Tumblr Prompt from a brave anon: could you maybe write some mollcroft? please? pretty please with a cherry on top?
'I don't know who you are or what you want, but I'm nobody,' Molly rasped, struggling against the muscular arm wrapped tight across her shoulders.
Her captor laughed and pulled her closer. Her legs were tangled in the copious skirts of her ridiculous gown, her lungs struggling to fill as his other arm caught her around the waist like an iron bar, the bones of her corset bruising her ribs. His breath brushed across her cheek as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.
'Oh, but you are, Doctor Hooper. And when he comes for you, and he will, I will exact my revenge.'
Before Molly could question him further, there was a sudden cacophony of shouts and gunfire from below. The door burst open and a half dozen men rushed inside, their faces obscured by black kerchiefs.
'Take your positions!' Her captor bellowed. The men immediately formed two rows flanking the door, their weapons trained on the opening.
As suddenly as they had started, the noises below ceased. A deadly silence falling over the room.
Molly resumed her struggles in vain. She didn't know who was going to come through that door, but she knew whoever it was didn't deserve to be ambushed and killed.
A quiet tapping pierced the silence, the click of metal against the cement floor, growing closer.
Molly inhaled deeply as a shadowed figure appeared in the doorway.
The light from the window cut across his face and she could make out his piercing eyes, narrowed dangerously as he took in the room. He caught her gaze and raised one eyebrow before stepping fully into the light.
Molly's breath caught in her throat.
Mycroft Holmes.
The mysterious man who regularly swept into her morgue was the last person she had expected to see. His brother, Sherlock, perhaps, as Molly's work often involved the detective. But not the aloof, elder Holmes who only ever acknowledged her presence when she inadvertently managed to get in his way or if she was autopsying one of his agents… not the man she'd come to harbor admiration and affection for, yet had never seemed to be noticed by him.
He cut a striking figure, dressed in a tailored suit and carrying a heavy cane, the black wood shining and sharply contrasting to the smooth silver handle. His bearing was inherently regal and, though not conventionally handsome, he carried himself in such a manner that one could not help but feel drawn to him.
'Mister Holmes,' her captor drawled. 'How good of you to join us. I trust my men downstairs welcomed you properly.'
Mr Holmes looked down and slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket before shrugging it off. His waistcoat was pulled tight and Molly could see his chest rising and falling with each purposeful breath. 'Your mistake, Mr Collins, is believing that I would be distracted by your particular approach.' With deliberate care, he unbuttoned his cuffs and slowly rolled up his sleeves to the elbows. He looked up at her captor, his face dark and dangerous. 'If anything, you've only ensured your demise.'
'Ha!' Her captor barked. 'I have six men, armed and ready to kill you. You have… a cane.'
Mr Holmes pursed his lips. 'A fair observation, one cannot fault you your eyesight.'
Molly breathed a laugh. Collins tightened his grip on her neck, his body beginning to shake in rage, and cut off more of her air.
'Enough. You are going to stand there and watch,' Collins spat, 'while I kill her, slowly and painfully. Then, when I've heard enough of your pleading for her life, I will kill you.'
A twitch appeared in Mr Holmes' jaw, all levity gone. 'Your anger is misguided. I would be willing to overlook your error, were you not holding this woman hostage.'
'Error?' Collins roared. In a flash, he pulled a knife from his pocket and held it against Molly's throat. 'You took everything from me! You let my wife die in that raid, and now… now you're going to know my pain!'
Mr Holmes tilted his head to the side. 'I am sorry for your loss, but the blame does not lay at my feet. The men with whom you associated were rather unsavory and we did our best to retrieve her, but they'd already decided that her usefulness had reached an end. She was killed before my men even entered the building. She was killed because you hadn't paid your debts, Mr Collins.'
Collins swallowed, sweat pouring down his face.
