Pretty Stranger...Why Are You Following Me? (Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Eight

Third Person:

"Amelia Jessica Dryer was a great woman." Stated a woman. She had long red hair, almost wine colored, and hazel eyes. She looked exactly like Amelia Dryer. The girl who died yesterday. The woman was her mother, Chastity Dryer. "She was my loving and caring daughter. One of the greatest people I have ever known and will ever know. I loved her so, so much. And now she's gone. I have no idea why someone would want to do this to her. She doesn't have that many enemies, in fact, she doesn't have any." Amelia's mother said.

Emily was sitting in the front row. A tear slid down her cheek, but she didn't even notice. Molly Hooper was sitting next to her. A camera on them both. But it wasn't a news camera.

They were being watched.

Emily's p.o.v:

Sherlock and John and I stood over the body of Amelia Jessica Dryer. The girl who I found dead I her own basement. We're lucky we found the instrument that was used to murder her, now we at least have a lead. She had short dark red hair. Pale skin, dotted lightly with freckles. And beneath her eyelids, were beautiful hazel eyes.

"What've you got?" I asked Sherlock, leaning back.

"Young, around twenty-two. Least likely to kill herself. I'd say....nurse. Good one, at that. Matching rope burns, like the one's on Jasmine. Definitely a struggle. But why was she killed differently?" Sherlock stated, looking at me. "To throw us off. And it would've worked if they hadn't dropped the knife." John stated.

"Good work, boys. But why did they kill Amy in the first place. Like I said, Jasmine never shared any of her work with us. Unless-?" "Unless they're targeting all the people who knew her." John said.

"Oh, God," I jumped up. "Where's Molly?" And I started running down the halls of Saint Bart's. "Molly!" I called. I looked in all of the likely places she would be in, then the unlikely. She wasn't in any of those. Sherlock and John had caught up with me and we burst through the doors, heading for Molly's house.

We burst through her door. "Molly!" I called. "Molly!" Sherlock called. "Molly!" John called. There was no response. We checked all of the rooms. But she wasn't in any of them. We met by the front door. I was out of breath, Sherlock was jogging in place, and John was almost on his knees.

"Dammit. Where could she be?"

Third Person:

Molly had a bag over her head. She couldn't see a thing. But she could feel the hands gripping her arms tightly. And the rope binding her wrist. She knew the woman's voice at the door.

"Can I help-?" She heard a thump as the frail, old woman clattered to the ground. "Mrs. Hudson?" Molly called, only to be hit hard in response. She was led up the stairs of Sherlock Holmes's flat. Through his door. Now she was sitting in the seat where clients usually sit, being bonded to the chair by rope.

The bag was lifted off of her head. She could take everything in for the second time. The skull on the left corner of the mantle. The little desk next to one of the windows. All of it. All of it.

Even the gun pointed at her head.

Emily's p.o.v:

We pushed through the open door of Sherlock's flat. We had come here to think. But when we saw the door flung open, we knew something was wrong. And Mrs. Hudson lying unconscious on the floor of the foyer only encouraged our hypothesis. John sat down next to Mrs. Hudson. He was a better doctor than myself, after all.

"You two go upstairs." John told us. I nodded, Sherlock was already on his way. I quickly followed him through the cracked door of the flat.

"Molly." I cried. She was strapped to the 'client chair', as we called it. Four men were standing in front of her. They quickly bolted out the window when they saw us, too quick to get s good look. I untied the ropes that bound Molly to the chair and wrapped her in a big hug. Meanwhile, Sherlock was examining the room.

"Are you okay, Molly?" I asked quietly, letting Sherlock work in peace. "Fine, physically." Molly said, a slight laugh at the end. I let out a small laugh of relief, as well. "At least you're not hurt." I sighed. "You mean on the outside." Molly corrected. "Yes, on the outside, Molly." I replied, hugging her again. John came bounding up the stairs. "Mrs. Hudson will be fine. Are you alright, Molly?" He said, examining Molly. "No need, John. She's fine. I've already checked." I stated with a half smile. John nodded and backed off.

"They've left nothing." Sherlock said finally.

"Not a trace?" I asked.

"Not one little thing is out of place. Nothing has been left and nothing has been taken." Sherlock replied.

"At least we know one thing." John piped in. He looked solemn. Bleak like the day outside. I knew what was next. "And what is that?" Sherlock asked. "Em-"

"I'm next."