Disclaimer: Don't own anything that can be traced back to Sherlock or Doctor Who. That all belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, and the BBC. Just borrowing a bit from Doctor Who to appease my Sherlock muse.
Spoilers: "The Husbands of River Song" from Doctor Who. I've added, subtracted, and changed parts of the "Hello, Sweetie" scene to make it fit the Sherlock universe, but if you haven't seen the Doctor Who Christmas special and want to, this is your final warning about spoilers. No spoilers for Sherlock.
Molly opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't. Her head was spinning and she couldn't seem to move. The last thing she remembered was two men grabbing her and throwing her in the boot of a car when she stepped outside Barts after her shift.
Now she found herself in what appeared to be a non-descript warehouse tied to a chair, but not gagged. The lighting was dim and she could barely make out the four armed men dressed in nearly identical black turtlenecks and trousers, balaclavas shrouding their faces.
Two other men were sitting down at a folding card table. Since these men weren't hiding their faces and were dressed smartly, Molly assumed they were the ones in charge.
"Bert," the more slender of the two said, "this stuff better work. I want to make sure she tells us everything she knows about him before he shows up to rescue the woman he loves."
Molly was still slightly woozy, so it took her a second to realize who he was supposed to be. They had to have been talking about Sherlock. He was the only person she knew who would have people like these creeps after him.
But, they had one thing wrong.
"No, I'm not."
The slender man got up and walked over to Molly. He pulled hard on Molly's ponytail. "What was that?" he hissed.
"I'm not the woman Sherlock loves."
Molly cried out as her ponytail was pulled even harder. "Bert, that serum doesn't seem to be working. She's lying."
"I'm not lying!" Molly insisted. "Sherlock Holmes doesn't and has never loved me."
Bert's expression and tone were as impassive as if he was discussing what to have for dinner. "That serum is strong enough to loosen the tongues of expert MI-6 agents, Trevor. She can't lie."
Sighing, Trevor approached Molly again. "Well, either she is or my sources are. And my sources are never wrong." He then leaned so close into Molly's face, she could smell the traces of the curry that she assumed was his last meal before she was kidnapped. "They tell me that you're the woman who loves Sherlock Holmes."
Tears started to well up in Molly's eyes as the effects of the truth serum hit her with full force. "Yes, I do love him. I admit that. But whoever told you that he loved me was wrong. He's Sherlock Holmes. He doesn't go around falling in love with people." Her tone sharpened. "And if you think he's anything that small or that ordinary, then you don't have the faintest idea of who you're dealing with."
The tears flowed freely now. "When you love Sherlock Holmes, it's like loving the stars themselves. You don't expect a sunset to admire you back. Or to greet you with a 'Hello, Sweetie' when you've had a bad day." Molly groaned. "If I'm in danger, let me tell you, Sherlock isn't stupid enough or sentimental enough, and he's certainly not in love enough to jeopardize himself for me!"
Before Molly could humiliate herself further, one of the balaclava covered men gestured towards Molly with his mobile and whispered something in Trevor's ear. Smirking, he said to Molly, "Well, it doesn't really matter now whether you're lying or not, because he's here." He started barking orders at the masked men. "You three," he commanded, "come with me." Pointing at the fourth, he added, "You stay here with Bert and the woman." The fourth man nodded without a word.
As soon as Trevor and the three armed men left the room, the fourth man spun Bert around and knocked him unconscious with one punch. The man then walked over to Molly, who was now sobbing loudly.
"P-p-please don't kill me! P-p-please!" she begged, lowering her head.
Whatever Molly was expecting this man to do next, lifting her chin with one leather gloved hand and gently wiping away her tears with the other was not it. The shock factor was intensified by a thousand when she looked, properly looked, into the man's eyes. A set of very clear blue orbs. Or were they green?
Before she could even think, much less say, the name of the only man whose eyes those could be, the balaclava had been removed revealing the face of the world's only consulting detective. One of the gloved hands continued to caress Molly's cheek as he whispered:
"Hello, Sweetie."
The End