Molly stood at the nurse's station talking quietly to Meena about nothing in particular. It was bright day sun gleaming, bouncing off everything, almost glaring. Meena frowned; leaning forward ever so slightly.

'Is that Charles Magnussen?' Molly froze where she was. She looked as she best she could without moving. Following her Meena's gaze. He was leaving Sherlock's room. People hushed on him walking past, he smiled. Most stepped back hastily. Rumours flew around the man like flies around a corpse. And he would know bodies. Molly suspected she had seen to more than a few of his works.

'Do send Mister Holmes my best wishes.' He paused, not even a hairs breath from where she stood. Meena nodded jerkily at his request. Molly kept her focus on a nearby chart. The dampness of his skin was palpable through their layers of clothing.

'You may want to pass on the message to your friend. Ms Hooper.' Fear choked her instantly. The snake that was so fitting of this man was wrapped tightly around her uvula.

'My friend?' She turned, determined to hide her fear. He may be a snake but his blood was wolf. He could scent out the apprehension in a moment. Then strike at the most opportune moment. Meena's eyes were flickering back and forth between them, growing more anxious.

'Mr. Holmes of course. I hear you two are quite close.' His accent lilted over the words, drawing them out. The gazes around them burned. It felt like he was branding her with the accusation, the implications.

'Gossip, nothing more.' Years of dealing with Sherlock and Mycroft had taught her a great deal about how to maintain eye contact with those intent on dominating her.

'There is truth in everything, dear.' He slid closer to her. A feat she thought and prayed was not possible.

'Falsehood too.' Molly added with a tight smile, holding her head high.

He laughed. The sound was hollow, echoing chillingly in the corridor. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. The stillness she had held in her face that the moist lips and skin, slipped her over her own. Molly could not disguise the disgust she felt barely able to contain the urge to retch.

'Do pass on my love, dear.' He turned and left, leaving Molly unable to breath in his wake.

'Molls…'

She turned and headed down the corridor, wiping her cheek desperately. She stopped at the door to his room, taking in the wealth of flowers and the lone black rose on one table. For the first time in what felt like weeks they locked eyes. There was so much locked in that gaze of his. Arrogance, fear, pain, and self disgust. She watched at his adam's apple twitched as he swallowed.

'Whatever it is that got you in here Sherlock, get out.' The words tumbled out, as the tears she thought had already been shed for him, continued.

'Please.'

'Molly? It's Greg. He's left, he's only bloody bolted.'

'What?' She stood phone clutched in her hand. She was in the morgue, reviewing the autopsy reports from the past week. The one she had in her hand ripped.

'If you see him, please just call me or John straight away. I have to go talk to Mycroft.'

'Will do. If you see him…'

'Slap him for you?' In her minds eyes, Greg was clawing at his short hair. His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat, even before it took off.

'Oh this time I am taking a piece.' She snarled mostly musing to herself, forgetting for a moment that she was talking to someone else.

'Sometimes you terrify me.' The gulp brought her back and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Greg was normally pretty good about her wide morbid streak. He was a lot more capable than most at dealing with it, but even the patient detective had his limits.

'Wish I terrified him.' She muttered irritably. Molly paused, listening as she heard a series of noises on Greg's end of the line. A cool voice addressed him. Anthea. He was at Mycrofts.

'Talk to you as soon as I can.' He hung up just as she was started to wish him luck. She flicked through the contacts on her phone, hovering over Sherlock's picture. She clicked on it, going to open up a text conversation. She shut it down, tossing the phone away from her.

She asked the man to one thing. One.

Molly stood looking out onto Baker Street, from the window. It was just her and Sherlock in the room. Dry but cold day outside. A chilly March day. The atmosphere was even colder inside.

The thumb of her right hand stroked her left in an attempt to calm herself down. It wasn't working.

She turned towards him, him sitting in his chair wholly focused on her. She brought her had up to her lips, tugging at them, breathing heavily. Her right eyebrow twitched. Sherlock's eyes narrowed curiously. Head tilting to one side, observing.

'You nearly died twice.' She tensed, thinking back to the two phone calls she had received. Last on the list of course. It had taken Greg sometime to think of her.

'Yes.'

'You shot a man point blank in the head.'

'Yes.'

'You were sent on a suicide mission.'

'Not exactly, the mission probably would have killed me but it was not-' His eyes widened on her withering glare. At last realising that his commentary was not needed or wanted.

'You come back and expect me to drop everything to live here. I am not John! I won't let you do this to me!' He stood up moving towards her. She stormed past him. Past his chair, past John's. Her hadn even collided with the side of his face in her fury.

'Do what?' He demanded, anger slowly building in his words. The pull of it, deepening his voice, she cricked her neck. He got up and turned towards her. Standing to his fullest, buttoning his jacket.

