I own nothing the the plot line.
Greg Lestrade had become used to the trouble that worked alongside his job. The passion for his work usually overrode the fear the bubbled within, when (never if) he became trapped. Unfortunately the lack of Sherlock Holmes as of late, was creating fewer rescue possibilities and working alongside the marvellous, but truly more sought after, John Watson was not much help either.
John Watson had lived and breathed trouble for many years, the adrenaline fuelled excitement that came along with the world of war, then Sherlock and now the crime fighting lifestyle of a police officer, drove his life force. He was not only used to the trouble that appeared within most of his life, he loved it.
Molly Hooper worked with the dead, she was used to the silence of the morgue, she was the one to clean up the outcome of disaster; to bring closure to those who had survived the fall out. She was not one to go looking for trouble, but in a world where you have known Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Greg Lestrade there was no point trying to escape it.
Especially in a world where you have slowly, but surely, fallen in love with a Detective Inspector, Molly Hooper found it, at least highly improbable that she wouldn't get involved in the high octane life of his and John's. They were 'her boys' now, the relationship she had developed with Greg, and the big brother she had gained in John, or as she would call his 'Hamish' (he really should not have told her his middle name), over the past 3 years caused Molly Hooper to save them.
On this particular occasion Molly hadn't seen her boys in at least a day, usually when this occurred she would get a text or call from Greg if they'd been away more than half the day, and a call from John if they were away any longer. She hadn't heard word from either friend or boyfriend and her mind began to worry. Thankfully over the past few years with a Detective Inspector boyfriend, Molly had picked up a few tricks of the trade and became more adept in figuring out where the two trouble makers had gotten to, and how to get them back to 221C and 221B Baker Street with only a few scratches.
She would never call the police or Scotland Yard unless she truly had no idea where the two men had gotten to, it was no time to panic and certainly no time think about herself. Calling each man 4 times for good measure, it was decided within her own mind she would find them. Step by step she figured out what could have happened to them... Using the phone tracker each man had she found them to be in the same place, just west of Central London on what appeared to be business estate. 'Oh great' Molly thought to herself, 'they've probably been kidnapped by the four men currently on bail from their arrest and the case of human trafficking, carried out by John and Greg nonetheless!'
Following the tracking devices location, Molly made sure she was somewhat prepared for every eventuality, carrying the only 'weapon' she could find in her and Greg's flat, the cricket bat that was kept under the bed... And hoping beyond hope they were at the part of a kidnapping, where the bad guy disappears for what she could only presume was a smoke, leaving those captured alone and defenceless... Having being taken by Moriarty not a year ago, that was the exact moment Sherlock, John and Greg had come to her rescue.
Hearing the muffled sounds of protest, and the unmistakeable laugh of what appeared to be a Bond Villain, Molly waited for her moment to sneak in and consequently sneak out with her boys in tow. A silence loomed over her and the warehouse, the squeak of chairs against the concrete floor, and the again muffled and now more whispered voices told her John and Greg had been left on their own and were unsuccessfully trying to forge their own escape.
Creeping fully into the murky warehouse, Molly was careful to check that there was no one else around, before she rushed over to the back to back chairs that contained a heavily tied up, blindfolded and gagged John Watson and Greg Lestarde. Carefully whispering to each man that it was in fact her, Molly, and not to be alarmed she removed each blindfold and gag, before starting on the ropes that bound each man to the chair and each other.
The sound of soft alarmed "thank you"s and "what in the hell are you doing here Molly?"s she worked at the ropes causing their wrists to bleed due to the friction of their struggles.
"I'm here to save you two, silly." Her voice was calm and collected, who knew the woman who could and would panic for England could be so clam when needs be.
That's when they heard it, the light crash of the metallic door slamming into the concrete walls of the building and at least three pairs of heavy footfalls followed in its wake. Her decision was made, with the two men still tied unmercifully to the chairs and shouting quite clearly to the woman "Run, Molly, just bloody RUN!" She chose to stand and fight, her weapon of choice was just out of reach as the first pair of calloused, beefy hands lurched for her throat, what else could she do but deliver an uppercut punch to the chin, swerving out of his retaliation, and kick him in the one place it takes a man more than a few moments to recover. The agility she had gained from former gymnastic training alongside the lesson that Sherlock had provided her on the art of self defence (after her second kidnapping), gave her a poise and strength even she could not believe. After the second overly built man, hurdled towards her at a speed none of them could have predicted for a man of his size, her tiny fists connected with his face, lower abdomen and her legs swiped into the backs of his knees causing his collapse. Finally as the heaviest and most grotesque of the men was ready to aim his full brute power on the petite woman, the cricket bat lay firmly in her grasp, and within seconds was firmly denting the side of the man's skull.
Each of the lackeys to the people trafficking bastard was out for the count, motionless upon the cool slightly damp floor of the disused textiles warehouse. A stunned silence filled the air as Molly's nimble, if not slightly shaking, fingers made light work of the remaining knots that had held 'her boys' uncomfortably in place. Mouths gaping open, neither of the saved men had it in them to speak, they simply had the power to do marvellous impressions of goldfish, as they tried to gather the strength to maintain a closed mouth.
In the moments after tireless running, until they had reached somewhere they knew they would be safe. Leaning up against the interior walls of 221 Baker Street, they all began to laugh, reminiscent of the days when John and Sherlock would do much the same. Still wordless, Molly was dragged into a life affirming embrace from both men, and when John had let go, a life affirming and breathless kiss from Greg. When everyone's heart rates had normalised, and each was much less worse for wear, it took moments to break the everlasting silence that had enveloped them.
"Bloody hell, Molls, where on this earth did you learn how to do that?... I need to learn how to do that." The shock with still prevalent in John's wide blue eyes.
"I wouldn't know how on earth I did it to teach you, Hamish." Molly giggled her voice returning to its former shy quality that was ever so endearing.
All Greg could managed was a rather gruff but emotion laden, "God, I love you!" Purely aimed at Molly's now slightly shaking figure, as the adrenaline was wearing off and the realisation of what she had just done sunk in.
None of them left the corridor that lead them to their respective homes, until late into the night, or early into the next morning none of them could tell. They had slumped against the wall in exhaustion and shock, and had only spoken for short sporadic moments of conversation. The only reason they had moved was when Greg realised the delicate form that rested upon his shoulder was in the depths of sleep, and it was never good to have a full nights sleep against a cool wall and a well-worn carpeted floor. Picking her up, " I should probably get her to a comfy bed, she's had an unexpectedly long day," He signalled to the sleeping Molly Hooper in his arms.
"Yeah, she has quite, I'll do this is the morning, or whenever were all awake again, but thank her from me... I've no idea how we can ever make it up to her, but a thanks is always a good start."
"'Course mate, but I'm pretty sure she would be shocked by anything more, too modest for her own good."
Molly unconsciously smiled at the comment, as she was carried to the all encompassing comfort of her bed, Greg curled around her, and safe in the knowledge that when needed she, Molly Anne Hooper, could be more than a little bit awesome!