Chapter Text
One thing Molly Hooper knew well was strange. Strange meant so many different things to different people, but where she was from, there was the merely weird, and then there was The Manor. It was an odd curiosity that, as far as she knew, no other village in the whole of England had. And it wasn’t just weird. There were whispers, from its first appearance hundreds of years ago to now, that it was demonic. After all, what good could come from a huge home that only appeared on All Hallows Eve? It was legend in all of England, but the village constable had always been quite good at keeping the sightseers who wanted a glimpse and the more adventurous young villagers at bay.
The constable had not met Sherlock Holmes, however.
She still didn’t know why she had told him. He had never heard of it before, and she should never have brought it up. But she remarked on some random thing they had been talking about with a building that only appeared once a year, and Sherlock pounced on what he called the ludicrous idea immediately. She tried to not talk about it, but he was insistent. He was insistent about it for days, actually, bringing it up every chance he got. Finally she told him, just to get him to leave her alone. It didn’t quite work out as planned, she realized, as they were now well hidden in the location where it would appear in less than fifteen minutes.
Molly went home often. She loved Bozeat. She loved the place where she had grown up, even if not all of her memories had been pleasant. She’d had dreams of bigger things, unlike the rest of her family, and she had not come back after university to stay. But most of her family had, and so when she got particularly homesick she would return. She had spent some time there every Christmas, except the year of the party. That year she had stayed in London, and she decided not to make that mistake again afterwards. But she had not come on Halloween since she left.
She had gone to see The Manor when she was young. She had always been a curious and inquisitive child, and to see a home that appeared at midnight and was only there for twenty-four hours had been something that intrigued her. At least until the year Bonnie Thompson disappeared. Bonnie had been a friend. Maybe not quite her best friend, but they were still close. Her brothers had all said Bonnie’s curiosity would get her in trouble one day, and they were right. The Halloween they were eight Bonnie got her to go to the patch of land where The Manor would appear. They’d almost been caught but they weren’t, at least at first. Molly always wished they had been. Molly had seen it appear. It shimmered into existence, this foreboding fortress that everyone was transfixed by, even her. But Bonnie wanted to go up and see it up close. There was something more than the fact that the building appeared out of nowhere that gave Molly the creeps. There was evil in that building, and she could feel it all the way back from their perch. Bonnie scrambled down out of the tree and made her way to the gate. Molly had tried to stop her, she had, but Bonnie wouldn’t listen. And then the constable appeared, the minute Bonnie had entered the gates. He’d pulled her back and admonished both girls for being somewhere they didn’t belong. They made their way back home, and Molly thought that would be the end of it.
But then school happened the next day and Bonnie wasn’t there. The entire town was frantic, and the constable told about what had happened the night before. Molly was yelled at and questioned, sometimes both in the same breath, and she repeated the same story over and over. Some of the adults advocated going in the building and looking for her, but in the end no one dared. And then, November 1st, the house was gone and there was no trace of Bonnie ever again. Molly had steered clear of The Manor every Halloween since, at least until this year. This year Sherlock wanted to see it, and not a damn thing she said would stop him. The two of them were up in the same tree she had climbed when she was young. They wouldn’t have had to be in the tree except the constable had found them out at eleven. Sherlock backed away from the site then rounded back and climbed up the tree, and the only thing Molly could do was follow.
“I doubt it will appear,” Sherlock said, looking at her. The tree had thick branches and they were both fairly light but she was still worried the branch would break and she’d have to deal with injuries along with any psychological trauma that might happen.
She shook her head. “I saw it appear as a girl, remember?”
“I think you imagined it. As I said before, I doubt it will appear.”
“Well, it’s been appearing for hundreds of years. It’s fairly well documented. You just won’t believe it until you see it yourself, will you?”
“No, I won't believe it until I see it for myself.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Promise me you won’t go in, all right? I know you’re curious, but…promise me.”
“Since I doubt it will appear I can make that promise,” he replied. Molly was about to reply when Sherlock clamped a hand over her mouth. She glared at him but he put a finger to his lips and then pointed beneath them. The constable was walking by. Personally Molly hoped he looked up in the tree so he could tell them to go again, to scold Sherlock and ensure she didn’t have to see the place that haunted the nightmares she still had occasionally. But she was not lucky as after lingering for about five minutes he left again. Sherlock removed his hand. “We can see it appear from here, correct?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said with a slight nod.
“Then we will stay here until it appears, if it actually does. Then I want a closer look.”
“I thought you didn’t think it would appear.”
Sherlock gave her a mild glare. “If you're correct then I’ll want to examine it. If you're wrong we’ll pretend this didn’t happen.”
“You’d never let me forget it if I was wrong,” she spat out.
He blinked slightly. “You make mistakes all the time and I never hold them against you,” he said.
“Nice to know how you really feel,” she murmured.
“Molly,” he said softly. “I do not mean to insult you. I'm sorry.”
Molly was quiet for a moment. “Apology accepted, I suppose.” She glanced down at her watch. “It’s a minute until midnight.”
"Then we’ll wait.” They both turned their attention to the vacant patch of land, and Sherlock softly counted down each second. When he hit one, just as it had when she was a child, the building shimmered into existence. She turned back to look at Sherlock, whose eyes were wide. “Unbelievable,” he murmured.
“I told you it was real,” she replied. “Now can we go back to the village?”
Sherlock looked away from the manor. “We’re not the only ones here with the intention of seeing it,” he said, pointing.
Molly looked to their left and saw a young girl, no more than eight, glance around before making a dash to the gate. “We have to stop her,” she said. “Get out of the tree, Sherlock.”
“You’re worried there will be a repeat of what happened to your friend,” he said.
“Yes. I don’t want any other parent in this village to go through what Bonnie’s parents went through. We have to stop her now. Where the bloody hell is the constable?”