'That is something you will have to come to terms with. But it does not warrant prison. Taking the lives of this lady and myself, however, will bring the force of the entire British nation down upon you.' The calm wrath in Mr Holmes' rumble sent shivers down Molly's spine.
The knife slipped in Collins' sweaty hands, drawing a thin line of blood. Molly hissed in pain.
Mr Holmes clenched his cane with white-knuckled force, a deadly calm expression on his face. 'I will give you one last chance, Mr Collins. Let her go or I will make you.'
Time stretched on painfully, the air thick with tension. The six men waited for their orders and tried to hide their intimidation of the man before them.
Gathering himself, Collins straightened, his hand steady against Molly's throat. He grinned hollowly and snarled, 'Make me.'
Instantly, Mr Holmes jumped. As quick as a cobra, he struck the nearest man with his cane, sending him flying into the man behind him. As they tumbled to the ground in an unconscious heap, Mr Holmes whirled about and ducked, swinging his leg along the ground and knocking the next man to the ground. Standing, Mr Holmes swung his cane out, hitting the man across the face and following through to hit the man approaching him from the other side.
Molly watched him with wide eyes. The man moved with deliberate, powerful precision. He caught the arm of another man, bending it back until he dropped the knife, then spun him into the last man, sending them both to the ground with a whack of his cane. He straightened up and brushed off his coat before turning and striding toward her captor, leaving the piles of groaning, half-conscious men in his trail with not a trace of sweat on his face.
Collins stumbled backward with Molly.
'Stop, stop or I kill her!' Collins shouted, no longer in control, his voice shaking and his grip on the knife slipping.
Mr Holmes halted, his eyes dark and unreadable. Molly pulled in vain at the arm around her neck, her vision becoming blurry from the pressure against her knife cut into her throat and she whimpered in pain. She couldn't speak, but she tried desperately to tell him to run.
Leave! You can't save me, just go! Please!
But he ignored her unspoken commands.
'Very well,' Mr Holmes growled. With a swoosh the pressure around her throat was suddenly gone, and a sickening thud sounded behind her. Gasping, she stumbled forward and was pulled into the arms of her rescuer. She sucked in deep breaths and tried to control her trembling. Dropping his umbrella with a soft thud, Mr Holmes ran his hand gently up and down her back, the other keeping her head against his chest, her ear directly over his pounding heart.
She peeked out of the corner of her eye to see Collins lying on the floor, his eyes closed and a feathered dart sticking out of his left shoulder. She breathed a shaky sigh to see the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
'You didn't kill him…' she mumbled.
'Would you prefer that I had?'
Molly bit her lip and shook her head. Her heart was still pounding and she was beginning to feel dizzy as her shock wore off.
'Come,' Mr Holmes turned and began guiding her toward the door and around the groaning men. 'It is not wise to remain here, though my agents should be arriving momentarily.'
'Are we safe now?' Molly asked breathlessly, her fingers digging into his sleeve. The world was starting to spin and she was having trouble keeping steady on the shaky ground beneath her feet.
Mr Holmes glanced at her, then immediately bent down and swept her crumbling figure up into his arms. Molly's head rested perfectly in the curve of his neck and his mouth brushed her temple, his rumbling words felt more than heard as the world faded around her.
'I'll always protect you.'
With a soft sigh, Molly succumbed to the darkness.
'And here I thought I was the only one to suffer because of the Holmes' boys,' Doctor Watson grumbled good-naturedly as he examined Molly's injuries. She sat primly on the sofa at 221b Baker Street and smiled distractedly at her friend's attempt at humor. He pressed against the scratch and bruising on her throat and she grimaced.
'Perhaps you would do well not to aggravate her injuries, Watson.'
Mycroft Holmes stalked into the room, his brother on his heels. Both were red-faced and fuming.
'I'm not the one who got her kidnapped, Mycroft,' Doctor Watson growled.
'Please,' Molly interrupted their glaring contest. 'If I may, Doctor Watson, I'd like to speak with Mr Holmes alone.' She flicked her gaze to Mycroft.
