What Lies Beneath

A slap to the face ripped me from unconsciousness. As my eyes slowly flickered open, the sick grin of Sebastian Moran greeted me instantly, and my stomach sunk. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to swallow the fear crawling up my throat.

“Having me over for dinner?” I asked quietly, clearing my throat as I licked my chapped lips. Moran smirked, grabbing hold of my face and turning it back and forth as he examined me.

“Oh miss Bennett, this day has been long awaited. Do you like what I’ve done with the place? I’ve decorated just for you.”

Taking up his invitation, my blurry eyes flicked around; just what I expected. I was in a large cargo room, with cement walls and a cement floor. There were no windows in sight, and only a few broken down crates and toppled boxes for decoration. As I went to sit up, my arms shifted and I felt the weight of my restraints. I glanced back at the chains holding me to the wall, and Moran laughed.

“You won’t be going anywhere, Laicee-doll. Not until I’ve had my fun with you.”

I narrowed my eyes and glowered up at Moran as I shifted to sit back against the wall.

“What’s this all about? John and I have kept our distance; we haven’t bothered you or your goons. So why-“

“Because it’s not fair!” he snarled, the smug look flickering off his face as pain replaced it. “Because I lost my entire world in half a moment, and you and your little soldier get the happy ending!”

“What are you talking about?!”

“Jim died and Sherlock lived,” he growled, kneeling down in front of me, his eyes dark. I let out a disbelieving laugh, and Moran narrowed his eyes. “What, you think this is a joke?”

“You don’t read the papers, do you?” I shot back. “’Suicide of Fake Genius’. Sherlock’s gone.”

Moran gave me a long look and then a cold smile spread over his face. He stood slowly and reached into his back pocket, throwing me an envelope as he turned away. Shifting to give my hands a bit of leeway, I opened it carefully and dumped out the contents on my lap. The picture on top took my breath away.

“What…” I breathed, lifting up the photo. It was a photo of me at graduation, but not like the others I had in my photo album. This picture was taken back behind our group, from somewhere up high. John, myself, and Mrs. Hudson were holding onto one another, but the photo only showed our backs. And there, tucked behind a group of people passing by, was a tall, slender, curly-haired man stealing a glance at us.

It took me several moments to gather my composure, and when I looked up, the smile on Moran’s face nearly shattered it. I swallowed and took a breath to control the whirlwind of thoughts ripping through my mind.

“That could be anyone,” I said simply, my voice wavering slightly. Moran smirked and nodded to the pile on my lap. Slowly, I reached down and grabbed the pile.

John and I walking to the store; again, a tall, slender man with curls following shortly behind. Hamish and I at the park, playing in the sand. A tall, slender man leaning against a tree watching. John and I heading into work, and a tall, slender man just ducking around the corner, his eyes on us.

And my mind kept denying that this was Sherlock, because it couldn’t be Sherlock, until I reached the last picture. John was sitting on the rock beside me, and I was kneeling on the grass, with Hamish just beside me. My little weasel is clutching a bag of breadcrumbs, leaning towards the water and tossing handfuls to the duck family coming to see him.

And in the foreground, passing by us between the trees, is Sherlock. It absolutely cannot be anyone else, and my mind slammed to a halt when I realized what I was looking at. Because through and through, it was Sherlock. Sherlock, in his long black coat and blue scarf tucked down the front, with his mop of dark curls swept to the side, and his clear eyes trained on our little group.

“It took three years of waiting,” Moran growled, leaning down. “Three years for Sherlock to get close enough-“

My head snapped up and I threw the pictures aside, shoving myself to my feet.

“Close enough for what?” I demanded; my mind couldn’t even process the fact that Sherlock was back because Moran was standing between us now, and nothing good was coming of it.

“Boss,” came a voice from a far off hallway. Instinctively I turned to see who had spoken. I knew that voice. And sure enough, Oliver himself came jogging into the room, carrying a walkie-talkie and a black bag. “Holmes and the Doctor just got to Scotland Yard.”

My stomach twisted and I felt my head begin to swim. Oliver and Moran were holding me hostage, and apparently Sherlock and John were right where they wanted them.

“Perfect,” Moran growled. “Our main attraction just woke up.”

Oliver’s eyes shifted to me, and an even more unsettling grin rested on his features. The two men began to approach me, and I backed up against the wall, balling my fists.

But Moran moved to the side of me before I could attack, and he grabbed the end of the chains, pulling them tighter and lifting my arms up above my head. My feet scrabbled to touch the ground, and every time I moved just a bit, the cuffs dug into my skin.

Moran locked the chains in place, and Oliver stalked towards me, his eyes glinting with hunger. I struggled against the holds, but I could hardly move my arms away from the wall. Oliver reached up to grab my chin, and I kicked out, catching him in the ribs; he let out a yelp and jumped back.

“Don’t worry kid,” Moran all but growled, moving to Oliver’s side and cracking his knuckles. “By the time we’re through with her, she won’t be fighting back much.”

“Let’s get our little star ready for the camera.”

***

“We’ve got a video feed coming in,” Donovan announced, shoving into the conference room and handing the tablet to Lestrade. Sherlock and John snapped their heads up simultaneously as Mycroft leaned down to study the information on the screen.