“Probably on the far end of the fence,” Sherlock said as he began to get down the tree. Molly quickly followed him. They made a dash to the gates and saw they were open. “She’s already inside the grounds.”
“Then we need to be faster,” Molly said, pushing the gate open a little more and going inside, Sherlock right behind her. “Where is she?”
“She’s making her way to the door,” he said.
“We aren’t going to be able to stop her,” Molly said.
“Perhaps we will.” Sherlock sprinted towards the door and it was all Molly could do to keep up. The girl got to the door first, opened it and stepped inside just as Sherlock and Molly got to her. They had to go inside to stop her. “You need to get out of here,” he said to the girl, turning her around.
Molly gasped. She recognized the girl as the same friend of hers who disappeared all those years ago. “Bonnie?” she got out.
“The Manor wanted you, not me,” she said in a scared voice. “It wanted you, Molly, and now it’s got you. Run!”
“But I don’t—” Molly began to say, but she was cut off by the front door slamming shut. Sherlock went over to it and tried to open it, and after a few moments he slammed his fist against it. “Sherlock?”
“We’re trapped inside,” he said quietly. He looked at Bonnie. “What are you, exactly?”
“One of the residents,” Bonnie said. “I suppose I’m a ghost, but I’m solid.” Then she gave them a sad smile. “I saw a ghost. When I came back early in the morning. A young boy. He said he wanted to play tag. Now it’s my turn to lure someone here. I’m sorry, Molly.”
“Why does it want me?” Molly asked.
“Because you can stop him, and it wants to trap you here. You can stop the owner of this place. Only someone from your family can.” Bonnie began to shimmer out of existence. “I’ll help if I can. We all will. You won't be able to see us but we can see and hear you. We'll help. We all want to be free.”
‘Bonnie!” Molly called out, but after a moment the young girl was gone. Molly turned to Sherlock at that point, wrapping her arms around herself. “What are we going to do? This place will be gone at midnight tomorrow.”
“We’re going to find our way out of here,” he said. He came closer to her, and after a moment he put his hands on her shoulders. “I promise you, Molly. I do not want to let this owner win.”
“Don’t you wish I’d never told you the story now?” she said with a humorless smile.
“On the contrary,” he said. “This is a puzzle to solve. And the first step is to find out why it has to be someone from your family who can stop this owner.” As soon as he said that a set of doors to his left opened. He reached over and grabbed Molly’s hand. “We can’t afford to be separated.”
“All right,” she said with a nod, lacing her fingers through his. “Lead the way.”
Chapter Text
When they walked through the doors they found themselves in a large library. It was arguably the largest library Molly had ever seen in a home. It was two floors tall, with bookshelves reaching up higher than she could stand. The minute they walked into the darkened room a match was struck by unseen hands and the candelabra by the door was lit. Sherlock grabbed it with his free hand. “This won’t give off a lot of light,” he said. “Reach into my coat pocket for the pocket torch.”
Molly nodded and used her free hand to get the metal light from his pocket. As she did books began to fly off the shelves from various parts of the room and land on the table in the center of the room. Each book was opened and then pages were flipped. “It seems as though the people trapped here really are trying to help,” she replied, turning the torch on.
“It would appear so,” Sherlock said with a nod. He let go of Molly’s hand as they got closer to the table. Two chairs were pulled away from the table and the books were moved. “I think they want us to read these.”
“I think you’re right,” Molly said, sitting down in one of the chairs. Sherlock sat in the other. She picked up one of the books. “These are very old books.”
“This is a copy of Doctor Faustus,” Sherlock murmured as he picked up one of his own books. “What about yours?”
“The story of a man who fiddled with the Devil,” she said, skimming through it. “Do you think they’re trying to tell us about the owner of this place?”
“That we’re dealing with the Devil or a demon? Not that I actually believe in them, but that’s what’s coming across to me.” Molly stared at him, and he looked down slightly. “Do not bring up that I saw this place appear out of thin air and I had an encounter with a ghost. Eventually I'll believe that at least one demon is responsible for this.”
All of a sudden one book moved from the pile and slammed down in front of Molly with such ferocity that she squeaked slightly and jumped. “What was that?”
“I believe they want you to read from this book,” Sherlock said, reaching over for the book. It was not opened to a specific page as the others were, and it did not look like a published book. Sherlock opened it and flipped through very quickly. “It appears to be a journal of some sort.”
“Whose journal is it?” she asked, going through the other books that were open. All of them were stories of someone making a deal with the Devil. She recognized some of the stories. Most of the time the person who made the deal got the better of the Devil, but not always.
“An Isaac Wharton.”
“Give me that,” Molly said sharply. Sherlock blinked slightly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. He’s one of my ancestors. He disappeared about three hundred years ago. Went off to London to make his name and then was never heard from again.”
Sherlock handed her the book. “Somehow it ended up here,” he said, crossing his arms slightly.
“Are you going to pout that I snapped at you?” she asked, opening the book.
“Maybe,” he said sullenly.
“I swear, there are times you really do act more like a little boy and less like a brilliant detective,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Sherlock, there’s entries here about a deal, about how his time was running out.”
“May I?” he asked, uncrossing his arms and holding out a hand for the book.
“I can read just as well as you,” she said with a slight glare.
“Humor me.” She bit back a sigh and handed him the book. He flipped all the way to the back, glancing at each page briefly as he did. “There are entries here up until last year, Molly.”
“What?” she asked, leaning over to read over his shoulder.
“They are all fairly short,” he said, flipping backwards through the book. Then he stopped. “What year was it that you saw this place appear?”
“1989,” she said. “Why?”
“That’s the longest entry in this journal since the shorter entries started.”
“What does it say, Sherlock?”
“Hand me the pocket torch,” he said.
“Would it kill you to say please?” she asked.
“Please hand it to me,” he said tightly. She handed it to him. “Thank you.”
“You know, if we start bickering we’re never going to get out of here,” she said.
