It was an otherwise uneventful day until the gunshots. Molly had been in the lab when the tragedy began. She hid herself in the supply closet on the floor, holding her knees to her chest, attempting to breathe quietly. Footsteps approached as the door of the lab swung open. Holding her breath, Molly prepared herself for a fight. The door to the supply closet flew open and Molly stood quickly coming face to face with a man that looked eerily similar to that of Jim Moriarty.
Judging the distance and timing, she swiftly attempted to knock his legs out from under him with a kick to his knee. As the heel of her foot made contact, he fell to the ground and she tried to run past. Molly thought she was in the clear until he reached out to grab her ankle, pulling her down. Molly's head hit the floor hard.
"Yes, you'll do nicely Miss Hooper. I can see why my brother was so fond of you," the man, now known as Jim's brother, remarked with a snicker. "Too bad you're a weak point for the great Sherlock Holmes; it's a pity I have to kill you." It was the last thing she heard before blacking out.
"Greg?" Sherlock answered his phone. "A shooter, where?" His face twisted in a mix of anger and agonizing panic. "I'll be there."
"Sherlock?" John asked bringing Rosie back out from his former room, freshly changed. "What's wrong?"
"There's been a shooting at St. Bart's," Sherlock struggled to get out without choking up.
"I'll have Mrs. H take Rosie. I'll go with you," John told him.
"No," Sherlock immediately replied with a stern look. "Rosie already lost one parent. I'll be damned if she loses another." Possibly lost her godmother, he thought but quickly shook the idea out of his head. He tossed on his coat and scarf, speeding down the stairs, not giving John a chance to argue back.
Molly woke with a pounding in her head, looking around at her surroundings. She was in the morgue, laid out on the slab.
"And so she wakes," the other Moriarty grinned. "Sorry, it would be no fun to kill you in your sleep."
"J—you're Jim's brother?" Molly asked, dazed.
"Indeed. Colonel James Moriarty at your service," he bowed dramatically. They have the same name, of course, Molly rolled her eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" Molly asked, the pounding in her head becoming too much for her.
"In memoriam of my dearly deceased brother, I shall finish what he started," he replied simply.
"Lestrade, any updates?" Sherlock inquired in an attempt to keep his cool.
"Some of the employees escaped but—" Greg was interrupted by the consulting detective.
"Is Molly okay? Is she safe?" Sherlock asked frantically.
"Sherlock," Lestrade muttered, "we haven't found her."
"I'm going in to find her," he growled with determination. Greg put a hand out to stop him.
"Not without being armed, you're not," Greg insisted. "I shouldn't do this but if anyone will get her out safe, it's you." He handed Sherlock his pistol. A knowing look of understanding passed between them and then Sherlock moved his way through the crowd towards the doors of the hospital.
"So many options to choose from," James Moriarty, the younger, mulled over in his mind. Molly was waiting for something, anything, to work in her favor and distract him. Footsteps were heard outside of the morgue and she felt her silent prayer was answered. Moriarty was alerted and headed towards the door to greet their visitor. With his back turned, Molly quickly grabbed the scalpel and slid off of the cold metal slab.
"Where's Molly?" she heard Sherlock shout and her eyes widened with fear. They were having an altercation and she couldn't be sure who was actually winning. The gun was kicked out of Sherlock's hands and Molly knew she had to act. A howl of pain erupted from Moriarty as Molly stabbed him in the side with the scalpel. He went after her, his hands around her neck.
Sherlock was still recovering from the blows of his fight but he went to reach for the gun. He stopped when he saw Molly block his hands and strike Moriarty in the stomach with her knee. He doubled over and Molly moved to kick the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. Molly reached for the gun and hit him over the head with the butt of it, effectively knocking him out.
"Didn't expect that, did you?" Molly smirked with a sense of pride. Sherlock was still stunned by the scene that had unfolded before him, and texted Lestrade telling him to come and make the arrest. "Are you okay?" she asked, grabbing rubbing alcohol pads to clean up Sherlock's cuts.
"Me? I'm fine. And so are you. Who was that?" Sherlock asked.
"Believe it or not," Molly laughed, "Jim Moriarty has a brother who was out for revenge." She dabbed the alcohol pad on the small cut just below his cheekbone. He winced at the sting of it. Just then, Lestrade charged in with his team and slapped the cuffs over James Moriarty's wrists.
"Good work, Sherlock," Greg praised him.
"Actually, Greg, it was all Molly," Sherlock informed him.
"Really? Wow, I'm impressed," Lestrade complimented. "Nice job, Molly."
"Isn't she wonderful?" Sherlock asked with a smile to no one in particular. Molly smiled back and wrapped him in a tight embrace. "I thought I was going to lose you."
"You'll never lose me," Molly murmured against his chest. Sherlock kissed the top of her head.
"Here," Sherlock said, handing the gun back over to Lestrade. He turned to Molly then. "Let's go home."
"Sounds good to me," Molly told him and they walked out of the morgue together hand in hand.
Author's Note: Really not my best story but I hope you enjoyed it, SammyKatz. Stuff like this isn't really easy for me to write.