoking on the ledge.

A male porter carrying a patient on a stretcher. Or more likely, a dead body.

'Something hidden in plain sight', Sherlock said.

In all the footage, at different time points, the men- the same man- looked up at the camera, winked and then mouthed:

'Did you miss me?"

/

The woman stirred. Finally.

'Wha-' she said, and sat up, wincing as she did. 'Where-Where am I?'

Mycroft put on his mask, and did not think of Molly. He smiled a fake smile.

'Ah', Mycroft said, genially. 'Laura. You work at the reception of St Bart's where Molly works. I believe we have much to… discuss.'

Laura blinked.

'I don't know who you are', she said. 'Who are you?"

Read: woman (the name Laura is unlikely her actual name) appears frightened: an act. Eyes indicate wariness but alertness, easily misconstrued as fear. Fists closed tightly: not struggling, but testing the tightness of the ropes. Has decided I am not an idle threat. Intends to keep up the act as long as possible.

So be it, then.

'I believe you know who I am,' Mycroft replied. 'I think it may be more interesting to find out who you are, or rather, who you are pretending to be.'

And why.

Laura struggled against the ropes, fat drops of tears spouting from her eyes.

'I don't know who you are', She insisted. 'Where am I? I don't understand!'

Read: she really does have the act down to a fine act.

Mycroft really didn't have the patience for this. Not today.

' Your name is not Laura', Mycroft supplied. 'You have been working alongside Molly for the last three years and 9 months, However, you are not a receptionist, nor do you have the qualifications for it. Your name is simply listed as L.R.P and, as flawless as your accent may seem to a layman's ear, you are not English.'

Laura's face, for the briefest of seconds, changed, twisting in a rather ugly way.

'Not being English is a crime these days, is it?', Laura hissed.

Read: Not that good an actress after all.

'So I think it may be prudent to skip the formalities here as, forgive me, I am a bit short on time. ', Mycroft continued, walking up to the woman.

Laura looked straight at him, unblinking, goading.

'Let's cut to the chase', Mycroft said, looming over the captive woman. 'What the hell do you want and where is Molly?'

'I don't think you will like the answer', Laura said, her voice deeper and more thick now.

'It's not for you to decide what I like or dislike', Mycroft said, his voice sharp. 'It may have escaped your notice that your answers make a large difference on whether you live or die today'.

Laura's face twisted again, between a grimace and a smirk.

Read: Actual pain- no, strike that- emotional pain. Why?

'I don't know much', she said. 'All I know you all are as pathetic as he told me'.

Read: he. he. He, as in someone he knew, someone the woman was construing as a familiar, known figure between them both. All. All as in-

'I watched her', Laura said. 'Every day. So simple. So mundane. I didn't understand why she was the mark. Who knew someone like that knew the things she did.'

Read: Molly and Sherlock. Obvious, but why? Sherlock had his enemies, but who was left, after three years of chasing down every last one. They had failed. Molly was in danger because of Sherlock, because of-

'Tell me where she is', Mycroft said.

Laura looked at him blankly. 'No'.

Mycroft hand tightened on the edge of her chair, his fist whitening.

'You appear to know who I am', Mycroft said. 'And if that is true, you know what I can do. And what I have done. You know what I can have done to you.'

Laura's eyes flickered, before becoming blank once again.

'No', she said. 'I can't tell you.'

Molly's face came to Mycroft's mind from his mind palace, her smiling face. The beauty that he never understood, never acknowledged when there had been time-

Laura's eyes flickered again, her face betraying real fear, unlike before.

'You know I can't tell you because you know who he is', the woman said, her voice broken in a way it wasn't before, as though she had only realised where she was. 'He said that you would figure it out. But if I tell you myself who he is, then you know he will find kill-'

Mycroft took his hand off the chair and crouched in front of her, their eyes level.

'- If you don't tell me, then I will kill you myself', Mycroft said harshly. 'I can-'

'- the man I love', Laura said. 'You three are all the same. You, Sherlock and Moriarty. He said you all are pathetic. So desperate to believe love doesn't exist that you destroy anything worth loving.'

Caring is not an advantage. Yet look at us both.

Mycroft's mind cleared.

Read: Tom. Tom. Not an agent but a captive.

'Your lover?" Mycroft said, his voice hoarse all of a sudden.

A single tear escaped her eye.

'My life', she said, her voice suddenly thick, as though her mouth was full. 'It's all futile anyway.'

Suddenly the woman crunched something between her teeth.

Read: Cyanide.

Mycroft didn't get a chance to breathe, let alone react as the woman's mouth foamed and, within seconds, was dead.

/

Molly came to, the blackness in her mind clearing with a crash. The vision was blurred, light bleeding through the corners as she realised she hanging upside down from the ceiling.

A sharp, sheering pain suddenly came to her notice, her ankles on fire from where they were tied from the ceiling. The hospital gown she was wearing was bunched up around her midriff, exposing her thighs and underwear.

'I don't wanna be mean Mols', A voice said next to her ear. Moriarty. 'But you aren't looking too hot right now.'

Molly felt herself shaking, nausea dripping from the churns of her belly into the fuzziness of her brain.

She was so tired. Everything hurt and she was just so tired.

'Just-Just tell me what you want Jim', Molly said, her voice coming out flat, as though there was wool in her mouth.

Even with her vision blurred and upside down, Molly could make out Moriarty's face, feel his breath on her face, the outline of the grin she knew was there.

'But that would be too easy Molly', Moriarty said. 'Nothing comes of being too easy Molly, you must know that by now'.

Molly's vision burned. She was so tired.

'I am not', Molly breathed, the air stuck in her lungs. 'EASY!'

Moriarty laughed. 'Say's the one strung up like a chicken.'

Moriarty started making chicken noises, and moved onto something else.

'oh Jim,' he moaned, mimicking molly. 'Yes, like that, there….yes, yes-'

'SHUT UP!', Molly screamed. Her lungs were burning as the blood coursed through her, rushing to her head. She felt like vomiting, but she couldn't- she wouldn't- give him that satisfaction.

And then Molly suddenly realised that her arms weren't tied up, and with that, she slapped the man in front of her, with all the strength she had, even if it wasn't much.

She was so tired. Even through the pain of her ankles (one of which was broken, she knew) and the injuries on her body, anger moved through her in tides.

How dare he treat her like that.

How dare anyone treat her like that. Even with what Moriarty was doing to her now, her most overriding, all encompassing emotion was anger. Not just as Moriarty, but at all the people who have looked down on her, abused her, been mean to her, underestimated her.

Perhaps- perhaps it was time she knew her self-worth. Even if it is now, on the day that she might die, might be tortured to death by crazy madman, at least she knew it now.

Moriarty had become eerie quiet in front of her, her blurry vision now cleared enough for her to make out the expression on his face.

He wasn't joking now. It was terrifying, the way he was looking at her, like a starved animal in sight of a morsel of food, only to realise it was the core of a rotten apple.

'Tell-Tell me what you want', Molly said. 'You s-said it yourself. Sherlock doesn't think I'm special.'

Fine', Moriarty said. 'Have it your way'.

He moved close to her, his face placed directly in front of her upside down face, his lips on the cleft of her chin.

'I'm not interested in Sherlock. Not this time. He's just the side dish', he said, in a sing-song voice. 'I want Mycroft. I want to make sure he burns'.

TBC

And that's all for now folks! Please leave kudos and comments if you would like to/if you can, they are pretty much what saved this story. The next chapter won't be too long in the waiting as i have half of it written up.

Here's hoping i will finally finish this story!

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