“You’re tense,” he said with a slight shrug as he skimmed over the page. “I’m taking that into account. But you are right. We should try our best not to argue. So neither you nor I should start unnecessary fights. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she said with a nod. “What does it say?”
“’1987. One of my ancestors was nearby. We could all sense her presence at the gate. We all hoped that perhaps this hellish existence would end, that we could be freed from this prison and our souls could be at rest. But, alas, that was not to be. A young girl named Bonnie came in her stead. And I believe that after tonight the chances of one of my ancestors breaking the deal are slim. I fear we will never be free.’” Sherlock lowered the journal and looked at Molly. “They can sense you. That's unusual.”
“Maybe that’s why they’re being so helpful, because they think I can defeat the owner,” she said. “Does the journal tell us anything else?”
“Most likely, but I need time to study it.” Just as he said it the journal was ripped out of his hands. He made a grab for it but it was held just out of reach. Molly put her hand over his until Sherlock lowered his arms, crossing them again once she removed her hand. The pages were being flipped quickly and then suddenly they stopped. Then the book hovered in front of Sherlock. He reached up and took it, then trained the light on the pages. “This is interesting.”
“What is?” Molly asked, leaning over to read over his shoulder slightly.
“’1754. I was successful. I called forth a demon at the crossroads. Most said it could not be done, but I was successful. I made him do my biding, grant me the boon I desired. I have wealth and power now, and now Agatha will consent to give me her hand. Her father cannot turn me down now.”
“So it is a deal with a demon,” Molly said.
“Apparently.” Sherlock was about to start flipping through the journal again when it was pulled out of his grasp again. “That is quite annoying,” he replied with a glare.
"They just want us to find the right entries quickly,” Molly said, trying to hide a smile. It was nice to see him getting annoyed and it not being her fault. After a moment the journal came back to him. “Looks like they turned the corners on a few pages for you.”
“Good.” He started to read the first page. “Apparently he got his freedom for five years. He had money and power, but not for long. Within a year he was destitute and powerless.” He flipped to the next page. “His new wife left him and returned here, claiming he had disappeared. He followed her, however, and inhabited an old manor on the edge of the village. He grew bitter at the news that she had married another man, the one she loved before he claimed her.” He lowered the journal again. “Did you know any of this?”
She shook her head. “I only had a passing interest in my family history,” she replied.
Sherlock turned back to the journal and flipped to the next entry. “As the fifth year approached he did everything he could do to get out of his deal. He consulted those thought to be witches, and he consulted others supposedly knowledgeable in the occult, but to no avail.” He flipped through a few more entries, skimming them until he got to the next earmarked entry. “The demon arrived five years to the day. He was going to sic his hellhounds on him but your ancestor made a final deal. He said to use the home to trap others and allow him to live in peace. The demon agreed, but as soon as the deal was made Isaac found he could not leave. The demon said he could live in peace so long as he never left the home. And then they were not near the village, but instead in…Hell,” he said quietly, lowering the book. “So this manor goes to Hell the rest of the year with all the other souls trapped inside?”
“Do you believe any of that?” Molly asked. “I mean, I know you don’t believe in religion or religious teachings.”
“Considering everything else I have seen and experienced tonight I’m reconsidering my views on certain things,” Sherlock said after a moment. He closed the journal and then slipped it into his coat pocket. “We’ll be taking this with us.”
“All right,” she said. “I mean, it could be useful.” She looked around. “Where do we go next?” she asked a little more loudly, hoping she would get an answer from the inhabitants.
After a minute a panel opened up in the wall as some shelves of books moved to the side. It was a narrow opening, but they would be able to pass through. “A secret panel,” Sherlock said. “This home must have all sorts of things like that.”
“Probably,” she replied, standing up. He did the same shortly afterwards. He aimed the pocket torch in the direction of the opening, and she grabbed the candelabra. “Should we hold hands again?”
“It might be best,” he said with a nod, putting his hand behind him for her to grasp. She shifted the candelabra to the other side and grasped his hand tightly. “Whatever you do, don’t let go.”
“I won’t, I promise,” she said. “And…Sherlock?”
“Yes?” he asked, pausing for a moment and turning to look at her. She stepped close to him, and after a moment leaned in and kissed him softly. He was surprised, she could tell, but he did kiss her back at the end. When they pulled apart he looked at her quizzically. “What was that for?”
“In case we don’t make it out. I…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“We’ll make it out, Molly. I promise.”
“Don’t make a promise you can’t guarantee you’ll keep,” she said.
“I will keep that one.” Then he looked at her. “When this is all over we should talk. About…things. About us.”
“If we get out of here we can.”
“When. When we get out of here.”
“Fine. When we get out of here, then we can talk.” She stepped past him and pulled him along to the passageway. “Let’s go before I chicken out.”
“Then take the pocket torch if you are going to lead,” he said. “Brighter light.”
She let go of his hand and they traded light sources. This time he grasped her hand, and after a moment she squared her shoulders and went through the passageway. She knew he believed they would get out of there, that he was confident this would end well, but she wasn’t as sure. She just hoped it didn’t cost them in the long run.
Chapter Text
The passageway was cold and filled with cobwebs. It had a musty smell to it, and Molly wrinkled her nose slightly. She was trying very hard to be brave, but the enclosed space was very tight, and she had always had a touch of claustrophobia. But holding tightly onto Sherlock’s hand was helping, as was light being put forward by the torch. But still, it unnerved her a bit.
“Are you all right, Molly?” Sherlock asked after they had been there for a few minutes.
“I don’t like enclosed spaces,” she said. “But I’m trying to tough it out. We need to go wherever this passage is leading, right?”
“Yes, but…” he said.
“But what?”
“But if it makes you uncomfortable I should at least try and take your mind off of it,” he replied. “What can I do?”
“You can talk to me about anything other than the disaster of tonight,” she said. “Anything to get my mind off this place.”
