Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were all drugged.

Some were dancing in the spotlight, eyes closed as the presenter continued listing the next batch of people for selling. The DJ made sure the sound was so loud not a single one of them could hear the muffed talking behind the one-way glass.

The club was called “Animales”, which suited very well the intentions, not only from the creators but also from their public. A full disclosed cabaret, that was created after the fall of the government. People were so worried to survive no one would stop to rally against the creation of an operated slavery club. When there is worry about the next meal, no one will stop to think twice about other people. That was one of the thousands of conclusions the young William Holmes would tell his school friend, John Watson.

And that was why they were infiltrated in that club. For some reason, the complete anarchy they lived in ignited something in Holmes that made him suddenly very aware of the escalating injustice in their collapse society. Watson would laugh every time Holmes would begin talking about his new worries, making so clear how his lifestyle was still so different from everyone else.

The young 19-year-old lad lived in a mansion, just outside of London. Baker Street Manor, it was called. His parents had died when he was still a child, and while he still had the luck to have two older siblings, they were too worried about doing their stuff. Mycroft Holmes was studying Public Policies at college, while Eurus was already working as a full-time IT specialist. A family of genius kids, who lived all alone in a Manor so big some rooms were only habited by the ghosts of their past. When everything went down, Eurus quickly set up the mansion to become the modern version of Fort Knox. Lasers and weapons were automated alongside alarms and movement sensors. That was how they kept their possessions, and how they could keep living very well despite the hell outside of their gates.

Mycroft once calculated that perhaps about 80% of the population in London didn’t have enough to eat in a day, while 50% lacked proper shelter and clean water. As someone who admired enough hierarchy to study it, Mycroft hated the fact that the government had lost and chaos was reigning. He had begun working in the shadows with other very wealthy people to try and bring back stability, but even Eurus doubted it would happen so soon.

“People have a way to gain a taste for the chaos once it’s set.” William whispered to John, as they found a table and sat down. For John, that whole plan, like all the plans before, was just a way to keep his sanity intact. He had lost contact with his family three months before and was now living in Baker Street Manor with his friend, so these infallible plans of his were - in some days - the only thing keeping John from a depressive episode.

Animales was one of those places where people pretended as if they were still in control, even if the reality was being served just before their eyes. The room was lighted with candles, and semi-naked people served once expensive beverage that was probably stolen. The tables were all arranged outside of a glass hexagon, that had one-way mirror walls. Every one of the customers could see the people being traded inside while eating and drinking the best that decadent world had.

“Remember to call me Sherlock.” Holmes said to his friend while eyeing around the room. His objective was simple: he wasn’t even aware of the people being sold inside the hexagon, because there was no reason to feel pity about them or feel anger about the buyers. Not if he still had the owner of that shit hole to go after. Once they were taken care of, and only then, William could finally decide what to do next. He couldn’t afford to feel anything in his regular life, not without quickly becoming prey - imagine if he could afford to feel anything in the situation he had gotten himself into.

John was probably around the fifth dose of whiskey, his hormonal eyes caught in the body of one of the waitresses when he finally noticed William wasn’t sitting at the table with him. He was standing still, his nose almost glued against the transparent wall, observing what was going on inside. John tried to raise from his chair, but someone bumped him just in time and before he could apologize to the person and go back to William, he was soon gone.

Batch #394: Virgin female, 17 years old, brunette. Average intelligence, small and delicate hands proper to difficult handwork. Offers begin at 200 pounds. Who gives 205? 210?

The music and the presenter’s sound were too loud, making John suddenly feel a latent pain in his head. It could only be the audio, for sure, not the doses of whiskey he made sure to consume. His legs felt weird as he stepped forward to the hexagon walls, suddenly recognizing someone inside. William. Whispering something in the presenter’s ears while he held his wallet out, in a clear offer. It was only then that John’s eyes drifted to the girl being sold at that point. 

Her brunette hair was falling against her eyes, and it didn’t matter how loud the music was, she kept quiet, looking down to her bare feet. Her small body was barely covered in a white nightgown, and her bruised wrists were cuffed and attached to a clasp on the floor. John thought she was nothing out of the ordinary, as a waitress suddenly placed a new glass of whiskey on his hands. So what the fuck was Sherlock doing inside that place?