The detective and the doctor stared at one another in hesitation, both reluctant to leave their friend with Mycroft, especially after what happened not a half hour before.
'I will call for you if I need to,' she reassured them.
With deadly glowers toward the man in question, Sherlock and Doctor Watson reluctantly removed themselves to the kitchen, out of earshot, but close enough to intercede should Molly need them.
When they were gone, Molly finally looked up at Mr Holmes. He had schooled his features into the usual cold, aloof mask. But Molly could see the tenseness in his shoulder as he held himself rigid, like a spring wound too tight. And his eyes kept flicking to her, then skittering away.
'Mr Holmes, please,' she said and gestured toward the cushion beside her.
He slowly made his way around the coffee table and lowered himself to the sofa.
'I suppose you desire an explanation.' He clasped his hands in his lap and he spoke crisply, staring intently at the fireplace across the room.
Molly breathed deeply and tucked her hair behind her ear. 'It would be nice.'
He licked his lips and opened his mouth, but stilled when she laid a hand on his arm. He turned to stare at her and she smiled gently.
'But I don't think it's necessary.'
His brow furrowed and he once more opened his mouth. Taking a leap of faith, Molly quickly leaned over a pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough to dispel any doubts. 'Thank you. For coming to my rescue.'
His eyes widened and a becoming blush filled his face as she pulled away, her heart in her throat as he stared down at her incredulously. Before she could doubt her own conclusions, he reached up and brushed his fingers lightly down her cheek. His mask fell away and she could see the residual terror in his eyes and feel his complete relief as he finally relaxed his facade of indifference.
His hand cupped her cheek and the way he looked at her… Molly had never felt more beautiful or desired. He was a man of few, but powerful words. His actions were the voice of his emotions and he'd proved more than she'd dared to hope for by coming to her rescue, even knowing that it was a trap.
She hadn't known the depth of her own feelings until he'd stared at her across a dingy room and she realized that she would do anything to keep him alive… even if it meant dying herself.
'Molly…' he whispered, breaking into her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath hitched when he lowered his gaze to her lips. She reached up and trailed her fingers along his jaw, before lifting her chin just enough to brush her lips against his.
He closed his eyes and moved his hand to cup the back of her neck, holding her gently, but firmly as he lost himself in the sensation of kissing her.
'Oh!'
They broke apart at the exclamation and turned to see Doctor Watson and Sherlock staring at them in shock from the kitchen doorway. Watson seemed confused, but Sherlock's face held a fair degree of disgust.
Molly blushed profusely and pulled back, biting her lip.
'Oh, do stop your gawking,' Mycroft grumbled. Turning back to Molly, he lifted her hand and left a lingering kiss on her knuckles. He sighed. 'I'm terribly sorry to leave at this moment, my dear, but duty does call. And I have a bit of a mess to clean up.'
Molly nodded and stood, Mycroft following her lead. 'I understand completely.'
'Sherlock, let's give them a minute.' Watson pushed the detective, who looked faintly ill, into the other room.
Mycroft slipped on his coat and gloves, slipping the silver buttons through with a practiced fingers. Molly took his hat from the peg and stood on her tiptoes to place it on his head, nervously knocking it slightly askew when she caught his intense gaze. He chuckled and placed his hands on her waist, keeping her close.
'May I call on you tomorrow, Miss Hooper?'
Molly beamed up at him, her heart overflowing. 'I'd be delighted, Mr Holmes.'
AN: Oh, dear... look what I did. :)
My first ever Mollcroft, so I'm feeling out the dynamic. But I couldn't resist this, especially after falling in love with Mycroft in the Sherlock Special. I just need him to have a happy ending of SOME kind! And who better than our darling Molly to help him out?! And though I am first and foremost a Sherlolly shipper, my guilty pleasure ship is Mollcroft.
Let me know what you think!