“I can do that,” he said. Then he launched into talk of the people they knew and what they had been doing before they had left, how John had been nervous that his wife was having an affair and how his wife was instead hiding news from him about a pregnancy, how Lestrade was preparing for a date that was going to go horribly wrong but he didn’t realize it, how Mrs. Hudson had decided she wanted to learn how to play poker and so he had been teaching her how to discreetly pick up on other player’s tells. It was the mundane bits of their life that brought a smile to her face and made her forget that, for the moment, they were in grave peril and she was in a narrow tunnel going God knew where.
After ten minutes of walking they came to a small chamber, and there was a door on the far end across from them. Once they got into the room Molly took a deep breath and looked around. There was room here, room to move comfortably. She let go of Sherlock’s hand, and the two of them began to explore a bit. “There doesn’t seem to be anything important here,” she said, picking up a wooden crate to examine the barrel it was sitting on.
“There seems to be something interesting over here,” he said, picking up a case.
“What is that?” Molly asked, abandoning what she was looking at to come closer.
“It’s a violin case,” he said, setting it on the table and opening it up. His eyes widened slightly as he took it out to examine it. “It’s a Stradivarius,” he said reverently.
“That’s supposed to be the best there is, right?” she asked, shining her light on it more.
“Yes. And this looks as though it was made during his golden period,” Sherlock said. “People would kill for one of these. I've always wanted one for myself, but they go for millions of pounds in auction and even then they're rarely owned by private collectors. Most people who own one loan them out to the top violinists in the world.”
“We probably shouldn’t touch it, then,” Molly said, a tinge of fear creeping into her voice. “We don't know who it belongs to. It could be the owner's.”
Sherlock looked at it with a slight look of longing, and then with a sigh he put the violin back in its case. “Perhaps you're right. There would be no good in taking it.” He closed the lid and moved away, but after a minute the case lifted up off the table and then rammed into his back. He turned to look and the case hovered there in front of him. “I think they want me to take it,” he said quietly.
“Maybe there’s a reason,” Molly said as Sherlock reached over for the case. “Maybe it will help us?”
“Perhaps,” he said with a nod, reaching for the handle of the case. “I'll take it. Just please do not push items into my back again.”
“If you’re carrying that then we can’t carry the candelabra,” Molly said after he adjusted his grip.
“The pocket torch should give us enough light,” he said. “And if there are more candelabras we can light one on our own.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. “I have it for when I feel the need to play with something absently.”
“That’s good to carry around,” she said with a nod. “So, should we go through the door now?”
Sherlock nodded. “I think that would be best.”
She looked around and then her eyes focused on the candelabra. It floated up from the table where Sherlock had set it, then made its way to the door. The door then opened and the candelabra went through, pausing briefly after it was a few inches into the room. “I think we should follow the light,” Molly said, reaching back for Sherlock’s hand.
He nodded again and grasped her hand tightly. This time the chamber was not quite as narrow, but the comfort of feeling Sherlock behind her helped take the edge off. They did not walk as long as they had before and soon they came to another door. The door opened and they found themselves in a large ballroom with many mirrors on the walls. Soon other lights were lit, including those on the massive chandelier above them.
Molly looked around, taking in the scene. As more candles were lit the room began to take on a warm glow. “This is breathtaking,” she said softly.
“It is impressive,” Sherlock said with a nod, letting go of her hand once again to look around. He made his way to a music stand and looked at it. “There's music here.”
“Really?” she asked, pulling herself away from the mirrored walls to come look.
“It looks as though it's an unfinished violin concerto,” he said, picking up the different sheets of music. There were three total, and he placed them one after the other. “This would sound remarkable if it was finished.”
“I wonder who it belonged to,” Molly said, moving next to him.
“Your ancestor,” he replied, pointing to the name at the top of the sheet. “He was a violinist.”
“Do you know if there’s any particular reason we got led to all of this?” Molly asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Sherlock said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Perhaps the journal could tell us more.” He set down the violin case and reached into his coat pocket. “Is there an entry that explains why you led us this way?” he asked in a slightly louder voice, holding up the journal.
Within seconds the journal was taken from him and opened, and the pages were flipped through quickly. Then it stopped and the journal was turned around and left for Sherlock to grab. He took it and skimmed through the entry. “It appears the demon was fond of music. He said that if Isaac composed a song that could make him cry he would free him from his eternal torment. But he was only allowed to add one note a year.” He looked at Molly, then at the sheet music. “This song is nearly two hundred years in the making.”
“You could finish it,” Molly said. “You compose your own music, right?”
“I do,” he said slowly. “I would need to play this to see the feel of it, see what direction I should go. Seeing the notes is one thing. Hearing them is another.”
“Maybe that’s why they led you to the violin.”
“Yes, but why? If you’re the only one who can defeat the owner of this manor then why would my skills with the violin matter?”
“Maybe it’s a back-up plan?” Molly suggested. “Play what’s already been written.”
Sherlock nodded, and then picked up the case again. He took the violin out, then the bow. He got into position as Molly stood to the side, watching. Sherlock put his bow to the violin and began to play after he had scanned the notes. The song that came out was achingly beautiful, with a haunting sound. It nearly brought tears to Molly’s eyes. And then it abruptly ended. “That’s all he wrote,” Sherlock said.
“That was beautiful,” she said.
“Yes. That was quite magnificent,” Sherlock said. “I think I can finish this, given enough time.”
“What time is it now?” she asked.
“Only twelve thirty,” he said. “I can finish this in three hours. Four at the most.”
“Then maybe you should get to it,” she said. “Where can you do it?”
“Here is fine,” Sherlock replied. “There are a few sheets of blank paper left, and I have a pen. Just leave me in peace and I can work.”
“All right,” Molly said with a nod. “Go to it.”
Sherlock pulled a pen out of his coat pocket and began to work. Molly watched for a moment, and then cleared her throat. “Yes?” Sherlock asked, not looking up.