Soon the presenter coughed against the microphone and declared that offers were off, and the slave had been sold. John was taking a sip of his beverage when he finally saw William move, walking in the direction of the girl, his eyes weirdly calm and… kind? He was probably drunk enough to be seeing things. He observed as his friend placed the key on the cuffs and removed the hair out of the girl’s face. The girl was clearly drugged - like they all were. Her fixated eyes seemed to stare into William’s as he caressed her bruised wrists and said something that only the both of them could hear. John observed in shock when the girl nodded and William got her on his arms, her arms grabbing his neck as she closed her eyes and he held her against him. John began to rush to the exit, knowing pretty well that whatever William had planned to that night had changed. 

The car was running and the driver was already inside when John finally got close to it. He opened the door, not sure if William would be already inside, but to his surprise, he was. As he took his seat in the limousine, his eyes finally found his friend’s, so many questions wandering on them that he didn’t know exactly which one to ask first. The cold-hearted William. The weird and apathetic Holmes. The one no one could disturb was now holding the small frame of a sleeping girl in his arms as if it was the most precious thing in the world. 

“What the fuck, William?”

“I told you to call me Sherlock.”

“What the fuck, Sherlock?” John repeated, anger suddenly filling him. Where was the discourse about knocking down the slave trade owner? About not looking twice at people being sold, because there was no point over pitying them? William had painted John as if he was the emotional one that would suddenly lose his shit once seeing people in danger, but he was the one to buy a person?

“We will have other opportunities to deal with the matter at hand.” The younger Holmes simply said, his blue eyes simply staring outside of the window, as the girl slept on his arms. 

“Other opportunities? I thought we had a plan. Go inside. Identify the dealer. Get information. Get out. Keep being responsible only for our arses rather than buying someone to take care of. It is a girl, Sherlock. Not a puppy!” John stormed, which only made the driver close the division between the front of the car and the back. William kept quiet in his place, his left arm holding the girl closely as he stroked her bruised wrists with his right hand. 

“Plans change. I couldn’t let those thirsty monsters preying on her. Not for 200 pounds. Well, not 200 pounds, but rather 2.000…” He trailed off, still looking outside. “She is a minor. Even I have some morals, John.”

“You sound like you are 60, let me just remind you - you are just two years older. And this isn’t the first or last minor they will sell.” 

At least I could save this one, William wanted to tell John, but he didn’t. 

***

“I am going to unlock these, for you.” William said, placing the key inside the cuffs that were holding her. He couldn’t understand fully why he was doing that. He loved planning. He had a well-established plan. So why was he unlocking the cuffs of a supposed slave that now belonged to him? 

He simply couldn’t avoid it. Once he rose his eyes from his glass, and for some reason eyed the inside of the hexagon, he couldn’t stop himself. She was so malnourished. So tiny. For sure the dose of heroin they had given her was too much for her frame since she couldn’t keep herself standing. Before he could think twice, he was already ordering the guard to allow him inside and was offering the whole content of his wallet - the generous sum of 2.567,95 pounds - for the girl in the chains. The presenter tried to tell him it was supposed to be bidding, but he again shoved the wallet into the man’s hands, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to take a no for an answer. 

“Thank you…” She answered softly, and William’s hands simply moved to remove the hair from her face as she sighed. Something inside of him kept telling him she was beautiful. Even behind all the bruises and tilting from the drugs, she was something else. 

“No one is going to hurt you anymore. No one. I promise.” His hand tried to move to her cheeks, but she flinched, her hazel eyes wide by the sudden affection his hands demonstrated. It made William want to smash something, in the high emotional development he thought he had but visibly lacked. “Tell me your name.” He simply stated, trying to show he meant no harm. 

“Molly.” She answered in that soft voice of hers, her injected eyes locked into his own blue ones. “I don’t think I can walk… too many… too many…” She trailed off, her eyebrows moving to demonstrate frustration and sadness. Her words made no sense whatsoever, but how could they?

“I can carry you. Allow me?” He stated, moving slowly so she could understand fully his intentions without flinching as she had done before. “I won’t hurt you, Molly.” He repeated, but this time using her name. His arms moved to caught her back and the behind of her knees. Her hands automatically reached for his neck as she held on to him. 

He had no idea what he was doing. But there was something pleased in his heart knowing that Molly was safe.

