The Woman Who Counted (A Sherlolly Tale)

Chapter 12

WARNING: Spoilers for The Empty Hearse

(Molly’s Flat | Third-Person POV)

            Molly turned on the telly, switching the channel to the news.

            “…that after extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did prove to be the creation of James Moriarty…” A reporter stated. Molly changed the channel.

            “…amidst unprecedented scenes, there was an uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion…” She changed the channel on another reporter.

            “…but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who become something of a celebrity two years ago…” Molly changed the channel again.

            “…questions are now being ask as to why police let matters get so far…”

            “Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from London’s Bart’s hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it’s unlikely he was able to cope with…” This time, she turned off the television. That seemed to be the only thing on the news.

            Sherlock had not been back, and Molly was beginning to lose hope of ever seeing him again. She hadn’t heard from him, or Mycroft. Maybe he wouldn’t be coming back.

(Serbia | First-Person POV)

            With every lash from the large metal pipe, I began to feel weaker and weaker. The chains attached from my wrists to the walls of the interrogation room were rubbing my wrists raw. I was bent over, and I stared at the floor. Never have I ever had to endure this much pain.

            The torturer spoke Serbian, but I could translate it easily. “You broke in here for a reason,” He had said. “Just tell us why, and you can sleep. Remember sleep?”

            I muttered something, which barely I could hear myself.

            “What?” The torturer asked, pulling my head up by my overgrown hair and leaning down to hear me. I repeated what I had said.

            “Well? What did he say?” A soldier asked, also in Serbian. The torturer dropped my head.

            “He said I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair.” He told the soldier. He picked my head back up, and I whispered to him in Serbian again. “That the electricity in my bathroom isn’t working; and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbor!” He picked my head up again, then dropped it after I had whispered again. “The coffin maker! If I go home now, I’ll catch them at it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!” I heard his footsteps as he stormed out of the room.

            My whole body was slumped over, my arms upwards, still restrained by the chains. My grown hair dangled in front of my face, blocking my view. I hear slow footsteps towards me as the soldier speaks. “So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me. You have no idea the trouble it took to find you.” He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head up, leaning his mouth next to my ear.

            “Now listen to me,” He continues in English, and I recognize the voice immediately. “There’s an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear.” Mycroft drops my head. “Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.”