“May I have the journal to read? If I’m sitting here doing nothing I’ll be frightfully bored.”
He reached over for it where he had set it but it raised up without his help and made its way over to Molly. “Thank you,” she said. And then she settled in to read. Maybe she could help in her own small way. At least, she hoped she could.
Chapter Text
It took Molly a few hours to wade through the entire journal. She didn’t have Sherlock’s skill at speed reading, and the more she read the more tired she realized she was getting. Other than the occasional bits of violin music she heard, it was eerily quiet in the ballroom. Sherlock was ignoring her presence, and not engaging in conversation was causing her to get so tired it was hard for her to keep her eyes open. She had yawned six times in the last half hour, and as she glanced at the watch on her wrist she saw it was nearly five in the morning. The bits of violin being played were longer, and she hoped Sherlock was almost done.
“Are you nearly done?” she asked, standing up and trying not to close her eyes. All she wanted to do right now was curl up in the stiff chair she had been sitting in. It would be uncomfortable, but at least then she would get rest. She wasn’t sure what help she could be if she fell asleep on her feet.
“I’m just about finished,” he said. “I just need to play it one last time.” He looked over at her. “You look as though you’re about to drop from exhaustion.”
“That’s because I am.”
He frowned and looked at her. It appeared as though he was debating something in his head. Finally he put the violin back in its case. “Let's see if we can let you get some rest somewhere. It might only be a few hours, but it should help.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully.
She watched him gather up the sheets of music and then pick up the case. “Is there a place Molly might get some rest?” he asked aloud. A door opened up on the far end of the room and the candelabra began to move in that direction. Sherlock moved over to her and offered her his hand. “How much sleep do you think you'll need?”
“I should be fine with at least four hours," she said, taking his hand. “Five at most. That gives me enough time to hit the REM cycle and get some deep sleep.”
“Then we can spare that,” he said.
The two of them made their way to the door, following the floating candelabra, and soon they got to a set of stairs. The candelabra floated up the stairs and then made its way to the second floor hallway. Molly was so tired she began to stumble, and Sherlock eventually let go of her hand and instead put an arm around her waist to guide her. Together they made it to an opened door on the left a few feet down the hallway. The candelabra was floating inside the room. It looked well appointed, though very dusty, and there was a large four poster bed in the room with curtains drawn around it. “This is a lovely room,” she said, opening her eyes long enough to take it in.
Sherlock led her over to it, then let go of her waist long enough to open one of the curtains. “It’s just as dusty as the rest of the room,” he remarked.
Suddenly the blanket and sheets were being pulled back and then taken off the bed entirely. It was dumped in a pile by the bed, and soon a wardrobe door to the side was being opened. A blanket floated out and then was shaken. Molly and Sherlock coughed slightly at the dust that came flying away from the blanket, but then the shaking stopped and the blanket was being laid on the bed. Finally two pillows were taken off and beaten, causing more dust in the room, and then they too were placed on the bed.
“Thank you,” Molly said with a yawn. She looked over at Sherlock. “Aren’t you going to get some sleep?”
“I don't need sleep.”
“Sherlock, when is the last time you slept?”
“Last night. Molly, I can go a night without sleep. When we get out of here, then I will sleep. I want to make sure no harm comes to you while you rest.”
“If you say so,” she said, yawning again. “Will you at least sit beside me as I go to sleep?”
He nodded slowly. “I can do that for you.”
She moved over to the waiting open curtain and climbed into the bed, pulling the blanket over herself. Sherlock settled on the edge of the bed next to her. “Thank you for keeping me calm earlier,” she said as she settled in, turning to look at him.
“We can’t afford to have you panic,” he said with a slight shrug.
“Why aren’t you having a hard time dealing with this? You’re a skeptic.”
“I am the type that can only believe things I can see. So far tonight I have seen a house appear out of thin air and conversed with a ghost, and followed floating candelabras and watched an entire room light up by itself. That is enough to convince me that this is not an elaborate hoax. And you wouldn't be the type to perpetrate one anyway.”
She reached over for his hand. “You’re being nice about things. That’s unlike you.”
“I have changed since the afternoon on the roof, you know. I thought you would have seen more of the changes in my personality by now.”
“You treat me better, I’ll admit it. But you don’t treat me like a friend. You aren’t actually nice to me.”
He looked down at their hands and played with her fingers slightly. “I do appreciate you.”
“Yes, but that’s not the same as liking me as a friend.”
“You want to be more than just my friend,” he pointed out.
“I know. But we need to be friends first. And even then, I don’t know if you want that.” She yawned again and snuggled deeper into the blanket. “Or if you will ever want that from me.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I saw what faking my death did to the others. Even though you knew, it affected you poorly as well. I saw that you were careworn by the time I came back. I've slowly been rebuilding the circle of those I trust. I should have worked harder at making sure you knew that I do, in fact, consider you a friend.” She looked up and saw he was looking at her, and there was something in his expression she had not seen in a very long time: uncertainty. “I suppose I do think of you that way, sometimes. I just stuff it down because emotions are messy.”
“That’s the point of them,” she said, lifting her head up slightly. “If they were easy they wouldn’t mean as much. They wouldn’t be important.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about this until we got out of here,” he said with a wry smile, running his thumb across the knuckles of her hand.
“I wanted to know now,” she said with a slight smile. “I can be impatient sometimes.”
“I can tell.” He looked down again. “When we get out of here, provided we don’t hate the sight of each other when this is all over, would you be adverse to attempting to do something two normal people would do if they wanted to enjoy each other’s company?”
“Is that your fancy way of asking me out on a date?” she asked with a slight chuckle.
“I suppose it is.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’ll gladly go out on a date with you, Sherlock.”
“All right.” He had a slight smile on his face as he squeezed her hand back. “Get some sleep, Molly. I will make sure you're safe.”