Chapter Text

Over the last three years, Molly had never slept so good.

She could remember loud music. A man yelling characteristics that looked like something that could describe her. But nothing made much sense. She could also remember him. Confidently walking towards her, adjusting the button on his suit. Glass. Glass walls. A weird sweet smell of cotton candy, and oh she hated sweet smells. 

No one is going to hurt you anymore. No one. I promise.

If only the man in the suit knew how much she was hurt til now. How her soul was dilacerated. How much she had lost hope knowing she couldn't trust her own family. Her own father. Her family never had much, but at least she thought she could count on their love. On their loyalty. 

Molly couldn't remember how she had got to that place. Why she was wearing that white nightgown, or why she felt so confused. Was she high? But she could remember who had got her there. Her father had sold her for a few bottles of cheap gin and some creased bills. 

It was almost noon when he dragged her out of his car. She was crying so hard her tears had made her sweater wet. She broke one of her nails while trying to hold on the car's door, holding so tight her knuckles turned white. All the time her father, her drunk father, kept repeating how there was no use for tears. How the world was already upside down and the sooner she understood her place, the better. 

Her finger, with the broken nail, was bleeding when her father pulled her by her sweater until they reached the entrance. There was a body guard, smoking what smelled like marijuana, but who would care? There was no police anymore. No one to look twice at that man. So, poor Molly, bleeding finger and sweater stained in tears, entered the club with her father.

They were welcomed by a very regular man. In the middle of a crowd, he wouldn't stand out. This was good for his business, Molly supposed. He was already holding some bills on his hands, probably nothing more than 50 pounds. And gin. The damn gin that made Molly had nightmares. The negotiation was quick. Her father simply picked the three bottles of gin, the bills and shoved Molly forward towards the man. 

***

Molly fainted as soon as Sherlock picked her up. She could, in her drugged state, remember the silk shirt he was wearing. And how good it felt against her skin. So, it was really surprising when she finally opened her eyes and she was alone. 

She quickly sat down on the bed she was sleeping at, looking around stunned. It didn't feel like she had her eyes closed for more than a few seconds, but the day was already clear outside. Some birds were singing from afar. She slipped her hands by her long hair, as if looking for anything weird in that situation. But the whole thing was already weird by itself.

The room was something out of a Marie Antoinette dream. Old furniture, golden details. Pink. Everything seemed to have a dash of pink. It felt weirdly royal and cozy at the same time. As Molly touched the sheets to help herself stand up, she finally noticed the bandages around her finger. 

There was a door not too far away. But she stopped for a second to look at herself in a full body mirror close to the wardrobe. She was still wearing the nightgown, one of the few things she remembered from the night before. And also... a suit coat. There was also something new, a pair of white frilly socks that reached her calves. However, even if she wanted to consider all this new information, she didn't. Her hands sampled tried the doorknob, and for her surprise, it was open.

The outside was no different from her room. Expensive paintings on the walls, floral wallpaper, what looked like antique Chinese vases on a corner. Her room was in the end of a long corridor, with many other doors, but she didn't dare to try any of them. She wanted a way out, not into anything anyone could be. So she kept walking, tip toeing her way until she reached the stars. 

That was when she saw an older girl, her long black hair waiving around her frame as she laughed. But nothing that resembled a fun laugh, but rather a sarcastic answer. She had a open notebook on her hand, that she held with not much care. The other was used to gesticulate and point to the other person. 

The other guy bared some resemblance to the girl. He was holding the weight of his body over a long umbrella, his gray suit a little tight over his belly. He seemed kind of bored with the girl, but didn't say anything. Simply kept listening to her, a cocky smile on his face.

"Eurus, you know I can't tell William what to do."

Molly tried to stay hidden as she listened to the conversation between the couple. The brunette girl downstairs kept pointing at the screen of her MacBook, angrily staring at the man. "He was having one of his adventures. With Watson. I can understand the inclination he might have for danger. I, for one, love a good old dangerous situation." The man snorted at the last phrase, which made the girl yell.

"Oh my god, Fatty!" She said, her eyes growing wider as she tried to convince him of her point. "Do not dare to refer to me just like Will-"

Molly was about to lean closer to listen to them, when she suddenly bumped over a cream vase that she was using to hide her body behind. The vase circled the base on the small table, until it felt against the red carpet. Broken. In a million pieces, no way to recover. At the same time, the girl and the guy turned their heads at Molly, and just than she noticed how much they looked alike.

