Having known the world's only consulting detective for three years and having dated the world's only consulting criminal for three weeks, Molly Hooper thought it was completely ironic that she ended up in protective custody for witnessing a murder that had nothing to do either of them.

It was almost a year after Sherlock and Jim's confrontation on Bart's roof. Molly had been walking to the Tube station when she saw a man gunned down in an alley. She got a good look at the killer when he turned to her then she took off running and didn't stop until she found a cab. Her heart didn't stop racing until she was sitting in Greg's office with a cup of crappy coffee and a stale donut.

The dead man's body was found and identified. When Molly picked a photo of the killer out of a database, Greg swore under his breath – the two men were from rival gangs. Within fifteen minutes of taking her statement and putting her in official protective custody, his mobile rang. One look at the caller ID had him rolling his eyes but he took the call.

"Yes?" He paused, glaring at the unseen caller. "Now see here, Mycroft…"

Molly's eyes widened. Mycroft? What's he got to do with this? She hadn't seen Sherlock's older brother since Christmas Eve but she knew he'd been almost as necessary in Sherlock's "death" as she herself had been.

"My men are more than capable," Greg was saying. Another pause then he sighed quietly. "Alright, but only because it's what Sherlock would have wanted. I expect to be kept in the loop." He hung up then looked at Molly. "Mycroft's sending someone for you, he'll take you to a government safe house."

"Where?"

"That's apparently above my pay grade," Greg muttered then saw the worried look on her face. "You'll be fine, Molly," he assured her. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

"How long is this going to last?" she asked quietly.

"Until the trial."

"That could take months."

"We'll try to move things along faster." He smiled a bit. "Bart's can't get along without you."

Molly's eyes widened. "Oh God, my job, Toby…"

"Mycroft said he'll tell your boss you're taking a leave of absence. His PA is going to pack a bag for you and Mycroft himself will catsit." He smirked. "Apparently, he likes cats."

That … makes sense, actually. She relaxed as much as she could, given the circumstances. "Alright. Thanks, Greg."

He chuckled. "Don't thank me, I'm just the messenger."

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin when her mobile rang. Forcing herself to calm down, she glanced at the display – an unknown caller – then answered it. "Hello?"

"I'm sending you the name and photo of the man I've placed in charge of your safety," Mycroft said.

Despite everything, Molly couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Hello to you too, Mr. Holmes."

There was a pause then she heard him conversing with someone but she couldn't make out the words. After a moment, he spoke up. "Forgive me, Dr. Hooper. Your world has been upended, I should at least try to be civil."

She sighed. "It's alright."

Her mobile chirped, announcing the arrival of a photo. Molly opened it then scowled in confusion. I know him from somewhere, but where? The man in the photo looked to be in his mid-to-late-thirties, with a more muscular build than any man she knew. He was looking at the camera, his ruggedly handsome features and slate blue eyes telegraphing his world-weary mood loud and clear. His ginger hair was military-short and there was a day or two's worth of matching stubble on his face.

"I know this man," she said. "At least, I think I do. I've seen him before. What's his name?"

"Sebastian Moran," Mycroft replied.

The memory came to her like a bomb dropping in her lap – Jim showing her pictures on his phone from his trip home to Dublin to see his family. Amidst all the black-haired relatives, one tall ginger man stood out.

"Who's that?" she asked.

Jim smirked. "Him? That's just Sebby. He's an old friend."

"What does he do?"

"He's a headhunter for a London firm." He chuckled like it was funny.

"Mr. Holmes, this man knew Jim Moriarty," she said, trying to keep from panicking.

"More precisely, he was Moriarty's right hand man."

"Wait, you knew?"

"Of course, it's why I hired him."

"But … how can you trust him?"

"Moran's only motivation is money. Provided he's well-paid, his loyalty is assured."

Molly glanced at Greg, who tried to pretend like he wasn't listening. "What would Sherlock say?"

"I've already texted him, he gave his reluctant approval."

I guess if he's good enough for Sherlock and Mycroft… "Alright."

"Thank you, Dr. Hooper. He'll be there shortly."