How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 37: A Deeper Level of Hell

Sherlock sat in the back of the cab, brooding. His eyes never left Molly, who nervously avoided his gaze, choosing instead to alternately stare out the window and at her hands, which were twisting together in her lap.

He hated himself for getting them into this situation. He hadn't been able to find a scrap of information about their tormentor and so they were at his mercy for the time being. Which meant that Sherlock was now forced to take Molly to a place he knew would wound her deeply. He had tried to leave her behind, to collect the clue he needed by himself, but his phone had been compromised and no sooner had he sent a message to Mycroft that he was sending Molly back to Baker Street than he had gotten another text from their enemy, demanding that he take her with him.

Sherlock sighed audibly and Molly's eyes flitted towards him, darting back to the window when she saw he was watching her. He was angry with himself. Angry he had ever succumbed to the pull of sentiment. Not that he regretted Molly. Quite the opposite in fact. Sherlock's regret was that he hadn't been strong enough to stay away from her when he had known from the beginning that he would hurt her one day. He had known that if she stayed with him long enough, eventually she would get burned. Sherlock could have killed himself for being so selfish as to let her face those inevitable consequences.

He shook himself as the cab came to a halt in front of a large brick warehouse. Sherlock shot off a text to his brother, requesting a car pick them up within the hour. He opened his door and got out slowly, looking over the top of the cab at Molly, who returned his gaze, before closing his door and tapping the top twice. The cabbie drove away, leaving the two alone, as there were few buildings nearby and those that were crumbled with age and disuse, having long been abandoned. Ivy crawled up the side of the red brick, contrasting with the deteriorating façade. Sherlock thought it was a fitting metaphor, the ivy spreading across the building like a disease, the memories of this place infecting the mind.

A glance to his left provided him with evidence that Molly still didn't recognize their location. Though he had never been here, he'd deduced where they were being sent by comparing it to where he'd had to go face his past. Sherlock's "rehab," or detox house, was the closest he'd come to hell on earth. It only made since that this place would signify the same part of Molly's past.

He reached for her, grasping her hand in his and lifting it to his lips to plant a kiss on the back.

"Come on, Molly," he sighed as he pulled her gently towards the door that would no doubt be open for them.

He pushed their way inside and coughed as the dust swirled up around them. The detective calculated in his head that it had been nearly five years since Molly had been here, and the decomposition of the place was consistent with that timeline. He doubted anyone had set foot in the place since then. Molly sneezed violently a couple times before recovering and examining the large room they were in with her brow furrowed. It was obvious that she was at a loss, so Sherlock began to walk across the room, heading towards a door on the far side. Its rusty hinges creaked as he pushed at it, having to use a bit of muscle to wrench it open. Behind lay a dark hall, cobwebs covering the upper portion of the walls. Molly gulped, eyeing the webs and Sherlock remembered her telling him at some point that the only two phobias she had were of spiders and enclosed spaces. He shrugged off the Belstaff and covered her head with it before taking her hand and leading her through the hall, brushing webs out of the way with his other hand.

They passed several steel doors, Sherlock eyeing each one as they walked, until they were nearly at the end of the long passage. Sherlock stopped in front of one that was different from the rest. It was solid wood, stained dark, and looked to be reinforced with metal bars. He glanced back at Molly, who was biting her lower lip, and looking between him and the door. She gave a small nod and he pushed it open.