The Fourth Kidnapping [Sherlolly Short Story]

5

"Right, now. Which room?" John posed the question to Sherlock as they stood in the hall at the entrance to St Bart's. Molly's phone pinged, and Sherlock whipped it out.

Unknown number                                      Now
Very good. I think you've earned yourself

some phone time.

The phone began to ring and Sherlock answered it. "Molly?"

They could hear her haggard breath through the phone, but no answer came.

"Molly, are you there? It's Sherlock."

"Sherlock..." she hardly whispered through breaths.

"Yes, it's me. Listen, I'm coming to get you, alright? Where are you?"

"I don't...know...I've got a blindfold on...I'm at St. Bart's though...dunno which room..."

"Yes, good, is she with you or are you alone?"

There was a weak cry of pain from Molly and Sherlock screwed his eyes shut.

"Someone's...here...they've got a...gun...to my head..."

John inhaled sharply and drew his hand across his mouth. Sherlock swallowed and opened his eyes again. "Alright. Molly," he struggled to keep his voice cheerful. "You're gonna be alright. We're coming for you, alright? And she's wrong. She targets people she thinks are all alone, with no one to save them except one weak link. I'm supposed to be your link, Molly, but listen, she's wrong. You haven't just got me. You've got John, and Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson keeps calling me and even Mycroft's texted me—I just want to make sure you know that. This whole incident; it's just an experiment, to make you feel inferior, and if you give into that, you're letting her win. And we're not going to let that happen, alright?"

"Sherlock, don't come, you--I'm--I'm frightened," came Molly's shaking voice through the device.

"I know, it's alright, you'll be alright, just listen—" He was cut off by the clatter of the other phone being knocked to the floor, and then the muffled screams of Molly as her abductor did heaven knows what to her. Finally there was an uncanny silence and then a click as the call was ended. Sherlock paced the hall quietly and John breathed heavily. "What now, Sherlock? Where—where is she?"

"The screaming, that was our next clue. Above us, east, I'd say second floor in the thirties." He gestured with his hands as he said this, his eyes shut. John shook his head, frowning a bit. "This seems too easy. Why the twenty-four hours? It's only been three."

Sherlock blinked his eyes wide open and turned to him. "It's not about the mystery, John. It's not time to figure things out, it's time to see how much someone's life matters to someone else. It's not about the deduction and clues, it's about the pain. Emotional context." He screwed his eyes shut again and shook his head violently before striding off down the hall towards the stair.