How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 33: A Hole Where Your Heart Should Be

Sherlock frowned down at this display of his phone before deciding to answer.

"Holmes." He was terse, still upset from the last encounter he'd had with the man.

"Sherlock, I think you need to see this." Greg's voice came through the speaker, sounding a bit breathless. No, sick? Definitely nauseous. Why the hell is he nauseous?

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Lestrade? You know I'm not taking cases right now." He thought he'd told the older man that, had he forgotten?

"I know, I know, I just- You'll want to see this one, trust me." There was a sigh and Sherlock could picture Greg's face, careworn and weary, new lines there that weren't visible before this whole thing began.

Sherlock sighed and acquiesced, listening as the Detective Inspector gave directions to the crime scene and paling a bit when he recognized the address. He whispered instructions to the driver and helped Molly in, turning to her once they were settled in the car.

"Lestrade needs me to take a look at something. Do you mind?" he asked, his throat a little scratchy, a little dry.

She shook her head at him, taking in his expression with a touch of worry apparent on her face. "No, of course not. Did he say what it was?" she asked.

He repeated her motion. "No, only that I needed to see it." The detective ran his hands through his hair, agitated. The flowers had done a number on his calm demeanor. Sherlock was obviously ruffled and he caught Molly eyeing him with concern with his peripheral vision. He managed a quick smile and dropped a kiss to the back of her hand before pulling out his phone.

UP MOLLY'S SECURITY LEVEL AGAIN. – SH

SHE'S ALREADY AT THE TOP LEVEL. – MH

JUST PUT MORE PEOPLE ON HER, MYCROFT. DON'T ARGUE. – SH

FIND SOMETHING THAT BOTHERED YOU, BROTHER MINE? – MH

YES. NOW DO IT. – SH

YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND. – MH

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slipped his phone back into his pocket, glancing out the window at the passing buildings. Neither spoke again until the car stopped and Molly gasped. They exited the car onto the sidewalk in front of her old flat. Mycroft had generously kept up the rent for her so she wouldn't have to search for a new place after the threat was eliminated.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat before asking, "Molly, do you want to stay out here?" Sherlock was torn. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to see whatever had happened in her old home, but he didn't want her out of his sight either. The bouquet was a clear threat and he certainly wasn't going to ignore it.

She shook her head at him, her eyes wide with fear. He gripped her hand reassuringly and led her to the flat, knocking lightly on the door when he got there. It opened immediately and he frowned at Anderson, who, for once, had no snarky remark for the detective. In fact, he looked rather pale as he shot a glance at Molly.

"I'm not sure she should see this." He mumbled, knowing that what he said didn't matter, but Sherlock paused and examined the man, gulping when he reached his conclusions, and also looking back at Molly.

She swallowed at the scrutiny of two men but nodded firmly. "Sherlock, I need to know what is happening."

His jaw clenched but Sherlock said nothing, choosing to lead her into the flat instead. Lestrade met them in the hall with another warning, which was also brushed off by the pathologist. He argued a bit but let it go when Sherlock gave him a murderous glance the second Lestrade dared to touch Molly's arm. The Detective Inspector finally shrugged and led them into Molly's bedroom.

The woman shrieked, covering her mouth when she saw what was on the bed and Sherlock paled, once again gulping hard as his grip on her hand tightened painfully.

There, laid out on her duvet, was a body. Not just any body, either. No, the young woman was almost identical to Molly, from her long brownish red hair, to her pale skin and petite frame. She was even dressed in clothing that was obviously chosen to be similar to Molly's own style. A flowered button up and beige trousers with trainers on her feet. Her hair was drawn up into a ponytail identical to the one Molly was sporting at that exact moment.

She was laid out with both hands pressed over the left side of her chest and Sherlock's brows knit together as he noticed the huge blood stain that peeked from underneath her folded hands. He crept over to the bed, leaving Molly and Lestrade by the door and slipped on a pair of gloves he produced from his pocket before gently lifting the dead girl's hands. He dropped them back down immediately and straightened, his whole body stiff. He glanced around the room again, noting that nothing else was out of place. Sherlock doubted they would be able to find anything unusual even after going through the whole flat with a fine-toothed comb, which wasn't something he was planning to stick around for.

"She's missing her heart." He briefly glanced at Lestrade who had placed his arm around Molly's shoulders when Sherlock made his announcement. Molly had paled considerably and was gripping the door frame as if her life depended on its support, her knuckles white with the effort. The detective stared at his girlfriend for a long moment, the whole flat silent at his words. He stripped off his gloves suddenly and crossed the room again, picking up Molly and carrying the woman out of the flat, snatching a bottle of water Donovan was about to put to her lips on the way out. To her credit, the sergeant didn't even grumble about it.

Sherlock set Molly down on the pavement next to the car, supporting her, as her legs seemed rather wobbly. He put the water to her lips and she drank automatically, her gaze blank and unseeing. He opened the car door and helped her inside, ignoring Lestrade who came running out of the building.

"Sherlock! You're not going to help?" Lestrade questioned incredulously. "This is Molly we're talking about here!"

Sherlock rounded on the Detective Inspector, fury written on every feature of his face. "Don't you think I know that?! Of course, it's Molly! It's always been Molly!" He ran both hands through his hair, exasperated. "Don't you see?! He's doing this to scare us. He's doing it to see if he can break us. And I'm not going to allow that to happen. Molly is the only thing that matters so I'm taking her home where I can keep her safe. You're not going to find anything here anyway. Text me when you find out who she was."

"Yes, but where's her heart?" the DI gasped out, grabbing Sherlock's arm as he turned away.

Sherlock stopped, deep in thought. "I have no idea. But I doubt it will be in that flat. I'm willing to bet he has something special planned for it."

He climbed into the car and slammed the door in the face of a surprised Lestrade.