"Really, Sherlock. Do you run out on all your friends like this, or is it just me?"
There was that whisper again.
"You've forced my hand a little, dear," he continued. "I was hoping to have a little more fun before I killed you."
Molly made a slight whimpering sound and Sherlock turned to look at her. "Ah, yes, you've sealed her fate as well." Sebastian clucked his tongue and shook his head. "So hasty, Sherlock. She might have lived." He turned and walked to where Molly was tied, her back against the crates along the wall. Sherlock once again estimated the distance between the two of them. 3.48 metres. Much too far.
Their abductor stood beside the pathologist -my pathologist- and sneered. "Even now, after all you've done to her, I doubt she would blame you." He loosened the gag so it fell around her neck. "Tell him you hate him for what he's done, Dr. Hooper. Tell him he's to blame, that you would let him die alone here." Seb paused and continued his eerily quiet commands. "Sound like you mean it, and I might let you go."
Molly stared at Sherlock with tears streaming down her cheeks. "You know I can't do that, Dr. Moran," she whispered in kind.
Of course. Dr. Moran. Molly's colleague at the morgue. That's how he knew she helped me, he was there.
Seb smacked her and Sherlock shouted out. "Fool," he snarled in her face. "I hoped you would have more sense." He strode over to the detective and lifted him to a sitting position by his hair. "You have destroyed enough lives, Holmes. It's high time you paid up."
Irene stood in the shadows, watching the scene roll out. She knew, suddenly, what would come next. Up till this point she had told herself that it was just a game, just like always. That her playing was the surest way to survive. What with Holmes being so clever, of course he would survive too.
"You told me you owed me Sherlock! As you left me to die in that fire, you didn't seem to recall it. But you do now. You know what you took from me. You took my voice. My dignity. My whole life!" The man's voice was hoarse from futile attempts to scream in his enemy's face. "You owed me. And now, I'm collecting the debt."
Sherlock stared with dull eyes into the maniac's face, allowing no expression to cross his. Molly's eyes were on him and he ached to go to her, to protect her. But he had no way out. "Let Molly go," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the blazing orbs that stared him down. "Please."
Moran snorted and threw Sherlock down, stalking away. "Typical Holmes boy. Your sense of entitlement is astonishing." He turned and came back to the detective, kicking him viciously in the stomach. "I owe you nothing!", he raged, as Sherlock doubled up in pain. Molly screamed and he turned to her, fury contorting his visage. Molly had always thought him rather handsome; seeing him now, for who he truly was, all she saw was a monster. He called Irene out from the corner, ordering her to gag Molly again. She complied, whispering in Molly's ear as she slipped the coarse cloth back over her tearstained cheeks. "This is where loving Sherlock Holmes gets you, Doctor. Is he really worth it to you?"
Sherlock was desperately trying to formulate a plan as Sebastian sloshed gasoline around the perimeter of the room. His recently mended ribs were broken again, he acknowledged with a wince. He couldn't face Moran head on. He looked to Irene, anger surging through him. He never trusted her, per se, but he would have thought she would have a little more loyalty than this. He glanced around to the door, trying to figure how long it would take for the entire floor of the lighthouse to be engulfed in flames. He attempted to move his hands; they were held fast. There's no time to escape, he thought with a sinking heart. Fire moves too quickly. I should know this by now.
Molly look fiercely up at Irene, her eyes conveying her response. Irene smiled slightly, and fiddled with her hand restraints. "Good girl," she murmured. "I think so too."
Sebastian was grinning as he emptied the remainder of the jerry can directly onto Sherlock. "Ah, poetic justice. I'm sure you see it as well, Mr. Holmes. You always did so well in literature. Though not as well as I did. No, you were more of a science man, weren't you? Concocting little poisons and antidotes, mapping the flight patterns of flies, documenting the differences in various soils, bombing the lab and abandoning only person who befriended you." He knelt down in front of Sherlock, loosening his tie and collar to exposed his neck. "You see this, Sherlock?" He trailed his finger along a horrible burn, spanning his entire throat and continuing under his shirt. "It keeps going, too. That's your handiwork." He pulled up a sleeve and showed him the scars along his forearm. "That too." Turning so Sherlock would see the side of his head, he smirked. A white line through his dark hair showed evidence of a painful gash long ago healed. "Really, you covered all your bases. Well done."
Seb stood up and swaggered toward the door. "Now, I can't guarantee a perfect match, but we'll certainly complement each other when I'm through with you. Though," he laughed, the noise a wheeze from damaged lungs, "you won't be able to enjoy it much." Irene followed him to the door and he pulled a book of matches from his pocket. "Look at this, I get to fulfill Jim's plan after all. Burn you," he paused, winking at Molly, "and your heart." He lit a single match, watching it glow for a few seconds, before looking Sherlock in the eye. He lit the rest of the pack with the first, and dropped them to the floor.
"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes," Sebastian Moran whispered through the flames.
