How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 8: Let the Games Begin

Sherlock lay on the couch in his dressing gown, fingers steepled and brow furrowed in concentration. John had given him a lot of new information to sort through and store for future reference. Admittedly, he was going to delete some of it because frankly, he didn't think Molly would like it if he changed too much. After all, she didn't fall in love with John, or someone remotely normal, she fell in love with Sherlock, even though it was a spectacularly bad idea.

Time slipped by and before he realized how late it was, the door downstairs opened and he heard Molly's laugh. His lips pressed into a hard line at the sound, not at all nervous or unsure.

So she had a good time. Damn.

There was some chattering, which Sherlock attempted to eavesdrop on, but it was indistinct. All he could make out were two separate voices; Molly's sweet, soft tone and a lower pitched one which belonged to the man she had met at the café. Sherlock waited, his jaw tense as he fought the impulse to jump up, run downstairs, and punch coffee guy in the face for daring to show interest in his pathologist.

There was hushed moment, in which Sherlock sat bolt upright, barely venturing to think what was happening, then Molly said goodbye and the door closed with a discreet snap. He lay back down, resuming his thinking pose and listened to Molly's light footsteps getting steadily closer. She entered the room and yelped when she set eyes on his still form.

"Sherlock! You scared me! You should've said something."

"I wasn't aware I needed to announce my presence in my own flat." He responded, sounding a bit colder than he meant to and berated himself internally.

She gave him a baleful stare. "When did you get back?"

He sat up, mutely eyeing her with reproach and she bit her lip, guiltily looking away.

"I didn't know you were coming back today."

He resisted the compulsion to snap out an unkind retort and simply nodded, laying back down. She turned to head up the stairs to her room and he called out, "How was your date?"

She stopped dead in her tracks and took a breath deep before turning to him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Fine."

He opened his eyes, taking in her expression and opened his mouth and—she abruptly turned and stomped up the stairs. Hearing the bath water running, Sherlock closed his eyes again, intending to go back into his thoughts but was interrupted by the ring of his phone. He rolled his eyes before picking it off the side table and peering at the display.

Sherlock froze.

Call Blocked.

He answered, breathing deeply, before quietly saying "Hello."

"Helloooo darlings!! Have you been missing daddy?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically and sarcastically responded, "I just saw my father, thank you."

A laugh came from the phone. "And you, Molly?" Silence then the voice snarled. "Get Molly."

Sherlock flushed red, grateful no one could see his face. "She's in the bath."

A low growl sounded and the voice was pitched menacingly low. "Well get her out."

Sherlock sighed and sat up, pausing a moment before the voice growled out, "I'm waiting!" and Sherlock headed up the stairs and knocked on the door to the bathroom.

He heard a muffled groan of frustration and called out quietly, "Molly, I need to come in. It's him."

A gasp, then splashing water, footsteps, the click of the lock, more footsteps and another splash.

"Alright, come in."

Sherlock opened the door to the steamy bath and took in the sight of Molly, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, covered in bubbles from the shoulders, and suddenly, he had trouble remembering how to breathe. He crossed over to her and sat on the toilet lid, doing his best not to stare at her. He put the phone on speaker.

"Ok, she's here."

"Mols!! So glad you could join the party!" the voice called out, half singing the words. She winced and her hand came up to grip the side of the bath, turning her knuckles white.

She and Sherlock eyed each other, wondering what exactly Moriarty, or whoever it was, had planned for them. "What do you want?" Her voice was subdued and a bit unsteady. Sherlock bit his lip to keep himself from looking at her, uncomfortable in such close proximity to her naked form, even if he couldn't see it.

"What do I want? Oh come on, Molly. You're hardly that stupid. Ordinary, yes. Angel, yes." Sherlock stiffened at the last word and Molly gave him a questioning glance. "But stupid, no. If you were stupid, I would've succeeded in killing Sherlock the first time around." Molly bit her lip, tears of apprehension welling up in her eyes. "But I didn't. Because I underestimated you Mols. But I never underestimated what you meant to Sherlock." There was an evil chuckle. "How does it feel by the way? Sherlock?? How does it feel knowing that I had your little woman in ways you can only dream of? She's told you off, hasn't she? Sad."

Sherlock glanced briefly at Molly's stricken face, gritted his teeth and snapped out, "Again, you seem to fail to find a point."

"Wrong!" The voice snapped back. "Sherlock, you love to show off, don't you?" Sherlock kept silent. "Of course you do! You should. We're so much more brilliant than everyone else. Aren't we?" Pause. "I said, AREN'T WE?"

Sherlock and Molly both winced, the volume of the shout echoing in the small space.

"Yes." Sherlock felt odd, never before had he had a problem declaring his superiority to the rest of the human race but this felt wrong.

"Well! Aren't we modest?!" The voice sang out. "So Sherlock, let's put that brilliance to the test. I think you remember the drill. Puzzle, clue, high stakes, time limit. The whole shebang! And this time, you have a better assistant. Because let's be honest, John is loyal and, ugh, brave but Molly's got brains. She sees things that you don't. Including yourself." There was a moment of silence.

"Get ready, loves. Let's play murder."

The dial tone sounded and left Sherlock and Molly staring at each other in horror.