One Yard Below

Chapter Three

Molly Hooper had been missing for three weeks bringing the total number of days since Sherlock had seen her in person to sixty-four. Technically sixty-four days, thirteen hours, forty-seven minutes and seconds that continued to accumulate as he looked down the barrel of Sebastian Moran's gun.

The case had been intriguing, exciting, challenging… all of the things that made the work so important to Sherlock. He found, however, that there had been no real joy in discovering clues, exposing red herrings and ultimately running the villain to ground. This case was different. This time it was Molly. For once, it was Sherlock who had been more concerned about saving the life, not solving the case.

"You are much more clever than you seem, but really, dating Molly to get to me? That’s been done. A bit cliche, don’t you think, Moran?" Sherlock lifted his chin and tilted his head a little, "Or would you prefer that I continue to call you Tom?"

Sherlock had been pursuing Sebastian Moran and Tom West on the assumption that they had collaborated to kidnap Molly, not making the correct deduction until it was almost too late. It had taken him almost all of the past three weeks for Sherlock to finally come to the conclusion that the two threads he was chasing met in the middle. One photograph, an of young Sebastian with his elder brother, left in a small photo album in Tom West's flat ultimately proved to be the case-breaking clue.

"Either will do," Sebastian Moran, formerly known as Tom West, said pleasantly, "It has been a while since anyone used my real name, so perhaps you should call me Sebastian. It would be nice to hear after all this time. The last person to call me that was my brother, actually...just before he disappeared in your brother’s custody."

“Ah yes, Lord Augustus Moran, second coming of Guy Fawkes. Did you really call him Auggie?”

“Yeah, he hated it.”

“So this is revenge for your brother being arrested for his frankly pathetically predictable attempt to destroy Parliament? Really, if that’s the level of intelligence that runs in your family, you should just shoot yourself now.”

Sebastian/Tom just smiled, holding the gun with the ease of long practice. Sherlock had no doubt as to the man’s accuracy. Some of the kills attributed to Moran took extraordinary talent. His rather specific skillset coupled with the guileless expression on such a youthful face made the man practically perfect for such work.

"So, it's down to you and it's down to me," Sebastian said with a fake scowl. Then he snorted, "Sorry. I've always wanted to say that."

Sherlock’s expression did not change, but he actually understood that reference. Molly had made him sit through that movie once when he was hiding out at her flat. He had tried to demure -bolt holes were for regrouping, not slumber parties- but she had coyly mentioned a pirate and, well, it wasn’t a bad movie. Molly’s subtle influence on him was something he always viewed as slightly dangerous. One day he was making derisive remarks about her choice of boyfriends, the next she had him watching sentimental cinema and grooming her cat.

“Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” Sherlock said with an air of boredom. “I’ve successfully played your little game -which, it has to be said, was a bit of a disappointment; strong start, weak finish- and I’ve found you. Now, tell me where you have hidden Molly Hooper.”

“Well,” Sebastian said, in that same flippant manner that Jim Moriarty had used. Sherlock’s skin crawled. “You’re no fun. Jim lied about that part.” He tilted his head and asked, “What makes you think Molly is still alive?”

That was a very pointed question indeed. If one were to ask John and Mary Watson or Greg Lestrade, the answer might be that they didn’t. The evidence that they found two days after Molly’s disappearance certainly suggested a fatal encounter.