'Use me. I am done with being your little love sick pathologist. I thought we moved beyond that ages ago. You don't get to come in with those eyes, and that face, the voice and expect me to just do what you want.' The words once they started would not and could not stop. Everything that had been swirling in her head since the drug test was coming out. Louder and louder. Angrier and angrier. Sherlock had never looked so alarmed before. He moved towards her, hand touching her upper arm gently.

'I have given enough. I have done enough. I have FUCKING LIED ENOUGH!' She screamed at him. Shoving him backwards so hard, that he stumbled and nearly fell back. Part of her mind was wondering why Mrs. Hudson had yet to make an appearance. Herbal soothers a part of her mind, unnamed for just reasons supplied.

'And for what? You saunter in, say I matter that I count, that I'm the one who matters the most.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. Molly was now the one using her words as knives to cut and tear him down as he had done to her so casually in the past.

'Say.' She scoffed, lips curling in contempt. Typically a pale man, Sherlock was now the colour he had been after being shot. Molly smirked derisively.

'You sacrifice everything for John, Greg, Martha. You can't even stop yourself from making comments about my life. Breaking promises you swore you'd never break.' She was crying and not even caring about it. Molly found herself laughing at the same time. He paled even more; opening his mouth but she held up her hand.

'Until you show me what I need to see, I can't do this. Have Mycroft's men guard me all you like, stay away until you figure what it is I am to you.'

'You are-'

'Show me, or stay away.' With that, she wiped her face clean of tears and left.

A loud bang echoed in the canteen, the few staff who where there screeched loudly. Diving to the floor. Molly was the only one left standing. Meena had ducked behind the table, shaking. She could feel the hard press of the gun shoved into her temple. Molly stood looking at the blonde haired man blankly.

'You guys took your time. I was expecting you weeks ago.' She remarked coolly. Head tilting. The gunman glared at her fiercely.

'Jim told us to figure out what was going on first. You had us all wondering.' He sing-songed, twisting the gun against her, nipping at her skin. Drawing small rivets of blood.

'You must be Sebastian.' She winced ever so slightly. Refusing however to look away from him. His eyes dark and empty of everything except desire for violence. A perfect match for Jim who wanted nothing more than chaos. Violence being the perfect means of bringing that chaos.

'Charmed Ms Hooper.' He took the gun away, bowing mockingly at her. Molly found herself doing her very best impression of Sherlock. Head held high, shoulders back and one eyebrow arched.

'You've shown your face, you intend to kill everyone. Right?'

'That was the plan. You have a counter offer.' He was impressed her calm comportment. Not enough to make any difference for anyone else in the room. Molly had to pray that she could help them.

'Leave them, and it'll be an easy matter to take me.' She walked around him, nodding at his associates who just entered the canteen.

'How?' His eyes skimmed over her, almost as calculating as Sherlock. Though wanting violence, the appeal of an easy, quick escape was clearly tempting.

'Mycroft's people, you came in by brute force yes? Well they've been tailing me for months, I know how they move… if you leave them be, we'll be out before they've assembled the strike team.' Sebastian's suddenly sparkled brilliantly, if the lure of an easy kidnap wasn't enough defeating the might Mycroft Holmes was more than enough to sway him.

'If you insist.'

'I do.'

'What will your Mister Holmes think of this?'

'No idea. I guess we'll find out soon.' Molly sighed at the attempt of underhand suggestion. Also at the fact that the few people in the room where now whispering.

'Let's go.' Molly could see Meena look at her, beseeching her not to go. Molly turned away from her, knowing that she would want to run to her if she looked any further. He grabbed hold of her, gun pressed into her back.

'Lock the room down. Let Holmes deal with it.'

Molly directed him and a couple more of his men out of the hospital without problem. Just as they reached the street she was injected with something in the back of her neck. As she blacked out she thought to herself that they had no idea that the Homeless Network were out in force. A bright shiny distraction obscuring the spy force in plain sight. Mary had taught Sherlock's group well.

'Oh I was right about you.' Molly was sitting in a plush velvet chair. Sebastian was reclining in his own leather chair in front of her, casually drinking some whiskey. The amber of it glinted warmly. Molly turned to where Jim stood by the window, head turned towards her.

'But even my brilliance missed just how right I was.' He started cackling. His own "death" did nothing to improve the man's mental well being. Molly couldn't figure out what was more alarming; the deranged laughter or Sebastian listening to as though it was beautiful music.

'The Woman who gave Sherlock a heart.' He whispered into her ear, hissing the s's, forcing Molly to turn her head.