“Thank you,” she said with a yawn. She settled in again and shut her eyes. Sleep did not take long to come to her, and she was glad for that. She had hoped it would be a peaceful sleep, though, and it was not. It was almost as soon as she was actually asleep that the dreams started. She was a witness, it seemed, to the whole deal. She saw a man call forth a demon at the crossroads, saw him make his deal and saw the riches and wealth it brought. Then she saw his ruin, his frantic attempts to get out of the deal, his fateful second bargain with the demon. Then there were others. All the souls trapped in this house, all the people who had been captured by the malevolent demon who wanted nothing more than souls to torture. She saw them all, from every era she could think of. She could feel their panic, see the helplessness on their face, see the demon gloating with every new addition to this hellish place. And she could see the demon clearly, see every detail of his face. The clothing would change with each appearance, but it was still the same face grinning the wicked smile, still the same voice scratching at her ears. She wanted to wake, she tried to, but it seemed as though she was going to be forced to watch it all against her will. Finally she saw Bonnie. She saw the boy who had enticed her to play tag, she saw her come into the house and felt the panic when she realized she was trapped. She could see her crying and screaming for her mum and dad, and it hurt. Oh, God, it hurt to see her friend in such pain. And then the demon was there, telling her she would never see them again, would never escape. He laughed as she screamed for help, as hot tears flowed down her cheeks. This was too much, too much to handle. She snapped awake and sat bolt upright, a chocked sob creeping out from her throat. “Bonnie,” she got out.
“Molly,” she heard from her left. She looked over and saw Sherlock, who looked absolutely frantic. “You’re awake. I wasn’t sure what was happening.”
“It was horrible,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I saw it all. I saw everything. I saw…I saw…”
Sherlock came over to her, framing her face in his hands. A sign of comfort like this was unexpected but so very welcome. She clung to his arms, and after a moment she let go of his arms and threw her arms around his waist, clinging to him and sobbing into his chest. He seemed unsure of what to do for a moment, but then his arms wrapped around her and one hand began to smooth her hair back. He did it in a way that showed just how little comforting he had done in his life, but she didn’t care. She needed to feel close to someone. Finally the tears stopped and she felt calmer. She pulled away and looked at him. “How long was I asleep?”
“It’s been nearly all day,” he said quietly. “You were thrashing in your sleep. I tried to wake you but to no avail. I was afraid you wouldn't wake up.”
She shook her head. “I saw him make the deal. Isaac. I saw him try and get out of it, and I saw him make the second deal. And then I saw the people being trapped. There are hundreds of souls here, Sherlock. Hundreds of them. And I saw them all. I felt their panic and I felt their helplessness.” She let go of him and wrapped her arms around herself. “It was horrible.”
“I'm sorry,” he said. Then he was quiet for a moment. “We can use it to our advantage, however. It is one thing to read journal entries. It is quite another to actually see the events as they unfolded. Do you think you can tell me the particulars?”
“I don’t think I’ll forget them any time soon,” she said, a chill going through her body. Then something he said earlier struck her. “I was out nearly all day? What time is it?”
“Ten o'clock,” he replied.
“We’re never going to make it out of here,” she said, putting a hand up to her mouth. “I'm sorry, Sherlock. I am so sorry.”
“We will make it out of here,” he said adamantly. “I need you to tell me everything your ancestor did and said. Every last detail.”
“But we don’t have the time!”
“This is important,” he said. “Do you trust me?” She nodded. “Then tell me. And leave out no details.”
“All right,” she said. Then she began to speak, going into as much detail as she could. He listened carefully, and as she wound down an hour later a small grin formed on his face. “Sherlock, why are you smiling?” she asked, slightly confused.
“Because I think I know what you are supposed to do,” he said. “I’ll explain in a moment. But first, we need to find the study where your ancestor made the second deal.” He looked around. “Could you lead us there?” he asked to the room at large.
The curtain parted and the two of them climbed off the bed. The candelabra was then lifted up and headed towards the door. “Sherlock, I don’t understand,” Molly said, watching him grab the sheet music and the violin case. “What are we going to do? What am I supposed to do?”
“I’ll explain. But first I need to search that study.” He looked at her and extended his hand towards her. “You trust me, remember?”
“Of course I do,” she said, taking his hand.
“Then I’ll get us out of here. But let’s get to that study. I want to force that demon to change his routine, but I need to be prepared first.” He gave her a slight grin. “I promise, we’ll be out of here before midnight.”
“If you’re sure,” she said with a nod.
“I am absolutely sure.”
“Then let’s get going,” she replied. He pulled her out of the room and she followed at the pace he set, a glimmer of hope in her heart for the first time since they got trapped in this house. If he had a plan, she would trust him. She had to trust him. Because somehow she had to hope he could get them out of here.
Chapter Text
It didn’t take them long to get to the study; they traveled back down to the first floor and walked along a great hallway, and then went to a room opposite of the grand library. Sherlock asked more questions as they walked at a quickened pace; she was sure that even though he wasn’t saying anything about it he was worried the long delay had done more harm than good, but he had seemed to take the details she gave him with a sort of glee he normally reserved for her autopsy results or the findings of a specific experiment. Something had clicked on in his brain, some puzzle pieces were falling into place, and that was the one thing that made her hopeful that he would indeed find a way out for them.
“I need you to go through the desk, Molly,” he said as they came into the room. “You said you saw that none of the other victims made their deals here, but you'd see the demon gloating here at the end of it, correct?”
She looked around and nodded. This was the room the demon had seemed to make his home. “Yes, this is where he would go afterwards. Why?”
“I think this is his safe place. I think this is where he keeps all of the things associated with his deals. I may not be able to do anything about it, but you can. Look for documents.”
“There would be hundreds of them,” she pointed out, moving towards the desk.
“Then look for a ledger of some sort. He’d want to gloat over all the helpless souls he’s trapped here, so he would need a place to do that. I think this is the place.”
