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The problem with Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade was that they formed a little insular square of getting into and out of trouble. If Sherlock and John got into trouble on a case, Lestrade went and got them. If Lestrade came under fire from his superiors, Mycroft brought the wrath of their superiors down on them. And if Mycroft got into trouble, well, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade could work together well, under enough pressure.
However, if they all managed to get kidnapped at the same time, to the same place, by the same two individuals, well. They were in a spot of trouble then, weren’t they?
Fortunately, Molly Hooper had taken the precaution of installing a button camera on Sherlock’s coat one day while he was performing experiments in her morgue. He had just shoved the coat into her hands, not expecting her to do anything except hang it up.
Nobody really expected her to do anything other than hang things up or lie down.
It was because of this camera that she was able to witness Sherlock and John being kidnapped and thrown into a van. And it was because of the tracking device she had installed in Lestrade’s badge that she was able to track Moriarty to his compound.
“Hmph,” she sighed to herself, rifling through her wardrobe of bland pastel cardigans and organizing the hangers in a very particular order. Once the final kitten sweater was put into place, the back of the wardrobe spun around, revealing what she liked to think of as her ‘workout gear.’
She zipped up the black catsuit and slid her guns and ammo into her thigh holsters. After she put her throwing knives up the sleeves and into the boots, she put her hair into a high ponytail – to keep it out of her face – and refreshed her lipstick because, for all his faults, Sherlock was right, her mouth did look a little on the small side without it. Finally, she strapped her katana to her back, put the secret compartment back, and hopped into her favorite black convertible, driving just a little bit over the speed limit on the way to Moriarty’s secret compound – she didn’t often get a chance to drive this car, and it was so much smoother than her damn Toyota.
The compound wasn’t all that complicated, just a highly renovated military bunker. A running start allowed her to flip over the top of the wall, landing with a barely audible thump on the other side. There were a few guards in the courtyard, all armed with AK-47s, how manly of Jim. For all his faux-artistry, there really wasn’t anything delicate about a bunch of thugs with bullets, and she decided not to get her blades dirty just yet. If he wanted to play with guns, she would play with guns.
A headshot dropped each one of them like a stone.
The door was quite simple to open, really, a simple eye-and-thumbprint scanner along with a code. She had seen the code through the convenient button camera – along with a rather surprising view of the Detective Inspector’s ass, and it was quite clear he worked out, maybe he would like a gym buddy…?
She pondered how best to ask out Lestrade while retrieving the necessary thumb and eyeball off of one of the dead guards.
The door slid open and she padded down the hallway, remembering where the tracking device had been placed. When she opened the final door, she was faced with a cackling Moriarty, a serenely smug Irene Adler, and her four idiots dangling over a shark tank.
A shark tank.
Amateurs.
She hid in the shadows for just a moment, and decided to announce her presence when Irene pulled out her ever-present phone. She removed a throwing knife from her sleeve and chucked it, spearing the precious phone right through the middle, completely destroying it.
Irene shrieked, and Molly did a triple backflip out of her hiding place before roundhouse kicking her in the face and using an extra knife to shear off a rather large chunk of her ridiculous, clearly-dyed hair. Admittedly, she was a bit petty at times. The curse of womanhood, she supposed.
Her boys were gagged as well, but she supposed they would be expressing some sort of surprise if they were able to speak, judging by their expressions. Well, Sherlock and Mycroft were surprised. Lestrade and John looked and sounded like they were urging her to get the hell out of there. Their protective streak was so cute, it really was. And had John always looked so nice in those awful jumpers…?
Whoops, distracted again!
“Good golly, Miss Molly,” Moriarty squealed with annoying effeminate glee. How could she have not known, honestly? She just saw the best in people, she supposed, and ignored the worst.
“Hello, Jim,” she smiled sweetly. “Perhaps you would like to let my friends go now?”
“Mmm….nope, I don’t think so!” he replied, unsurprisingly. “My little aqueous pets have been so hungry lately, and they are just looking for a good m-”
“Oh, do hush up,” Molly sighed, stamping her foot – just a little! – and, backflipping again, this time with a triple twist, crossed the space between herself and Moriarty, providing as small and hard-to-hit target as possible. While in midair, she drew her katana and, as they say, that was all she wrote.
She did savor his expression of surprise. Men were always underestimating her.
Scaling the wall, and crawling onto the catwalk – and was her catsuit giving her visible panty line again? – she hauled her four boys up two at a time, cutting their ties and doing a quick once-over for injuries (and getting a handful of former soldier/Detective Inspector abs at the same time, me-ow).
“Miss Hooper, I must thank you for your timely rescue,” Mycroft said stiffly, managing to sound prim and proper despite all that had happened that day. She was a bit impressed, honestly, even if his voice was a little grating at times.
“Yes, um, that rescue you did there, that thing, that was – that was good,” Sherlock replied, and she really hoped that the button camera at least picked up the audio on that because she might have it installed as her ringtone or something, the great Sherlock Holmes not knowing what to say.
“Oh, it was nothing, really,” she shrugged. “You should be more careful next time. I mean, what if it happened when my catsuit was the cleaners?” That made her think – “Oh, darn! I’ve got Jim bits all over my suit.”
“That was a very, uh, a very clean cut, Molly,” John complimented her, looking down at where Jim was half the man he used to be.
“Do you really think so? I thought I snagged a bit more bone than I was supposed to. I would have gone for a simple beheading, of course, but I ate a heavier breakfast than usual this morning which always throws off my balance a bit, and by the time I came down from the third rotational backflip, I just wasn’t in the right position. I need to hit the gym more, I guess. Work’s been really getting in the way.”
“If you ever, uh, need a workout buddy,” Lestrade began, checking out her deltoids – and wasn’t that so nice, and different from most men! – and shuffling his feet.
“Oh, I’d love to!” she giggled. John looked a little dejected, and she felt sad about that, so she offered “and maybe after, John, you and I could go out for dinner? I know an excellent hibachi grill, sometimes they even let me slice some of the char-grilled stuff!”
John nodded dumbfoundedly.
“I shall…arrange for a car?” Mycroft offered, although considering they had chucked his phone out the window when he was kidnapped…
“No need, we can take mine,” Molly said. “Oh, and do tell Anthea hello for me, Mycroft, would you? She and I really should get lunch together sometime, it’s been ages since the academy, and I’ve been meaning to call her, honesty, work just gets in the way, you know how it is… And Sherlock, if you would tell Mrs. Hudson that I said hello? She always was my favorite teacher. I’ve been meaning to have tea with her as well, actually, now that I think about it...”
Judging from the expressions on the faces of what she liked to think of as “her boys,” she figured they would be doing as she asked for a long, long time.