For the slightest moment, in a flicker of fear and self-doubt, Sherlock wondered if Molly had been in on the game. If she had abandoned him, betrayed him. But Seb's sneer brought him back to his senses. "Welcome back, Sherlock dear," he whispered, and Sherlock felt his skin crawl. "Is Molly alive?", he asked, his voice steady despite a violent urge to strangle the man in front of him. Sebastian chuckled, the laughter near-silent. "For now," he replied, his eyes glittering. "But before we deal with your pet, let's take a walk down memory lane, darling. Or rather, memory hallway, I suppose." He still spoke in a whisper, and Sherlock became increasingly unable to control his anger. He started to reply, but the man turned on his heel and walked up the grand wooden staircase. He followed begrudgingly, allowing the powerplay for now. He didn't want to aggravate Seb until he had Molly back safely. Once he did, though....
They stopped at one of the classrooms. Sherlock knew it was a science lab he used to work in. The room was seared into his memory with excruciating clarity, down the last scratch on the last table. "Do you remember, friend?" He said the last word with an incredibly sinister tone, and Sherlock stepped past him to open the door.
It was quiet, clean and white, just as he knew it would be. But for some reason he half expected to see it the way he had that day, the last day he was here. Charcoal smearing the walls, orange flames licking the ceiling and devouring the desks all around them, glass decanters exploding viciously. He heard Seb come up and stand close behind him, felt his breath on his neck. "Do you remember what you did to me?"
____
Molly was thinking. She knew that she was up high, and that there was no way out for her but the door. She also knew the door was locked; she had tried it already. She'd scoured the room for any bit of wire or metal that she could get it open with, but the place was spotless. Just her and the crates. She was in the top room; upon closer inspection, the pillar in the middle of the room was the lampstand, or whatever you would call it. She had looked again at the circular wall and noticed that much of it was papered over and blacked out. Scratching at a small piece in the middle of the far wall, she had peeled off the paper and saw only light. Once she had realized where she was, she had torn the paper frantically, almost viciously off the windows. She couldn't even quite fathom how much better she felt bathed in light.
When she started to rip through the covers on landbound windows, her heart leapt into her throat. What if he sees me? She imagined her kidnapper storming in and beating her into submission. She knew it was a man, because of how heavy and deliberate the footsteps were when she had awoken for a moment during the abduction. He'd carried her easily, and noticing her come to, had just as easily knocked her back out. Oh, my head.... She let out a soft moan. Deciding to peel off the paper on these walls a little more carefully, she peered out a small strip she had removed and saw the pathway up to the lighthouse. There was no one on it. She moved to the next window.
____
Sherlock stared at the room as Sebastian hovered behind him. "Yes, you do remember, don't you? I can see it in your face." Sherlock turned away, and Sebastian grabbed him by the neck. "No!", he shouted in veritable silence, turning the detective's face back towards the room. "You can't look away, you can't pretend it didn't happen! I've had to live with it for 20 years!" Seb pulled Sherlock by the scruff into the room and pushed him against a desk near the back of the class. "You know this room, and you know this desk, Sherlock Holmes. You know what you did, and what you said," he snarled, his eyes ablaze. "Tell me what you said, Sherlock. Say it again."
The rueful detective stared into the past. "I owe you."
____
One cannot wait for a hero to come, one must become a hero.
Molly pulled at the boards nailed haphazardly. She needed to get to the light. If it still worked, she could send out a signal. She was sure that her detective would be on his way. Catching herself, she blushed despite the circumstances. He isn't yours, Molly. Don't be silly. She continued to work at the rusty nails. Finally, one came loose. She shouted out triumphantly, and leaned in to see the inner workings. It seemed all the parts were there. It wasn't a very old design, they had probably replaced it fairly recently. It seemed to be run electrically, she noted to her joy.
"Time to send out the bat signal," she murmured, and pulled on another board with renewed vigor.
____
Sebastian was ranting, though Sherlock had a bit of difficulty paying attention. Where is Molly?, he thought anxiously. Irene hadn't followed them up, he noticed, and the idea popped into his head that perhaps she was heading to check up on her. He stayed still, but glanced out the window. There was a glimmer of light amidst the trees across the line, and he squinted at it. There was a pattern to it.
____
S....O....S.... Molly signalled out the window, covering and uncovering the window with the tarred paper that had been there. She could see the enormous building from beyond the trees, and prayed that was where Sherlock was, and that he was near a window.
____
Seb had turned away from Sherlock and didn't notice right away that he was gone. As he turned, his eyes grew wide, then narrowed almost immediately. "Bugger," he whispered to himself.
Sherlock was tearing across the lawn toward the glint of light, coat flying behind him, begging whatever powers were out there that Molly was going to be there when he arrived, wherever he was going.
Molly was signalling continually up until Irene grabbed her from behind and threw her to the ground. "Stupid girl," she spat, leaning in menacingly.
The detective reached the lighthouse, struggling to stay calm enough that he could formulate a plan. He needed to get her out of here.
Seb wheezed as he followed his guest out the door and down the steps to where he had stashed Molly. His lungs were really annoying him at the moment, moreso than usual. At least he had Irene to help.
Sherlock raced up the lighthouse steps, his long legs covering extraordinary amounts of ground. He calculated the height from which the light was flashing from as he ran, heading straight to the top level. Adrenaline pushed him forward as he heard a faint cry from above. He threw the door open and stepped into the now brightly illuminated, almost beautiful old room. "Molly," he gasped, staring towards the beautiful captive in front of him, with mouth and hands bound. Her eyes beseeched him, and he was about to question the meaning behind them when he was clocked on the head by a hidden Irene with an old piece of timber she now brandished, recently dislodged from the wall by Dr. Hooper.
"Well, now," she said calmly, as Sherlock crumpled to the ground and Molly screamed behind her gag, "I guess we are moving the party up here."
