The doors of the Italian restaurant opened with a bang with Molly storming out of them, fuming with her hands balled into tight fists and eyes on fire. Sherlock calmly followed her outside, pulling his collar up at the heavy wind. Molly whipped her head around to glare at him.

"How could you do that? You embarrassed us, ME in front of everyone!" she shouted at him.

"Molly really, I was just saving you the trouble and pain. He's no good for you, it would never work out," Sherlock replied with 100 percent confidence that he was right.

"That's for me to decide," Molly said through clenched teeth. "I don't need you spitting out your awful deductions about everyone I date. Let me figure them out on my own. I'm sick of you getting all up in my business. What were you even doing at that restaurant?"

"I was on a case," he said a little too quickly.

"A case? Really?" she hissed sarcastically. "Then where's the victim? Or suspect or whatever it is. Sherlock, you were there for me. What I can't figure out is why."

Sherlock's eyes softened as he looked at her. Could she really not see?

"I still get jealous," he said with quiet clarity.

Molly looked into his sincere, green-blue eyes and some of her anger faded away. Some. She was still pretty pissed off.

"What do you mean? You're the one who broke up with me." There was a short silence, each of them staring at each other, figuring out what to say next. The wind blew a strand of Molly's chestnut hair into her face and Sherlock absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. She didn't move, or even blink at his touch, she just stared up expectantly at him, waiting for him to say something.

"I left you to protect you," he mumbled, placing his hand on her rosy, cold cheek. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, remembering every single time she was put in danger because of Sherlock's cases or his enemies. But despite all that, she still wanted to stay with him.

"Sherlock, I don't need protection. And that's not your decision to make, it's ours." She brushed his hand away and walked away, leaving him to stand alone.

A walk. A walk was all she needed. A walk would cool her steam off. She had travelled a while before she noticed how cold the day was. She wrapped her arms around herself. It was pretty chilly and the wind was relentless. His words replayed in her mind. I still get jealous. One foot in front of the other. Keep walking. Scenery passed her by and the lightness of day was gradually fading. I should get home. Molly looked around. Her heart rate quickened. She must have walked pretty far, lost deep in thought and fury, because she had no idea where she was. There was also no one around. Molly turned around and did an entire 360, her eyes desperately searching for a familiar landmark or a familiar face. Okay…I'll just keep walking and see if I see anything I recognize. Molly straightened her back and walked straight ahead.

Sherlock checked his watch again for the umpteenth time. He paced outside the door of Molly's apartment, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He still missed her dearly. It's for her own good, he thought sternly. But he was having his doubts. Despite all the obstacles their relationship had to hurdle over, Molly always made it out safe and sound. But being in an open relationship, it was clear to his enemies that Molly was his weak spot. And after she was landed in a hospital after being held hostage by a convict on the run, he decided that their love for each other was not worth putting her life in danger.

He had been waiting for hours; he wanted to apologize for his behavior. Even though they weren't dating anymore, he still wanted to be on good terms. It was her life, and she could date whomever she wanted, no matter how poor her choices were. He just wanted her to be happy. She was happy with you. He shook his head. No, he wanted her to be happy and safe. But despite his decision to let her go, he still got jealous. He chuckled lightly at himself. A few years ago, he would have never done something so ridiculous as to give an apology. Saying sorry meant you cared, and caring was disadvantage. After all, sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side. That's what he thought anyway, before he met Molly. He checked his watch again. It had been hours since their fight. He had already considered the possibility that she had gone to some bar to get drunk and then passed out, but Molly was a responsible drinker; she always at least made it home first before passing out. He glanced at his watch again. It was past ten, and Molly had work tomorrow. Molly always made it home by nine and was in bed by around ten thirty or so if she had to work the next day. He left his place by the door of Molly's flat and made his way to the street, raising his hand to hail a cab.

Molly quickened her pace, nervously looking around for any sign of life. Distant footfalls echoed a distance behind her and she looked back hopefully. Her hopes sank like the Titanic. There were a few dark, hunched-over figures. Molly's heartbeat and pace quickened. They didn't look very friendly. She turned corner after corner, trying to lose the two figures, but they relentlessly continued following her, sensing her every turn and movement like bloodhounds. She glanced back. They were about 20 meters behind her and she was still hopelessly lost.

Wait….weren't there two of them? Molly turned back to her front and broke into a run. She could hear their heavy footfalls behind her. She turned right into a street and ran smack into the second man. The force of the impact made her fall back into the pavement. Rough hands grabbed her and she screamed, kicking and clawing her way out from the man's limbs. His companion caught up and tackled her. She tumbled to the ground with a yelp, but immediately tried to get back up and fight. She wasn't going to go down so easy. Molly raised a fist to throw a punch when she felt a sharp sting in her neck. Her muscles slackened and the hand that injected her with the needle picked up as effortlessly as if she were merely a lifeless doll. Her mind slowly faded to unconsciousness, but she could still distantly hear the two men laughing.

"She put up quite a fight."

"Cam will be pleased."