'The heart you want to burn isn't it?' Molly looked at the giant ornate mirror hanging over the fireplace. Molly would hazard a guess they were in a fine townhouse, perhaps even still in London.

'Oh so clever. I never could understand why he insisted on having John as his pet. Not when he had you.' He grabbed her chin and pulled her face to his. He hovered directly in front of her. Letting the manic light blaze in his eyes.

'I don't have the taste for adventure.' Even if she wanted to Molly couldn't drag her eyes away from his.

'For the battlefield. Which find odd, you are elbows deep in the outcome.' This time she yanked her head away, pulling a muscle in her neck as she did so. He looked comically confused and Molly had to resist the urge to slap him. Her fingers twitched, Jim leaned forward and poked her on the nose; shaking his head.

'I give them peace. I find the answers.' Molly spoke quietly, turning her attention back to the mirror. She could the entire room, both men in their superbly tailored clothes. Her in a dress that she would never dare wear. Silk, bardot neckline with a pair of heels that had her relieved she was sitting down. She did not recall dressing herself, which alarmed her.

'You solve puzzles, and we know how he loves puzzles.' His hands rubbed her shoulders, fingernails biting into her bare skin.

'I do. That much is true.' Sebastian leapt to his feet, sidearm out faster than Molly could process. In the mirror she could see Jim close his eyes, head dropping back in annoyance.

'Oh the people no one sees of course.' Moriarty let go of her, she winced as the blood began to seep out of the small half moon marks along her collarbone. He made his way over to his partner slowly. Molly turned towards Sherlock who remained where he was. He nodded ever so slightly to her, hands clasped behind his back.

'Naturally. I am amazed you missed it.' Sherlock finally walked further into the room, closing the door behind him. He slowly took off his Belstaff and laid it over the chair by the desk. He brushed down his suit, tugging his shirt sleeves so casually Molly wondered if he was imagining himself in Baker Street.

'There's always something.' He rolled his eyes, pulling the gun down. Sebastian glared at him. A move he clearly regretted immediately on seeing the deranged glint in the other man's eyes.

'You've missed several somethings'.'He jerked his head in Molly's direction, smirking knowingly. Trying to be reassuring, failing miserably.

'If only I had known then.' He sighed melodramatically, shoulders lifting and dropping with it exaggeratingly. Sherlock rolled his eyes down at Molly, whose jaw dropped at the look.

'I'm ever so glad you didn't.'He stood by her, hand right next to her head, brushing her hair softly.

'Have you told her?' Moriarty watched his hand, a touch of a smile playing in his face.

'Told her what?' Molly stared up at him, wondering what they were talking about. Her initial conclusion made absolutely no sense.

'All that she holds.'

'Molly knows.'

'In her heart yes, but the mind can be blinkered by so much, I mean look at you, look at me.' He waved airily, tut-ing lightly, Sebastian growing more impatient by the minute. His hand twitched around the gun still in his hand.

'We are one and the same.'

Molly felt as though her tongue had been paralyzed. Her mind was racing to keep up with their conversation. Sebastian was watching her confusion suspiciously. He didn't believe that she was at a loss to the true nature of the conversation.

The hand he had on the back of her chair slid closer to the back of her neck, slipping under her artfully curled hair. He leaned his hip on the arm of the chair to disguise the movement of his hand. Then he started moving his fingers. Lightly, so lightly. But it was rhythmic. A pattern was there for solving . Molly faked a whimper, breathing shakily and shutting her eyes tight. She needed to focus.

...- .- - .. -.-. .- -. -.-. .- - . - ...

Vatican cameos.

Get down.

Two elongated taps.

Two minutes.

'Maybe you should tell her? Before you know… Goodnight, my darling goodnight.' He started singing once more, both Sherlock and Sebastian huffed. Molly found her head whipping back and forth between them. She looked around the room once more, less than a minute left.

'For you perhaps, it is not Molly Hooper's time. That much I will ensure.'

In a flash of light; Sherlock and Molly dove to the floor, as everything that could break seemed to explode around them.

'Keep your eyes closed, don't let go.' His hand clutched around hers.

'Is it bad form if I keep the dress?' She pursed her lips, examining the rich red coloured dress hanging up on the door. She knew that the circumstances in which she had obtained it, were hardly ideal, but it seemed such a shame to get rid of it.

'Only if you don't take the shoes.' Mary shrugged, twirling the shiny black shoe in her hand enviously.

'Eh. They're a bit… too Irene Adler for me.' Molly grimaced at them, but still longing for them.

'Oh no. There are totally bad ass Molly Hooper. The woman who bitch slapped Sherlock, gets him to apologise, the woman who tricked Sebastian Moran! Alder ain't got nothing on you.' She stood up slowly, shaking her head at her stomach.

