Sherlock's Love Interest (BBC Fan-Fiction)

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

His shoulders slumped in defeat, Sherlock walked back into the city to get a cab to Baker Street.

He slouched down in the seat and let the humming of the engine calm his racing mind. His thoughts were clear and unconfused, yet he was still unsettled about the ordeal.

"I failed," he mumbled just loud enough that the cabbie could probably hear. "I couldn't find them."

He now had only half an hour before Moriarty would shoot Molly, and the thought broke his heart.

By the time he reached Baker Street he was desperate to compose himself, but he couldn't. Not yet. He stumbled out of the cab and fumbled with his keys, finally giving up and just ringing up to Mrs. Hudson.

He glanced back and saw the cabbie smiling as he talked on the phone and glanced at Sherlock, who had to turn around to fight emotion from giving something away. Just as he thought: the cabbie worked for Moriarty.

Mrs. Hudson came to the door and looked at him. Really looked at him. "Sherlock, what happened to you?"

He pushed past her and pulled his coat and scarf off. "I couldn't find them. Now John and Mycroft have been taken as well. This is hopeless. I have fifteen minutes before they all die because I wasn't smart enough. I couldn't figure it out." The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

He sat on the stairs and waited. Just waited for her to leave. She would. She would eventually leave him there.

And she did. Mrs. Hudson left to put a kettle on, and Sherlock took the chance. He pressed his hand to his pocket and felt the familiar metal of his handgun, then darted down to the basement.

No one was there, and for a moment, one terrifying moment, Sherlock thought that maybe he was wrong. A scream cut through the air, followed by the wail of a babe, and he knew he had been right. As fast as he could, Sherlock ran to the scene, through dark halls and over wet concrete.

In seconds he had his gun pressed against Moriarty's temple. "Put it down. Moriarty, I swear I'll shoot you now if you don't put that gun down."

Molly's leg was bleeding. The bullet hadn't hit any major arteries or veins, but she still bled strongly.

Three men stood in the room with them, men Sherlock recognised from his years spent dismantling Moriarty's system. They glanced at him. They recognised him as well.

"If you shoot me, they'll kill everyone in this room before you can blink," said Moriarty with a taunting smirk.

His eyes dilated, his fingers trembling, and his breathing raspy, Sherlock again ordered him to put the gun down.

Moriarty looked into his eyes and felt instant terror rush through his veins. He realised then that he had gone too far, much too far, by taking John and Mycroft and by shooting Molly in the leg. He wasn't going to get out of this one alive unless he could force Sherlock away from the door where he now stood. Moriarty couldn't go back on his plans though, not now.

So the gun clattered to the ground and Sherlock pushed it toward John with his foot. "Don't move," Moriarty told John. He moved down anyway and the quiet room was met with the sound of a bullet clicking into place.

"You let them go now or I will kill you," Sherlock growled through gritted teeth. It was all he could do not to pull the trigger right then. "John, help Molly," he used one hand to toss his replacement scarf at him. "You will let him help her."

Moriarty may have appeared scared before, but now he just smiled. "Will I?"

Sherlock was so angry, so furious, he didn't know how to express it. He just turned and shot one of the men, the one who had his gun pointed at John. Then John grabbed the fallen gun and shot the man whose gun pointed at Molly, while Sherlock beat the snot out of the third. Moriarty was trapped, as Sherlock was between him and the door.

This took place in a matter of seconds. Molly didn't have time to scream as Sherlock looked at Moriarty after beating the last man to death and gladly pulled the trigger. However, his rage didn't end there. He shot the criminal three more times, each in different places, and threw his gun down like it had burned him before getting on his knees and punching him in the jaw.

When his anger had faded enough for him to properly function, Sherlock stood up. John was holding Amelia, trying to soothe her. Molly was cowering behind Mycroft, who immediately moved when a jealous Sherlock glared at him with a look that could kill.

Sherlock was still angry, still filled with rage, and very afraid of how Molly would react to him after seeing him beat a man to death and shoot another four times, then beat him.

Mycroft glanced between them and left, following John, who was anxious to find Mary.

His fists were still clenched and his jaw locked when Molly looked at him. She could stand, meaning that the bullet only grazed her leg and John had been able to fix her up well enough with just the scarf.

"Sh-Sherlock? Are you alright?"

He let out a loud breath and tried to force the anger away. "Are you alright?"

"I think so," she nodded. Then it turned to a shake of the head and she limped toward him. He saw that it was hurting her and used his long legs to propel him forward. They embraced and Molly took a shaking breath.

"I'm not. I'm still scared." He looked down at her and saw the fear written plainly across her face. A pang of sadness hit him, but he didn't let it show.

"It's alright. I probably would be too."

"Liar," she laughed. He smiled and they stood there for a moment. Although he would never admit it, Sherlock was scared of what would happen next, of how she would reject him. He knew she would. He tried to force himself not to care, but it was nearly impossible.

"How're you now?"

"Better. My hands aren't shaking as much. You?"

He looked down at the bodies lying around them and felt a rush of anger, but it was quickly gone. "I'm okay."