The fog around her head cleared and the mumble of voices in the vehicle became clear enough for her to pick out every word. Molly was uncomfortably lying on her side, a gag in her mouth and her hands and legs were tied. She was lying in a fetus position, facing the trunk door. The two men at the front of the car were talking about the sports games last night. Molly wiggled her hands to get a feel of the rope. They weren't too tight or well done; her kidnappers must have thought the drug on her would last longer. She could pull her hand out just enough so that her ring was against it. She moved her hand, twisting it back and forth so that her sharp diamond ring would cut against the rope. The car abruptly stopped, and Molly froze in place, afraid that they noticed what she was doing or that they had arrived at their destination, wherever that may be. She held her breath, every one of her muscles tense with anxiety. The van lurched and resumed driving. She let go of the breath she had been holding. It was just a stop light. She continued to wiggle her finger, slowly but steadily sawing through the tough rope. Only a few minutes passed, but it felt like hours to Molly. She finally got the rope loose enough and it slipped off her wrists. She rolled over and then put herself in a crouching position. The back of the trunk was locked, so escaping was not an option. Her eyes quickly darted around the van, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon within reach. She smiled, having found what she was looking for, and reached for something in the gloom.

Sherlock went back to the restaurant where he and Molly argued. With hands in his pockets and coat collar turned up, he followed the path where she left. He kept walking at a comfortable speed for at least half an hour, sure of the path he was following, until he heard sirens in the distance. He turned a corner, speeding up his pace as the saw the bright light of an ambulance and police cars down the street. Sherlock started running to the commotion, worse case scenarios running through his mind. Please don't be Molly. Please don't be Molly. Why did I leave her all alone? Dread filled his chest as he got close enough to see a familiar little black dress and chestnut ponytail.

Molly stood with her arms crossed; her usually neat tresses looked disheveled and tangled. Well, really all of her looked to match her ponytail. She had bruises and cuts adorning her body like jewelry.

"And then what happened?" asked the Lestrade. Sherlock finally arrived, but he hid behind an ambulance, listening to every word transpiring between Molly and the officer.

"I took the rope in my hands, you know, the one I was tied up with, and I reached over the seat of the driver and wrapped it around his neck, pulling as tight as I could. He let go of the wheel and then the car spun out of control, I mean, you can't try and stop someone from choking you and drive at the same time. And the other man in the passenger seat, he was trying to attack me. I switched the rope choking the driver to only one hand and took my stiletto and stabbed the man in the passenger seat."

The officer nodded and rapidly jotted down every word she said. Sherlock smiled to himself. That was his Molly. And being the lover of the world's only consulting detective certainly helped toughen her up.

"The car finally crashed into a tree, and I was thrown back. Those two men got the brunt of the force, sitting in the front and all. I crawled to the front and took their pulses. They were still alive. I found my phone and called the police. And that's when you guys showed up." Molly shifted her weight to one leg and pulled her arms tighter to herself. "Can I go home now? I'm fine. And besides, I'm a pathologist; I can treat my own injuries if anything arises." Lestrade smiled kindly at her.

"I'm sorry. Just protocol Molly. Wait here a moment. We also have to get you to the station, and figure out who this Cam is." He walked away and went to his car to talk with his fellow policemen.

Sherlock emerged from where he was standing in the darkness. He walked up behind her and leaned down so that he mouth was just next to her right ear.

"I'm impressed. You did quite a number on those two men. I saw them in the back of the ambulance."

Molly jumped in surprise. She whipped her head around, her ponytail brushing Sherlock's face in the process. She relaxed when she realized that it was just Sherlock in the dark.

"Oh. Um, yeah. Well it was mostly the car accident that harmed them. Which, I guess I caused." Her bad mood seemed to have disappeared. She just seemed exhausted.

"Bad business with all that kidnapping." Sherlock noticed her shivering and took off his coat to wrap around her. He took her hands in his and gently blew on them. "Are you okay?"

She looked back up at him with sad eyes, reminiscing in the past. "I'm fine." She slowly slid her hands out of his and tucked them back in her pocket. "I can take care of myself." She took a step back, and made to walk away when Sherlock quickly reached and pulled her in an embrace. He had something to say, and he couldn't just let her walk away.

"I know you can take care of yourself. I'm proud of you, and….and I love you. I'm sorry I doubted you Molly. You're not weak, and you don't need my protection. I can't dictate your life; your decisions are up to you to make." He pulled back slightly from the embrace to look deeply into her eyes. "I'm sorry." Molly saw the unspoken question in his eyes that came with the heartfelt apology: will you take me back?

She smiled. "I forgive you." She opened her mouth to say what she wanted to get off her chest, but at that moment Lestrade came.

"Molly, we're ready for your questioning." He motioned toward the police car. Molly smiled at him and then looked back to Sherlock, an apology in her eyes.

"See you later," Sherlock said softly. Molly flashed him a quick smile before heading off with Lestrade. He felt a weight that he didn't know he had being lifted when she had said she had forgiven him, but still he longed for her touch and her companionship. He watched her walk away for a moment; he watched until the back of her dress blended with the night and she was no more. Then he turned the other direction, pulled up his collar, and walked home to 221b Baker Street.

Hello everybody! Hope you enjoyed. Not quite sure if this will be just a one-shot or if I will continue it. Should I? Anyways, tell me what you think and review! (Also, polite constructive criticism would be helpful)