Repens

The next phase of Stephanie's plan had begun right after she woke up for what she hoped was the last time. The drugs were making her slightly tingle even after leaving her system. Lack of peaceful rest was noticed a bit more each hour. And the seconds on Moriarty's ticking leather wrist watch made her aware of the possibility that her man wouldn't make it- not this once. Sherlock had always done the impossible but was this even out of his capabilities?

She had been ignoring Moriarty since she told him that Sherlock was there. His questions, rude comments, mind games, discouraging words, and even the occasional slap were all answered with silent determined stares. They had given up on her for a while, their time better spent elsewhere. Jim and his men were doing everything in their power, just short of actually killing her, to break her strong will. But they had all missed an important detail, even clever Jim.

Steph was in the room completely alone for the first time in almost a day. The light under the door looked as if it was high morning, not quite noon. She had practiced this until she had it right three consecutive times her last morning at Baker Street. Now it was time to put the practice into work. They had tied her in the stereotypical hands cuffed behind her back and feet tied to the front legs of the chair- just as she had practiced.

What Jim Moriarty had failed to notice, or underestimated, were the three bobby-pins just above her right temple. It was risky in this foggy drugged tired state, but if she completely concentrated there was still hope. Three chances. All was silent so she began her tricky task.

She rubbed her head against her shoulder, moving the pins from their tight positions. When the first was loose enough to fall out, she turned her head as far to the right as possible and mentally pictured herself, taking cautious aim. The pin was half way down her straightened curls and holding on by a thin strand. Steph gently nodded her head until the pin fell from her hair, down towards her hand, brushed her pointer finger, then fell onto the floor with a soft pinging sound. Two attempts remaining. The process was repeated until the nodding bit. Steph really tried to imagine what angle the pin would fall and moved her hands accordingly- well, as much as possible. A single nod sent the bobby-pin into her hand.

Pleased, she couldn't help a victorious smile. The pin was moved around inside the handcuff hole. Nerves were taking their toll on her now- her body betraying her. She silently cursed as the pin fell from her trembling hands. Last try. Her neck was already a bit sore from the odd movement. A deep breath was taken before the hard nod of her head. Just before she performed the motion, his face came to her mind- the sweet expression he only used when they were alone. Right into her hand.
"Brilliant," she whispered in delight.

The pin was moved around as before but her hands weren't shaking as badly. With deep concentration, she fidgeted with the lock, pressing her hands as deep into the metal as possible for the best possible angle. Her heart nearly fell from her chest when she heard the click and felt the released tension. She grabbed onto the handcuffs before they could fall from her wrist to the ground blowing her cover. The shackles were put next to her feet before she quickly untied simple knots. Moriarty had taken her shoes but she didn’t mind going barefoot if it meant a clean escape. The final knot was thrown onto the floor as Stephanie silently rose to her feet.

Three tip-toes. Six steps. Eight deep shaky breaths. She was halfway to the door and already celebrating in her mind when she heard a door open. Running the rest of the way, she made it to the door leading outside. With one final glance behind her back, she triumphantly turned the handle and opened the door.

Just when the warm sunlight hit her face, just as her lungs took in that first breath of fresh air, just as her mind and body relaxed, there stood Jim.

"Leaving so soon?"

She wanted to say something smart about not wanting to overstay her welcome but that would mean breaking her effective silence. He took one step forward as she took three steps backwards.
"I would hate for you to miss your boyfriend- who isn't here. Clever you. I didn't think noble women lied." She wasn't so noble nor did she always follow rules- rules were boring. But she didn't speak. "Why don't we get you back to your chair and wait for him. I need to talk to you about something anyways."

A few of his thugs entered the room and tied her as before. As they replaced the handcuffs and tied more difficult knots, Jim circled her with his hands clasped behind his back.

"That was quite good, you know. So close to freedom," he darkly chuckled behind her. She hated the circling bit. "I hung up with Sherlock just a while ago-used your phone, hope you don't mind-and he asked me not to let you in on my little secret but you know me. Waiting takes ages. He and I know so there's no reason to leave you out of the loop." Jim stood directly in front of her for the revealing part of his speech. Closing all space between them, almost nose to nose, he searched her brave tired eyes.

"Do you like fairytales, Miss Thomas?"

---

Sherlock and John knocked on the large expensive door of the Jones' mansion. A maid, who immediately recognized Sherlock with a blush, assisted them inside to the office of Mrs. Jones. The posh woman entered the room with her nose in the air, more confident than necessary. Her surprise was hidden by an unimpressed expression. Holmes silently deduced her, feeling out how helpful she could be if at all.

"Mr. Holmes the detective and John his faithful blogger."

"That is correct," John gave a quick friendly nod.

"You couldn't possibly have business in my home."

"Actually, we came to look at your mermaid," Sherlock cheekily smirked, more upbeat and giddy than usual.

Minutes later they were standing in front of the multi-thousand dollar painting. It was an original, the very one from the museum, but something was off.

"Montreal doesn't usually sell their prized pieces," Sherlock noted, making the woman uncomfortable.

"Anyone will sell anything for the right price," she laughed.

"But the price was more than money, was it not?"

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock turned on his heels so that he was staring directly down at her, the simple selfish thing wrapped in a horrid shade of yellow-green.