“Any trace?” Lestrade asked as the tablet beeped again; Donovan shook her head.

“Nothing. But it passed by our security and went straight to your tablet.”

“It’s about Laicee,” Sherlock said quietly, the despair in his eyes making the others fall silent. “Answer it.”

“It might be a trap-“

“Answer it!” John and Sherlock snarled, and Lestrade’s finger immediately hit ‘accept’. Donovan turned on the projector screen, and the group looked up at the opposing wall.

Moran’s face grinned in greeting, his cold blue eyes glinting with excitement. As Sherlock stood, Moran’s eyes flicked to him, and Sherlock smoothed down his coat.

“It’s a two-way feed,” Sherlock murmured to John as he passed by, coming to stand in front of the table.

“Would you look at that,” Moran growled, smirking coolly as he took in the scene. “The little detective and his dim-witted Doctor, caught in the mess they’ve made.”

“I won’t be playing games with you,” Sherlock cut in, folding his hands behind his back. “You have attacked my family-“

“Oh really?” he laughed. “You left your little family when you went to play dead. You abandoned them. Left your little Laicee-doll on the street, and I picked up your trash.” Sherlock’s eyes flared with fury; Lestrade cleared his throat.

“Don’t let him bait you,” he warned, but Sherlock waved him silent.

“I dismantled your entire network,” he warned, and Moran’s eyes narrowed. “I shut down your operations single-handedly, without blinking an eye. James Moriarty died, and I survived. What makes you think I can’t end you as well?”

At this, Moran’s eyes widened with fury, and he leaned towards the camera. His mouth drew up in a snarl.

“Because this time I have the upper hand. This time you’re not in control. And this time, your favorite pawn is in my possession.”

The room fell silent, and John slowly stood. All eyes were on the screen. Sherlock’s entire being froze, and he let out a slow breath. Laicee was alive; that was more than he’d allowed himself to hope for. But for how long?

“What will it take to get her back to me?” Sherlock asked quietly, against Lestrade and Mycroft’s desperate pleas to be quiet. Moran’s smirk returned at Sherlock’s question, and he sat back a bit.

“It’s simple. Either you kill everyone in the room-“ John immediately snarled a disagreement, and Sherlock shook his head.

“Not an option.”

“You see, either you kill everyone in that room, or I kill everyone in this room.”

As Sherlock opened his mouth to argue again, Moran stepped aside, and the room drew in a startled breath. Sherlock felt an unbearable ache well up in his heart, a painful, throbbing ache that swelled throughout him and made him slump against the table.

There was his Laicee; his beautiful Laicee. Chained up against a cement wall, her arms streaked in dried blood from the cuffs that suspeneded her. Her head hung down against her chest, and her jeans were tattered and stained with more blood. Her normally thick, brunette curls were limp and matted, and from what he could see, her face was beaten and bruised.

Sherlock didn’t realize he was crying until he struggled to suck in a breath. His mind scrambled to find something; find one single goddamned clue to tell him where she was. As he scanned the room, a new figure stepped into view, and this time John spoke up.

“What the hell is this?” he snarled as Oliver gave a laugh, stalking over to Laicee. As he stopped next to her, she lifted her head, and then began to struggle. Sherlock’s heart shattered as she tried to get away. She couldn’t fight, and she couldn’t run. All she could do was twist and thrash furiously as Oliver reached out to her. More blood trickled down her arms as she tried to fight him off.

Oliver reached up and grabbed her face, holding her still as he pressed his lips to hers. Fury burned through Sherlock like a wildfire; she was helpless, and he was helpless. Moran had his grip on them.

As Oliver broke away from the kiss, he threw his fist across her face; Laicee’s head whipped to the side and she let out a pained cry. Oliver laughed and turned to give Moran a grin.

Moran leaned forward and his face grew cold. He sought out Sherlock’s face from the others, and their eyes burned as they glowered at one another.

“Now I’m sure you wished you’d died on that goddamned rooftop,” Moran hissed. “I’m sure you wished you’d taken the pain and the shame and the insult to die honorably, because now the pain and suffering you ran away from will be given to the one person that foolishly made the mistake in loving you.”

From behind Moran’s shoulder, Laicee’s bruised and battered face lifted, and her eyes narrowed. She studied the back of Moran’s head, and then shifted her attention to where Sherlock imagined the video feed was. He watched, heart in his throat, as her green eyes landed on him. Her bleeding lips turned up just a bit, and she said softly but clearly,

“Loving Sherlock has never been a mistake.”

Moran straightened his back, his face blank for a moment. Sherlock watched as the exhilaration lit up his cold blue eyes. What was about to come next was what he’d been waiting for. He gave Sherlock a wink and pulled off his overshirt, cracking his knuckles.

“Don’t you worry, little Laicee-doll,” he cooed, turning away from the camera and slowly pacing towards the helpless girl. “I’ll make sure you eat those words.”

Oliver stepped into the frame, gave a simple wink, and reached forward. A resounding hit echoed throughout the room, and Laicee’s screams tore out a moment later just as Oliver shut off the camera.