How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 45: The Carriage

"John and I will go in alone."

The party of about ten people, including John, Mary, Lestrade and some of Mycroft's men, stopped abruptly to avoid knocking over the tall consulting detective who had come to a sudden halt in front of them.

Lestrade opened his mouth to protest.

"Molly is our friend too, Sherlock," he said, annoyance and anxiety in his voice.

Sherlock turned around, raising a brow at the Yarder, ready to let loose his scathing deductions on the man. Before he could retort, however, Mary intervened.

"Must we do this now, boys?" she sighed, exhaustion and exasperation making itself known in her tone. "I think it's probably a good idea to save Molly before you two have a pissing contest over her."

Both men looked at the little woman decked out in black with a no nonsense expression on her face and nodded contritely. Sherlock's humility didn't last long however.

"Be that as it may, Mary, but John and I are still going in alone. Everyone else will have to wait here until we know exactly what we are dealing with."

"You mean you don't know?" John asked incredulously, glancing quickly to his wife, wondering again just why he was best friends with a raging lunatic.

Sherlock huffed and shifted back and forth attempting to appear calm and collected. "Of course I know. Or I know it will be one of three scenarios." He ruffled his hair and popped up the collar of his Belstaff.

"Just wait here then," he said, not waiting for an answer before striding off.

No one heard his soft mutter of, "Into battle then."

A few minutes later found John and Sherlock staring at a familiar sight.

They had stopped a few meters from the train carriage where they had foiled a plot to blow up Parliament on the 5th of November. It was the first case back for Sherlock after his extended hiatus of destruction.

It infuriated Sherlock to think that he'd overlooked something when it came to the perpetrator of that particular crime, but obviously he had. He'd overlooked a lot of somethings if this was what he thought it was.

John shuddered thinking of just how close they came to dying in the carriage before them. It wasn't an experience he wanted to relive but considering the situation they were in, it was entirely possible that death was once again an option in this particular location.

"Come gentleman, it's rude to keep your host waiting."

The voice echoed eerily off the walls and the hair on the back of Sherlock's neck rose, though he kept his expression neutral.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he called back. Sherlock turned a leisurely circle on his heel, his quick eyes taking in everything around him, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary until a slight movement from inside the carriage caught his gaze.

He stilled, nudging John gently and indicating the source of the movement with a barely perceptible nod. Slowly, Sherlock advanced and let himself into the carriage, taking a seat directly across from his enemy. John stood by the door, his eyes flitting back and forth between the two men, his friend and his opponent, concern and confusion etched on his face.

A sudden curse from the doctor broke the silent stare between the men and they both looked at John in mild surprise.

"How in the bloody hell did you get out of prison?" he asked, both frustrated and genuinely confused.

"Oh John, such an idealist. We really liked you, you know. In fact, you were my favorite. That bitch," the man's mouth quirked up in a smile as Sherlock's hands tightened into fists at his words, "was James' favorite, but you were mine. All that loyalty in a friend. Not even romantic interest to justify everything you sacrificed for him."

Lord Sebastian Moran, architect of the plot against Parliament and second-in-command to James Moriarty lounged in his chair, expounding his view to the army doctor who looked as if he was barely containing the urge to pummel the smug ex-politician. A barely healed scar ran along his handsome face and down to his neck. Sherlock felt a sense of satisfaction that Molly had caused that damage, but also distinctly felt that the job wasn't done.

"The world isn't as pure as you are," the criminal continued. "Scandals are an everyday occurrence and no politician who is worth his salt stays behind bars for long." Moran cast his gaze back to Sherlock. "You shouldn't have underestimated me."

Sherlock shook his head in protest but Moran merely laughed.

"You did, Sherlock. You watched me for years and never knew. Admit it. We gave you just enough to keep you interested but you have no idea what I truly am. Well, now maybe you do. But you really thought I was just some puppet of North Korea? I'm so much more than that. And lucky you, you get to find out first-hand what I am capable of. The game is on, Sherlock."

John choked and Moran turned to smile at him.

"What, a mere mole can't be something more? I was James' right hand man and bodyguard." He pulled out a handgun and laid it across a knee. "I'm as good or better shot than your wife. A bit reckless to let her flounce around in that tight black assassin's get up so soon after popping out a baby. How's the little one anyway? Still as chubby as she was at birth? I saw her you know," he leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "The security at the hospital is a bit lax, don't you think?" Moran laughed then. "I thought about poisoning her bottle or something but, like I said, you're my favorite."

John's jaw flexed and he was visibly shaking, but his army training allowed him to remain in his spot, not letting his feeling get the better of him. Sherlock warmed, knowing that John trusted him to know what to do. And he was finished letting the criminal across from him dominate the conversation and steer it from the most important point.

"Where is Molly?" The detective asked in a deadly calm voice.

"Oh she's safe, for now." Moran grinned. "But I never harbored the affection for her that James did. I think he might have actually loved her. But you had to go and ruin that, didn't you? Of course, Jim knew you would, but that didn't make it any less rude of you."

The man sniffed as if offended by Sherlock's deductions.

"And it was obvious to me that you simply adored the little whore," Moran watched as Sherlock's jaw clenched, the muscle twitching, before he continued, "but Jim never really believed it. Otherwise, I would've been able to convince him to let me put a bullet in her the day you fell."

Sherlock glanced over at John, who was still standing by the door, fists tight, waiting for an indication of what to do. He couldn't let his feelings and overwhelming fear distract him now or Molly might pay the price.

Moran leaned forward, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Do you want to know how I got her?"

Sherlock remained silent, knowing he would be told whether he wanted to hear or not.

"Daniel."

John's brow furrowed and Sherlock's hand grasped his knee so hard that his knuckles went white. Moran chuckled at the men, shaking his head.

"Our little Molly really does have an affinity for bad men. When she left the flat after your spectacular breakdown, that was a sight to behold, Sherlock, wow, she headed down the street to get a cup of coffee. From there, it was simple to get Daniel, who works for me by the way, not of his own accord but because I'm paying for his daughter's chemo, to go and chat her up."

Moran spoke quickly and excitedly, a slight Irish drawl working its way into his carefully constructed English accent.

"You know, offer her a shoulder to cry on and an escort back to her flat for the night. Just a chloroformed handkerchief later and she was my guest. She hasn't been harmed. Yet. Of course," Moran paused and sighed dramatically, "Daniel just had to be boring and decide to act the hero and try to free her." He grinned wickedly. "So I forced Molly to pull the trigger on him. Now, that was fun." He shrugged. "He was too weak for her anyway. She needs a strong hand, am I right?"

At that moment, Sherlock lunged for Moran and the electricity went off.