She nodded and began to tear the desk apart. It took her nearly twenty minutes before she’d emptied it, and she looked at Sherlock. “There’s nothing here.”
He looked at her from where he had been inspecting one of the walls. “Before your ancestor made his second deal, did he do anything to this wall?”
She shut her eyes and thought back. “Yes! There was a panel, behind the full length mirror, like the one that opened up in the library.”
“Do you remember how he opened it?”
“I think…" She trailed off, trying to remember. "I think it had to do with the desk.” She went back to the desk and felt underneath where a person would sit. Finally she felt a depression in the wood. She pressed the indent and then turned at the sound of the mirror swinging outward. “I found it!”
“Yes, you did,” Sherlock said with a slight smile. There was not a passageway on the other side, she saw when she moved away from the desk to look, but there was a room with a shelf on the side. Sherlock stepped inside, and for a moment Molly was afraid the mirror would swing back shut and he would be trapped, but just as quickly as he stepped in he was back out, carrying two small leather bound books and a roll of parchment. “I think these are what we’re looking for,” he said triumphantly.
“What are they?” Molly asked as he brought them over to the desk.
Sherlock set the roll of parchment down and opened the top book up, running a finger on the pages. “Details on each of the victims,” he said. He flipped through a few more pages and then closed the book before opening the other one. He skimmed the first few pages, then shut that was well. Then he handed them to Molly. “I think we are about to make the demon very angry.”
“How?” she asked cautiously, taking the books.
“We’re going to burn the ledgers.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the lighter he had shown her earlier. “I don’t know if that will free the others in this home, but it will certainly get his attention.” He handed her the lighter. “Wait a moment. I want to be ready for when he arrives.”
“All right.” She watched as Sherlock went to the sheet music, and spread out the old pages as well as the two new ones he had added on the desk. Then he went to the violin case and took the violin out. He set it under his chin and took the bow out. “Now, Sherlock?”
He nodded. “Now.”
She moved over to the fireplace and knelt down, placing the two books in it. Then she flicked on the lighter and put the flame closer to the books, then closer, until one of the pages caught fire. She had just pulled her hand away when a blue flame encompassed both books and an inhuman sound was heard. She covered her ears and looked over at Sherlock, who still looked poised to play. Suddenly there was a puff of smoke, pooling up behind Sherlock. “Behind you!” Molly called out.
“Move the direction of the music!” he called over, lowering the violin and hurriedly moving to the other side of the desk.
She made it over to the desk again, flipping each sheet to face Sherlock correctly. No sooner had she done that then she felt an arm go around her neck in a choke hold, and she was being pulled against a body. It was ice cold, as though it had been buried in ice and just now come to life. “Sherlock!” she got out in a strangled cry.
“That was impressive,” she heard a voice behind her say. “It doesn’t free everyone in the home like you'd hoped, but it got my attention.”
“That was the point,” Sherlock said, putting the violin back to his chin.
“I normally give my victims until eleven fifty or so, but you both seem so eager to be trapped here for the rest of eternity that I just had to pay you a visit.” He tightened his hold on Molly’s throat, to the point she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to breathe in a moment. “Normally I let them get trapped in the house and I simply collect their soul as midnight nears, but with the two of you I think I’d like to get my hands dirty.”
“I finished the piece,” Sherlock said. “The concerto that Isaac Wharton started. I can guarantee it will make you cry.”
“Are you willing to make a deal?” the demon asked, releasing his grip on Molly slightly.
He shook his head. “I just want to fulfill the original deal. You said he could only add one note a year. You didn’t have any stipulation that others couldn't finish it.”
“A very literal interpretation of my deal with him, wouldn’t you say?” the demon said urbanely.
“I know a loophole when I see one,” Sherlock said. “Would you like to hear it?”
“I'll admit, I am intrigued,” he said. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll keep the woman under a tight grip. I’ll feel safer that way.”
“Very well.” He looked at Molly and gave her a slight nod, then looked down at the music and began to play. The longer the song went on, the looser the grip the demon had around her throat became. About two minutes in she could feel wetness on the back of her neck. It was working, she realized; the demon was moved to tears. Soon she was able to pull away from his grip, and she quickly moved over to Sherlock’s side as he finished playing, getting a better look at the demon responsible for all the hurt and pain. He looked exactly as he had in all the visions she had, but instead of a wicked and smug grin there was a thoughtful look on his face. Sherlock lowered the violin, and then put it back in the case, closing it with a snap. “I believe the deal has been fulfilled.”
The demon looked at them, and then the smug smile slowly crept back upon his face. “You freed one soul from this place,” he replied. “But the two of you are still trapped here. Why should I let you go now?”
Molly glanced at Sherlock, who looked just the tiniest bit uncertain. Then she turned back to the demon, who had his arms crossed. “What if I make a deal?”
“Molly, no,” Sherlock said. “I can get us out—“ Suddenly he was unable to speak. Molly glanced to her side and saw his mouth was moving but no sound was coming out.
“Stop that right now,” Molly said, turning from Sherlock to the demon, glaring at him.
“I never stop a person from making deals, and I didn’t want to listen to him try and talk you out of it,” he said with a slight shrug. “So, Molly. What sort of deal do you want to make?”
“You let the both of us go, and you put a stop to all of this horror,” she said.
“That sounds more like an ultimatum than a deal. What’s in it for me?”
“Give me a moment.” She went around to Sherlock’s other side and both the demon and Sherlock watched her. “Isaac put something else in there, right before you came to collect his soul,” she said as she picked up the roll of parchment, holding it up.
“Why did you move over there, and what did you pick up?” the demon asked.
“You can’t see it?” Molly asked, surprised.
“What did you pick up?” the demon asked insistently.
A smile slowly crept up on Molly’s face, one almost as smug as the one that had been on the demons. “He had just gotten this, right before you showed up. He didn’t have enough time to read it, so he put it in the panel, and he hid it. You didn’t even know it was there.”