"I mean someone made you purchase this piece. Your home has very general decorations, nothing of specific interest and no themed rooms. Your books on the shelves are all biographies and historic accounts, no fiction- hardly the selection of anyone who fancies fairytales. The painting doesn't match the room- your other rooms are perfectly matched. You have the money and would have changed the room for the arrival of the painting. Someone forced this onto you. If you didn't buy it, there would be great consequences- lives at stake. Am I getting warm, Mrs. Jones?" He had been getting louder and more frustrated as she stood shocked and silent. Her large eyes and dropped jaw confirmed his suspicions. "John, please take Mrs. Jones to the livingroom and keep her there. I'm going to take a closer look."

"Mrs. Jones, if you would be so kind," John grinned, taking the gasping woman by the arm and leading her into the other room.

The detective's mind was working at full capacity. He searched the front of the picture and its frame for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. There was nothing special about the wall it was placed on. An idea struck him then he put on his leather gloves. The large picture was taken off the wall with greatest care and placed on the floor leaning against the wall backwards. His searching gaze found nothing at first. Sherlock used the flash of his iPhone for a more detailed inspection.

"There you are," he whispered, his focus never breaking.

In pencil, so light it was almost invisible, was a code written in Moriarty's hand writing. Jim's letters were becoming more and more familiar. Sherlock deduced the code and felt a chill when a threatening realization hit. He typed the code onto a memo on his phone, hands slightly shaking. The mermaid was returned to her spot on the wall as if she had never been moved.

"Alright, John," he called down the hall. John and Mrs. Jones returned to the room in moments. "Thank you for your help Mrs. Jones." The duo took a few steps towards the front door when Sherlock turned around one last time. "Oh, and fire the maid."

"Louise?"

"Yes," he cheekily smirked. "Your husband is sleeping with her."

"What? Oh my goodness!" The woman nearly fainted as the maid choked on something in the next room.

They made their way out of the house as John asked more than stated, "That was quick."

"A bit obvious. The girl is far too young and not experienced enough to be working for a family like the esteemed Joneses. Her hair was all over the floor and desk mingling with short silver hairs. And Mrs. Jones-"

"I meant the picture," the doctor tried hiding his grin.

Sherlock's bright eyes dimmed along with his pleased expression. His face became grim as a shallow breath was taken. He tapped a few times on the phone and handed it to a curious Watson.

"Familiar?"

The doctor stared in disbelief.

"It’s a code number. The same format as St. Bart's uses for their toe tags for the deceased. It's-" And then he was up to speed. "So we go to the hospital and find who this tag number belongs to and look them up?"

"Precisely what I was thinking. Well done, John."

They returned to the hospital around 10:30, the countdown at six and a half hours. Sherlock and John's first stop was Molly. They found her in the morgue, appropriate.

"Did you solve it then?" she smiled with high hopes.

"Not quite," John tried to return her friendliness but couldn't even crack a smile in fear of what they were about to find.

"What is this one about then?" Sweet optimistic Molly.

John glanced over at Sherlock before the tall man in the dark trench coat sighed, "It's Stephanie." Molly's eyes grew wide as her mouth dropped a bit. "Do not be alarmed but… Moriarty is back."

"Jim?"

"Yes. Apparently, he faked his own death as well. But that's not the important issue. He's been interested in Stephanie and myself for some time and kidnapped her almost two days ago. We're on a trail of clues now and the latest is a toe tag number. Would you mind helping us?"

At first, she merely stood in shocked silence. The beautiful intelligent girl that had broken Sherlock's vow to never fall in love was being held hostage by the only human being, if you could call him a human, that terrified her. She suddenly felt sorry for Sherlock- he must have been mad with worry. The first time he gives his special attention to someone and then this happens. He was probably-

"We only have about six hours to find her, Molly," Sherlock gently whispered, his pale blue-green eyes pleading with her to hurry.

She nodded, about to tear up, then walked to the nearest computer. Her fingers fluttered over the keyboard until she was in the correct system.

"You said it was a number? The police must have been involved. What was it?"

Sherlock quickly read the string of numbers and letters to her. Three screens and a shared deep breath later, Molly's hands fell to her side- her face suddenly pale. John had been a few steps back until both Molly and Sherlock froze in unusual silence.

"What is it?" Watson walked over to the screen and read the text box, joining the others in a frozen state. "Two names. How can there be two names to one tag? That's impos…" His words faded as he took note of the two names displayed for the single number: Hooper, Molly/Thomas, Stephanie. "What does it mean, Sherlock?"

John and Molly's doe-eyed stares found Holmes at the same time. But their friend was speechless, either in thought or the immense fear that was pulsing through their veins. A choice was in his near future- one he was already pondering how to avoid. It was difficult for anyone to breath, much less speak, for several seconds.

"John, get Molly to Scotland Yard and tell Lestrade to keep her safe- my orders. If he asks any questions, tell him to call." John put on his jacket as Sherlock's attention turned to a frightened Molly. "Go to the station and stay with Lestrade until this gets sorted. You will be safe there until this all gets sorted out. John will come back to help me. If you need anything just tell Lestrade." He paused, hating how pitiful she looked. The poor fool that threatened Molly was going to be sorry enough, but Jim had just threatened two of the three women in Sherlock's life. "I won't let anything happen to you, Molly. Just do as I say and you will be kept safe. Understand?"

She quickly nodded. He placed a hand on her quivering shoulder and gave it a caring squeeze as if to apologize for her being thrown into this. Moriarty must have figured out that Molly had helped plan his faked suicide. He gave John an almost smile then the two left the room, leaving Sherlock alone to think.