221B BAKER STREET
Sherlock Holmes sighed with relief as he sank into his chair and took refuge in his Mind Palace, safe in the knowledge that all those close to him were in no immediate danger.
Lestrade, John and Mary, even heavily pregnant as she was, were more than capable of taking care of themselves. As for Mrs Hudson, woe betide anyone foolish enough to mistake her for a harmless old woman. Mycroft of course had all that the British Government could spare at his disposal, so his protection, and for that matter that of their parents was never in any doubt.
That left Molly Hooper.
After taking far longer than it should Sherlock had finally convinced his pathologist that she would be safest staying with him, which was how she came to be installed in John's old bedroom at 221B Baker Street.
Sherlock was abruptly brought out of his Mind Palace by a blood-curdling scream.
He tore out of the room and up the stairs in a flash, wrenching Molly's bedroom door open and rushing inside, to find Molly lying in bed clearly in the midst of a terrifying nightmare.
ST BART'S MORGUE – THREE YEARS BEFORE
The morgue was blissfully quiet, and for that Molly Hooper was thankful, as she could now catch up on some much needed paperwork uninterrupted, secure in the knowledge that while Sherlock was busy with a case in Dartmoor, there was little likelihood that he'd come crashing unexpectedly through the doors demanding that she drop everything she was working on to assist him.
He might text her, but she'd at least have the choice to read and deal with it in her own time.
She was so caught up in what she was doing that she wasn't aware that she was no longer alone until a shadow fell across her desk, and an ominously soft voice with an distinct Irish accent all but purred, "Little Miss Molly all alone… and unprotected."