"Oh look, she is at least alive." The man said with a new snort, pointing the umbrella at Molly as the girl closed the MacBook with a loud sound. "Perhaps you should invoice your worries to our guest herself?" But before he could end his sentence, the girl had already turned around and walked away.

"Oh well, all those complicated little emotions. I am sure you understand, Miss Hooper." He said, before placing the umbrella down again by his side. Molly observed that he was using the umbrella like a cane, because of a obvious limp she had failed to notice before. The man had no obvious reaction to the broken vase, almost like it didn't happen. 

"If you are wondering where is my brother, Miss Hooper, I am sorry to disappoint you. He is out. With his boyfriend." A new snort, before he picked a small bell on the hall table. As soon as he moved it against the air, a woman wearing a full maid uniform appeared from the same path the girl had disappeared not long before. She ignored Molly, and just kept her eyes at the man with the umbrella, who used the umbrella to point out Molly again.

"William's guest. Help her with her new clothes and something to eat. Anything she desires, at least until we solve what we are going to do with this small mouse." He stated, almost to himself. The maid simply agreed with her head, climbing the stairs and standing by Molly's side. 

"My name is Ivone, Miss. I will be your companion for the day." She said, before showing her hand to Molly, pointing out the same way she had come from. Molly wanted to say something. For sure yell. Fight. Get another bleeding finger. Anything rather than what she did.

She just agreed with her head and followed the maid back to her room.

***

She could't lie. The food was amazing. Ivone had made sure to ask her at least ten times repeatedly what she wanted to eat. The food was brought to her by lunch time. Just after she had taken a long hot bath, in the most majestic bathtub she had ever laid her eyes at. She was offered as clothing a linen beige set of paints and t-shirt, or a white linen dress. She chose the set. Ivone made sure she had brushed her hair. And also that she had denied the dessert enough times to make clear she was indeed full. 

But Moly couldn't deny she felt like a prisoner. If wasn't for the few minutes Ivone went outside to order her lunch, she would stay sitting by the door, reading a book. Guarding her. Making sure she stood inside. Molly spent most of the day sitting on the bed, fidgeting. Waiting for God knew what. Perhaps for the guy with the soft shirt. The first person in a long time that made clear, explicitly clear, he wouldn’t hurt her. 

When the sun was finally setting, ending that terribly boring day, there was a knock on the door. Ivone rose quickly, picking her book and bowing at someone that Molly couldn’t see from where she was standing. A deep tone asked Ivone if Molly was awake, to which the maid just confirmed with her head. And that was when Molly finally saw him again.

She didn’t remember his name. But she remembered the curly hair, and how tall he was. The way he only had a single dimple when he smiled. He entered the room confidently, looking around with a worried expression. Was that worry directed towards her? Could someone actually worry about her in the middle of all that madness? When his eyes finally found hers, he seemed to sigh in relief. It didn’t take him more than five steps to reach the bed, where she was still sitting.

“Sherlock. Remember me?” He stated, some sort of hope passing by his eyes for a single second before they were took again by indifference. His eyes drafted to other parts of the room, searching for something Molly couldn’t completely explain. “Yes, I remember you.” She stated, looking down at her hands, which didn’t stop moving on her lap, showing all her jitters. 

“Dinner. With me.” He simply said after what felt like an eternity. Molly rose her eyes from her hands, her head tilting on her right side as she evaluated the man before her. His eyes were still caught on the fireplace on her room, and his hands were inside his pockets. Indifferent. Like he was discussing the weather with a stranger he just met in the elevator. And not inviting someone to dinner. 

“You need to promise me you won’t try to escape. Not before listening to me.” He tried to fill the silence she allowed to continue, even after his proposal. Molly’s hands kept fidgeting nervously on her lap, as the girl tried to say something. But no sound came from her mouth. 

Before she could express her answer, she yelped. Sherlock had placed his hand on top of her own ones. His sight had shifted to her lap as his thumb stroked her skin. Softly. Tenderly. Intimately. “Dinner. With me. Please.” He tried again, still not raising his eyes from her hands.

“Yes.”