Sherlock's Love Interest (BBC Fan-Fiction)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"What?" exclaimed both John and Mycroft at once. John continued, "You're Sherlock Holmes! You know everything!"

His statement did nothing but frustrate the detective, whose veins on his forehead showed as he grit his teeth. "I told you I was no hero, John. I have nothing to go on."

"Oh, get off it," said Mycroft in exasperation. "You've got the photograph, dimwit."

"Pull it up," he said, ignoring his brother.

A minute later John was enlarging it. "Molly's smart, right?" he asked.

"Suppose so, by usual standards."

"She might have hidden a clue."

"Yes, she did," said Mycroft with a roll of his eyes, "otherwise there would hardly be a point to looking at the photo."

"What's on her lip?" he asked.

Now John knew he'd made a mistake by asking; he could see Sherlock's jaw lock and his fists tighten as if he was about to strangle someone. "Blood," answered Mycroft, since Sherlock wasn't forthcoming. "He hit her and split her lip."

Sherlock let out a deep breath and said, "Her shirt sleeve is torn, just there. Could be anything. But it has dirt on it, so probably somewhere abandoned. The tear might be from a broken fence, such as chain link."

"How observative," sneered Mycroft. "What about anything else that could tear it? Glass, stones, almost any other substance. Now move aside. You clearly cannot function properly."

Sherlock was sick and tired of being told he couldn't do things properly and wanted to strangle his brother, yet he contained himself. "I can think, Mycroft," he said in a half-strangled tone.

"I said properly. Now move over or I will take the computer." Mycroft's patience with his brother was wearing thin; he knew both his counterparts cared for the girls, but honestly...

Sherlock was very reluctant, but moved aside and allowed his brother to take his place. A sharp ding! pierced the silence.

Your brother isn't allowed to help. Four hours left, Sherl. Unless he does... (:
~JM

"Stop," said Sherlock, and he jumped forward to close the laptop, narrowly missing Mycroft's fingers.

"If you don't let me help, they'll die."

"Read this." Sherlock shoved his phone into his brother's hand and sat on his chair.

Mycroft, phone in hand, sat across from him just before John was going to sit. Rolling his eyes, John leaned back against the table.

"I have to be with you all day every day and I can't help?" he shouted in outrage.

"Doesn't that just make your blood boil?" Sherlock smirked at the obvious discomfort he displayed.

"Focus on finding your girlfriend," he retorted.

Sherlock snapped and pulled his gun out as he jumped to his feet. "I shoot the next person to say that." John snickered from ten feet away, quietly enough Sherlock didn't catch it. Wait...Sherlock always caught everything.

"Sherlock, put the gun down. Mycroft's right, you're not thinking-Sherlock!" The gun moved to pointing at him.

Sherlock realized almost immediately where he had the gun pointed and tossed it down. "I need air. Don't follow me."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Stay on Baker, little brother." Sherlock also rolled his eyes before glancing at John and popping the collar of the coat he never took off. Now that the doctor was beginning to notice more, he would have to be more careful not to break from routine at all. He also needed to find his scarf, which had vanished.

He was walking down the street when he froze mid-step. When had his scarf gone missing? Just after Molly was kidnapped. She was dragged right past the door and he hadn't even noticed! Cursing himself for letting her slip away, he skipped as many steps as his long legs would allow and darted back over to John's laptop.

"Thought you-" John started to say

"Shut up and look at this," he pointed to Molly's face. "The picture's so dark I almost missed it."

"Is that...your scarf?"

"Yes." He looked up at Mycroft. "You can't pin this one on me. We both had a chance to save her."

Rage boiled inside Sherlock when he saw John's helpless expression and Molly's petrified face. His fists curled and uncurled as he itched to shoot Moriarty. He snapped.

John flinched when a loud BANG sounded near his head and another three holes were in the wall. "What-" he started to ask when a lady appeared at their doorway.

"Good heavens, Sherlock! I told you-"

"Mrs. Hudson, I respect your opinion, but please shut up," he answered.

"Well I never! Sher-"

"Molly and Amelia were kidnapped. Now is not the time for manners."

She gasped. "Poor Mary! Where is she?"

Gloom filled John's expression and he pressed his palms against his eyes in dispair. "She's at the police station. She's going to kill me when she gets back."

"Don't be silly! You stay here and help Sherlock, I'll go get her. Oh, poor girl!"

Mrs. Hudson scurried off and Mycroft let out a harsh, short chuckle. "She's quite the housekeeper isn't she?"

From downstairs they heard, "Not your housekeeper."