'Anyway, I have an appointment and you have to have a conversation.' The blonde woman gave her a serious look before it melted into a devious smirk, leaving the room with more grace than a heavily pregnant woman should be able to handle. Molly found herself gaping at the closed door as she heard a murmur in a suggestive tone being murmured to him.

'I- uh-. Bloody Watsons.' Molly choked out shaking her fists in the air. She gave the shoes, sitting on the bed a look, tilting her head at them. She bit her lip wonderingly. Then she smiled.

Molly looked herself in the mirror, taking in the small scratches on her face and grinned. She pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a fitted shirt. Parted her hair to the left, added her favourite necklace and then stepped into the shoes.

Molly had never been the sort of woman who could walk in heels, turn heads and take on the world. She walked over the full length mirror taking her reflection in. Maybe she was that woman, in her own way.

'Molly?'

'Hello Sherlock.' She turned to see him at the door to his room looking decidedly uncomfortable. Almost like a little boy. Molly half expected him to blush turning his feet inwards.

'How are you?'

'Better now. Thank you.'

'You're keeping the shoes.'

'Mary thought they were fitting, I must say, I think she's right.' She looked down at her feet and grinned up at him.

'Did I show you?' Molly walked around the bed and sat on it, near him. She looked around the room, she hadn't had much opportunity in the past. A picture of a bee, periodic table, a variety of lighters, an crystal ashtray that looked completely out of place and as she looked over towards him, she saw something. She plucked it up and twirled in her hands.

'I think this says a lot.' She held up the antique magnifying glass to her eye looking at him through it for a moment.

'It is a beautiful piece.' He held out his hand for it, she gave it willingly. Her head tilted. Left eyebrow arching at his words.

'Beautiful? I thought that beauty was nothing-' Her head jerked back, starting to reiterate his views on beauty mockingly but he rolled his eyes and interrupted her.

'Yes, yes. But I cannot deny the meaning of this. It was your father's wasn't it?'The gentleness in which is held it was curious. Molly found herself leaning forward watching his hands dance over the handle and the moulded brass.

'Handed down through the years, yes.'

'And you gave it to me?'

'Seemed right. He would have liked you, you know.'

'Really?' Now that had caught him by surprise. It was subtle on his face, but the slight widening of his eyes, arching of the eyebrow. Simple.

'Yeah, he liked people who were brutally honest; perfectly themselves in an imperfect way.' Her words caused a frown to form on his face as he tried to wrap his head around the meaning.

'Thank you?' She laughed lightly; she had felt much the same way about those words growing up. It was only on meeting Sherlock that she came to understand what he meant by it.

He sat down next to her on the bed, putting the magnifying glass, oh so carefully back in the box she had given him that Christmas. They sat in companionable silence for some time. Sherlock trying to work something out; Molly smiling down at both her shoes and everything else. She hummed lightly her foot bouncing to the song in her head. She felt Sherlock's eyes on her, so she turn to look at him but ended up with his lips colliding with her.

Of course, Molly had abandoned the fantasy of the perfect kiss with him a long time ago. For good reason. Both their eyes were wide open in surprise and shock (no disgust on his part, which was a surprise), her upper lip caught in between his. She jerked back examining his face closely; for once she couldn't quite figure it out. His mouth opened for a second, eyebrows rapidly contracting. Then a look; which if Molly had been the betting type would have defined as "oh fuck it" slid onto his face as well as a cocky smirk. She went to ask him what was going on when his mouth with great accuracy slanted across hers.

Her first with him may not have been perfect, but the second was toe-curling fantastic. Heat, teeth, frenzied dance for control, neither party willing to let it up. She growled as his hands snaked under her shirt, shoving him backwards. Not breaking a moment of the kiss; straddling him and rearing over him.

They broke apart when they complete ran out hair, looking down at themselves, Sherlock's shirt ripped open, Molly's neatly unbuttoned. His hand slid up to her neck taking her pulse, she moved her neck giving him more access, grinning.

'Someone looks pleased.'

'Well, it's not every day a girl has Sherlock Holmes under her.' She winked cutely but quickly yelped as he rolled them over, pinning her hands above her head. Now he was the one grinning.

'Don't think you've won.' He spoke huskily, the timber of his voice sparking across her skin delightfully. She wriggled slightly under him, resulting in a shiver.

'Oh Sherlock, haven't you figured it out yet?' Molly knew that she could absolutely be the woman who could conquer this man. Deviously sliding one leg up his, hooking it around his hip. His eyes narrowed at her; letting her play this out.

She smiled innocently at him before rocking against him; the movement causing Sherlock to spasm; releasing her hands. Giving her a moment to roll them back over, pressing her practically bare chest against his to whisper in his ear.

'I always win.'