How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 2: An Incident in the Morgue

The city flashed past, the driver veering down side streets and taking shortcuts to avoid traffic.

Mycroft spent the entire trip on his phone, speaking first to one person, then another, trying to get a handle on the situation. No one seemed to be able to tell him any useful information though and the frustration was becoming increasingly apparent on his usually unreadable face.

John stared unseeing out the window, lost in some rather disturbing thoughts. Mary held his hand reassuringly, doing her best to keep his rising fear down. He might have been a soldier with nerves of steel, but the thought of Moriarty made John's blood run cold. After all, the last time he saw psychopath, he was forcing his best friend to jump from a roof and had a sniper focused on John's head. And the time before that, Moriarty had strapped John into a bomb. Really not the best memories there and definitely not something John was keen on reliving.

Sherlock continued to drum on his thighs impatiently. The trip was taking entirely too long and the driver wasn't taking the right streets to get there in the shortest amount of time. Sherlock huffed a sigh and came out of his thoughts to have the eyes of all other passengers in the car fixed on him. He glared at all of them, easily reading their expressions of concern, and in Mycroft's case annoyance, and pulled his phone out of his pocket, punching Molly's speed dial again. It rang twice before she picked up.

"Molly?" Sherlock tentatively questioned when she did not say her usual cheery hello. There was a moment of silence.

"Sherlock," Molly finally whispered, her voice shaking with barely controlled fear. "Sherlock, someone's here." Sherlock's face blanched and he glanced quickly at Mycroft who hung up his call and dialed another number, barking out that he needed someone at Bart's to collect Molly Hooper five minutes ago. He clicked his phone shut and Sherlock turned his attention back to the woman on the other line. "Molly, take a deep breath. Tell me where you are." After a pause she replied, her voice cracking halfway through. "I'm in the supply closet. He knows I'm in here. He's just standing outside the door, waiting for something." She hesitated then whispered, "Sherlock, I'm scared." He wanted nothing more than to say "Me too," but he couldn't show that kind of weakness to anyone so he said a simple, "I know."

Suddenly, there was the sound of a door banging open and Molly issued a shriek that ended abruptly with sounds of a struggle. Sherlock's face paled further as he punched speaker so the other occupants of the car could hear. An outraged cry of pain came from a man and then came a thud. And silence.

Sherlock dropped the phone onto the floorboard, his fingers going numb. In fact, every part of him felt numb. He barely registered that Mycroft picked up the phone and was yelling into it that if Molly could hear him they would be at Bart's in two minutes and she should run out the front of the building if she could. Mary was crying softly as she and John held onto each other's hands with a death grip. Sherlock stared unseeing at the floor. Without warning, they came to a violent stop, all occupants of the vehicle thrown forward with the force of the halt. Mycroft started to berate the driver but the words died away at the glanced up at the building in front of them. John followed his gaze then reached over to punch Sherlock in the arm, startling him from his daze.

"Sherlock, door, now!" Sherlock's head popped up and he automatically opened his door, before looking out. The sight that greeted him was both disturbing and relieving. Doctor Molly Hooper was barreling towards the car, running as fast as her feet could take her. Her hair was falling from her ponytail, her face stained with tears, and, much more frightening, blood was splattered all over her face, chest, arms and hands. In one hand, she gripped a scalpel, unable to let go. He opened the door further and Molly literally dove in, landing across the thighs of Sherlock, Mary and John, with her head in John's lap. Sherlock slammed the door closed and the car began to move, as Molly rolled off of them and onto the floor between the two seats. She drew her knees up close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, whimpering softly but not saying anything.

Sherlock felt at a loss. What to do? He gently reached down and pried the scalpel from her fingers and laid it down next to his feet. There was a moment of complete silence and he asked,"Molly, what happened?" She gave a bitter laugh that ended in a sob and studied him with watery eyes.

"Do you have to ask?" He shook his head.

"You killed him. That's good. He would have killed you." John cleared his throat and Sherlock shot a quick look at him. "What? Not good?"

"No. Not good." John looked down at her, concerned, and declared softly, "Molly, it's going to be ok. You had no other choice." She gulped down a shaky breath and nodded slightly.

The car pulled up to Baker Street and without really thinking Sherlock opened his door and scooped Molly up in his arms, carrying her to the door, where he paused for John to grab the keys from his coat pocket and open it, and all the way up the stairs, depositing her on the couch. Mary and Mycroft followed closely behind and Mary immediately went into the kitchen to make tea. John stopped off at Mrs. Hudson's flat and explained the situation to her, asking if she had any biscuits to go with the tea, as the sugar might help Molly stay away from a panic attack. They joined the others in 221B just as the tea was ready and Mrs. Hudson rushed to prepare a tray for Molly. She took it gratefully and sipped on the tea but refused a biscuit.

"Molly," John took her hand. "Please eat just one. The sugar will help you." She took a tiny bite out of one and smiled shakily.

"You are all very sweet. Thank you but I'm sure Sherlock wants to know what happened." She turned her eyes to the tall detective who had flopped down into his chair and remained silent after placing Molly on the couch. He started at the sound of his name and looked around before focusing on a spot on the wall above Molly's shoulder, unwilling or unable to meet her gaze. He gave a curt nod and she summoned her courage before starting.

"Well, I was in the lab when he came on the telly. I saw it and ran down to the morgue to get my things from the office and go home early. As I was leaving my office, I heard the morgue door open. You know, it has that squeaky hinge so I always hear it open. Well, the person who opened it was trying to be quiet because as soon as the hinge started to squeak, they didn't open it further and slipped in through the space that was there. I knew there was only one reason someone would not want me to know that they were there so I dove into the supply closet and locked it. That's when you called, Sherlock. Then he kicked the door open and I dropped my phone and purse." She took a cleansing breath before continuing. "He hit me." Sherlock involuntarily made a fist at that, his knuckles turning white, and examined the blossoming bruise on her cheek. Molly observed him with a bewildered look on her face but resumed after a beat.

"There was a box of disposable scalpels and I grabbed one... and I cut him... I don't think I killed him though. I cut his face and part of his neck. I'm pretty sure I missed the artery. I caused some damage but I highly doubt there would have been enough blood loss to kill him." Mycroft walked into the kitchen to make a call, no doubt ordering someone to begin the search for her attacker.

"Sherlock, I've seen him before." Sherlock finally met her gaze, his expression one of horror.

"No, no, it wasn't Ji... Moriarty." She hastily reassured.

"Who then?" John questioned.

"I don't know." Molly shook her head. "I am positive that I have seen him before though."

Sherlock jumped to his feet, startling everyone and rubbed his hands together. "Well then, this has all been very enlightening but John and I really must be going. Don't want it to get dark before we get back. Much too difficult." He considered the confused faces before him before heaving a sigh and rolling his eyes dramatically. "Obviously, we have to go to Molly's flat and bring her things here since she will be staying for the foreseeable future."