Chapter Text
Once upon a time, Jim Moriarty was undefeated and unknown. Until he met Sherlock Holmes. And the man had evaded death just as he had, to go on fighting another day.
Naturally, Jim Moriarty had to fix that.
It was so easy. Too easy. Of course, Sherlock hadn’t known Moriarty was still alive. If he had, he surely would’ve taken some semblance of precautions. Or would he? After all, the great detective had been too foolish to do it last time. Fool you twice, Sherlock.
So yes. In the end, kidnapping the Great Detective and the Lovelorn Pathologist had been easy.
Of course he’d taken Molly Hooper. Who was he going to take: John Watson? No. That was too cliché, too ordinary. Plus there was the little matter that Molly Hooper had helped save Sherlock’s life. She, an Ordinary Plus person at best, had helped to outsmart Jim Moriarty.
Well, he just couldn’t let that go unanswered and unpunished, could he?
No.
So there they were, drugged, unconscious, lying together on a bed in the room that was going to be their new home for… oh, however long he felt like playing with these little dolls.
The room had one window. At the very top near the ceiling. Barred, trapped. He wondered if Sherlock would be stupid enough to try and get up the fifteen feet to it. Probably not. But it was ready for him if he did.
The window wasn’t there out of the goodness of Moriarty’s heart. It was there for them to calculate the passage of time: to know they’d been there for days, weeks, months. It was to create despair.
But be fair, now: he had given them a huge, lovely room. Two wardrobes filled with clothing. Sofa, recliner, rocking chair, table and two chairs, desk and a sumptuous kind-sized bed. A bookshelf, violin for Sherlock and mini-piano for Molly. The bath had a shower, garden tub and a mirror that Moriarty couldn’t wait for Sherlock to try to break plus the basic toiletries. Small door like a pet door for giving them food and drinks and whatever else he wanted them to have. Or to make them take. It was like the perfect hotel room. Hotel California, that is.
CCTV cameras installed and ready, sound system ready, welcome note ready.
Moriarty grinned in delight. It was going to be soooo fun!
Once upon a time, Sherlock Holmes had been able to get the better of anyone who tried to pull something over on him.
That was before he’d met Jim Moriarty.
As a result, he now found himself waking up in a slow fog on a bed in an unfamiliar room.
He struggled to clear his mind, but couldn’t. Couldn’t open his eyes, even. The drugs were still too strong in his system. He was, however, also aware that he wasn’t alone. A soft, warm body was pressed close to him. He drew a deep breath.
Molly.
His last thought before he sank back into darkness was that it was definitely not good.
When he awoke again, the first thing he saw was Molly sitting with knees drawn up on the bed, watching him. She smiled in relief. “I was worried.”
“How-“he began, coughed, sat up and tried again. “How long since-”
“Since I’ve been awake and you haven’t? About ten minutes, I’d say.”
“You’d say?”
She shrugged. “Nothing to tell time with.”
He looked around the room, then shakily got up and went into the lavatory, closing the door behind him. Not much later he came out and walked to the desk.
A note sat on it, addressed to The Happy Couple.
Molly had moved off the bed and was looking around, but when she saw him take the note she moved beside him. Sherlock opened it and they both read.
Dear Sherlock and Molly,
By now, Sherlock has figured out what’s going on. He’ll catch you up, Molly, so keep reading.
The rules are simple while you are guests here at Chateau du Bel Age. Behave. Don’t try to escape. Do what you’re told, when you’re told. Although… that might cause you both to break the “behave” rule. And that’s all right. I’ve got so many ways to make you do what I want. So very many ways.
For now, explore your new home, suite home. Refreshments will be served soon. I expect both of you to eat, drink and be… unhappy. I’ll pop round tonight and visit you.
Your Courteous Host,
JM.
Sherlock put the note in his trouser pocket. Molly paled.
“Oh, God. How did he survive, Sherlock?”
“I don’t know. But maybe he’ll be nice enough to explain it later. For now let’s have a look around, shall we?”
Once upon a time, Molly Hooper had thought nothing could be more wonderful than having Sherlock to herself to spend time with.
How very wrong she’d been.
After examining everything, he’d tried to break the mirror and gotten a severe electric shock.
“I warned you,” Moriarty had taunted.
Sherlock had tried to engage him in conversation, but it didn’t happen. Other than Moriarty warning him that if he thought he’d do himself harm to be let out, he’d be dying and leaving Molly ALL ALONE, and did he want that on his conscience?
Now a tray had arrived through the hatch with hot tea, cold water, scones, fresh fruit and cheese. Sherlock took it to the table and they ate and drank, though Sherlock ate very little.
“Now what?” Molly asked.
“I need to think.”
And with that, he moved to the rocking chair, pressed his hands together, and stayed that way for several hours.
Molly passed the time reading a book, because she didn’t know what else to do.
Sherlock came out of his mind palace when he heard a noise at the small swinging door.
Molly rose from the chair and they both ran over to the door. By the time they got to it, there was no one to be seen. Only a silver tray containing two pairs of handcuffs and a note.
I’ll be up to see you in a bit. I love reunions! And nothing makes for a sweet embrace like handcuffs, so snap, snap.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Molly frowned.
“What does he mean?”
He sighed. “Do you need the lavatory?”
She stared. “What? No, not right now…”
“Well I do. Take these and go stand in the middle of the room.”
“What?!”
“Molly, which part of that was unclear?”
“The part where you explain why you asked me to do it?” Molly snapped.
He didn’t answer, just walked into the loo and shut the door.
Molly did as he asked, confused and a bit scared. She knew it was a part of some game, but trying to figure out what just made her feel ill so she stopped.
Sherlock came out and walked over to her. Without explanation or preamble, he took one pair of the handcuffs and closed one cuff around Molly’s left wrist.
Molly stared, fighting down panic. “Sherlock, what are you doing?”
“Preparing to receive a visitor,” he said, snapping the other one on her right wrist.
“I don’t…” Molly began, but the words died in her throat as Sherlock deftly raised her cuffed arms up and slipped beneath them so that she was embracing him.
“A sweet embrace,” Molly said hollowly, feeling scared and sick.
“Well done, though it took you a bit,” Sherlock said dryly, putting his arms around Molly and looking over her shoulder to fasten the other handcuffs around his own wrists. He felt her shaking and frowned.
“He’s not here to kill us, Molly, or he wouldn’t have done this.”
“That’s so comforting, Sherlock,” Molly snapped.
There was a long pause between them while they absorbed the sensations of their position: Sherlock deducing new things about Molly and Molly trying not to panic.
The sound of the room door opening brought both of these things to a halt.