“This is quickly becoming boring,” the demon said, but his eyes showed he was wary of whatever it was she was holding.
“I’m getting to my point. I fell asleep earlier today. And someone in this place wanted me to relive everything that’s happened here since you took over. I didn’t think much of that scene where you made the deal until I remembered the time. You came before his time was up, a full hour before midnight on his last day. You took him before his five years was up. Why was that?”
“I did no such thing,” he said, and now he looked slightly panicked.
“I think you did it because you knew what was on this parchment. And I think you knew he got it and wanted to stop him from reading it. So you took his soul early, and he didn’t realize it. But you couldn’t see it at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a spell protecting it.” She took the binding that was holding the parchment closed and undid it. Slowly she uncurled the paper, and her smile got wider. It was a spell. She had had a passing acquaintance with witchcraft as a girl, or at least talk of it. There had always been a woman in the village that people went to for help. Molly had listened when others had asked for her help. When she was in university one of her roommates had been Wiccan, and they’d had discussions on what it meant to her, what it did. She had always been open-minded, and she hoped that would aid her now. “Interesting.”
“Tell me what that is!” the demon snapped, moving menacingly forward. He seemed to grow in size and the light in the room began to dim.
Molly moved back as the demon advanced. Quickly she began to read, hoping fervently that everything she had absorbed on the subject would allow her to cast the spell. “’By the creativity of The Maiden this spell was written,” she began, continuing to move away from the demon. She moved around Sherlock as the demon came closer. “Sustained by the unending energy of The Mother, the Crone of Great Power dissolves your unwanted form.” She stumbled slightly and the demon advanced, but Sherlock stood in the way. The demon grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up off the floor. She knew she had to finish the spell or else Sherlock was going to die and she was going to be trapped. ”And banish you from this place forever more. As it will, so mote it be!”
As soon as the last words were spoken there was a tremendous shaking. The demon dropped Sherlock, who backed away. “What happened?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“I don’t know, but I think we need to get out of here,” she said.
He nodded, quickly grabbing the violin case and the sheet music. The two of them ran out of the room as the shaking increased. Soon chunks of the ceiling were falling, and they were dodging debris as they bolted towards the door. Molly thought it might still be locked but when she turned the knob it opened easily. She threw the door open and the two of them ran all the way back to the fence, which was still open. Sherlock made it through first and ran all the way to the tree, and Molly joined him moments later.
Winded, they both turned to look at the manor, which was falling in on itself. The ground was shaking and she could hear dogs howling in the distance. Suddenly the house was reduced to a ruin, and then it was engulfed in the same blue flames that the ledgers had been engulfed in. And then the shaking suddenly stopped and the flames vanished, leaving a large pile of rubble. Then suddenly it was surrounded by a nearly blinding white light, and both Sherlock and Molly had to turn away until it died down.
Molly was the first to turn back. “Sherlock, look,” she said in an awed tone of voice.
Sherlock watched as the white light took the shape of hundreds of people. They all moved towards the two of them, but not malevolently. Indeed, most of them wore large smiles on their faces. At the forefront was Isaac Wharton. “Who is that?” Sherlock asked her quietly.
“Isaac Wharton,” Molly said.
“You freed us all,” he said, his voice sounding slightly hollow. “Well done, Molly Hooper.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Then he turned to Sherlock. “The song was beautiful. You may keep the violin as a token of my sincerest thanks.”
Sherlock nodded, shifting his hold on the violin. “Thank you.”
He looked behind them at the others. “We may be at rest now. Thank you, both of you, for everything you have done. Be at peace with yourselves, for you have done good work.”
And then he looked up, and dissolved away. After a moment, the other glowing souls dissipated as well, save one. Bonnie came up to Molly, and hugged her. She was no longer solid, but Molly did not feel cold as she had when the demon had touched her. Instead, she felt curious warmth. “Tell my mum and dad I’m at peace now,” she said to Molly.
“I will,” Molly said with a nod, a sad smile on her face.
Then Bonnie ran over and tried to hug Sherlock. “You treat her well, okay, mate?”
“I promise,” he said. Then she took a step back and she, too, was gone. Molly felt a tear slip down her cheek and she dashed it away with the back of her hand. She felt more than saw Sherlock move to her side, and she heard him set down the case. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said, turning to him and giving him a smile. “We got out, and they’re all free.” Then she paused, and glanced at her watch. “It’s almost midnight.”
“We made it by the skin of our teeth, it seems.” He reached over for her hand and grasped it tightly. “I suppose we should wait and see if the rubble goes back to Hell.”
“Yeah, I think we should,” she said, moving closer to him.
He lifted his arm up and looked at the watch on his wrist. Once again he began counting down to midnight when the last minute of Halloween approached, and when he got to one they waited with baited breath. But nothing happened. The ruins stayed exactly where they had been. “It appears that the legend has come to an end,” he said quietly.
“Apparently,” Molly said, looking up at him. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“Perhaps not for the tourism trade, but for the people trapped there it was,” he said. He threaded his fingers through hers as he tightened his hold on her hand. “You saved me, Molly. I'm grateful for that.”
“You would have done the same,” she said, blushing slightly. “Let’s go back to the village and then go home, all right?”
He nodded. “I want to do something first, though.”
“What is it?” she asked. He reached over with his other hand until he was able to pull her close, and then he leaned in and kissed her. She let go of his hand and put her hands on his chest, returning the kiss eagerly as he settled his hands on her waist. When they finally needed to breathe they separated. “That was very nice,” she said quietly.
“That was something I should have done long ago,” he said, running a hand up her back and then back down.
She chuckled slightly. “Yeah, you probably should have.”
“But I did it now, so there is that.”
“Yes, there is that.” She leaned in and kissed him again, happy that events had taken the turn they had. It was a happy ending to something that could have been so much worse, and she was incredibly grateful for that.