Author's Note: I am writing this Sherlolly fic for BeckyRose. What would happen if, instead of John being in the bonfire, it was someone else near and dear to Sherlock? Hope you enjoy. I am not new to the Sherlock fandom, but it is my first time writing a fanfic for the series. Sherlock-Molly pairing. I am American, I will do my best to use British terms, but I will occasionally slip out the American version (like elevator instead of lift, something like that.) Might be one chapter, might be two or three. Most likely two, though I can't say for sure. I can come up with a brilliant twist at the last minute and might delay the chapter. I'm just rambling at this point, so I'll just leave this fanfic over here...Enjoy!


It was half-past 5, sun had been down for some time. Sherlock was sitting in the plump, leather chair, hands folded up as he entered his mind palace. Not to deduce for a case, just to calm his mind. Sherlock winced slightly, John must've been working out, his left hand holds far more power than previously. Maybe that woman, Mary or whoever, has something to do with it. When I approached, disguised as a waiter, I noticed John fiddling with a tiny box under the table. Cheesy proposal, John, I mean really. They came together from the same house, so most likely either he met her at her house, or they live together. Obviously, with more stuff, there needed to be rearranging. Her arms are far too scrawny, not enough muscle, so leave it up to the man. Sherlock was still tending to the bruise that had been bestowed on him, courtesy of John and his powerful left-hook. It must've been, what, a day or two since John interrupted what he deducted as a cheesy proposal on John's part. Mary had helped John, who was understandably pissed with Sherlock for faking his death, into a cab. Before she had departed the bruised Sherlock on the street corner, she hollered she would phone him later on John's update. It's no surprise it hadn't come immediately, or even 24 hours later. But when the second day had come, and nearly gone, Sherlock began to feel as if maybe John was correct, maybe Sherlock could've sent word he was alive, but could not be in touch due to the nature of his "death."

More hours had passed, the moon was well on its way to hanging in the midnight sky. Few clouds dotted the sky, and hardly any cases above a four were available for Sherlock. He was terribly bored, tempted with the idea of shooting at Mrs. Hudson's wall, though it hardly would entertain him, but rile the tiny woman with a bad hip. A kiss and a moan caught the attention of Sherlock, a tiny chuckle escaped the man as he was experimenting with the idea of freezing eye balls. The Woman was, so far, the only one to challenge Sherlock's ability to notice things others can't, or won't. She was similar in ways unbeknownst to him, but he remained satisfied, knowing she was safe to worm her way into another government. The night is still young, he thought, there can still be a dazzling murder, or an impossible abduction. A dark humor ran rampant in his thought process, as his pale hands picked up the phone.

Save the soul!
Molly or Mary Hooper?

Sherlock's mind and body freeze. If he was correct, and normally he is in everything, in thinking the message was a skip code, then someone had sent him a message within the message:

Save the soul!
Molly or Mary Hooper?

His blood ran cold, with the idea that someone would have the gall to harm a hair on Molly's head. Sherlock inhaled deeply through his nose; the deeper the breath, the greater the calming effect. So, from what I know, Molly is at St. James, a church if my memory serves me correctly.

A quick flick of the mobile, and Sherlock was researching the church; slight history and blueprints, so as to face this from the most beneficial angle. Sherlock droned through the numeral search results on St. James London brought up blogs, pictures, questions and answers about it. But one thing caught Sherlock's attention most of all. His eyes widened in fear and anger, dressing up for the chilly night while simultaneously texting John:

Hate me, I deserve nothing less for what I did. Need you at St. James, immediately. SH.

Sherlock had bolted down past Mrs. Hudson, who had a tray of her delicious sandwiches made up. He heard her yelp in surprise, running down a flight of stairs and hailing a taxi. Mrs. Hudson, the dear woman she was, cursed Sherlock for 'nearly causing my heart to go bad again.' She just shook her head, her curls bouncing side to side as she was grateful for his return. She stepped inside his apartment, muttering about keeping a barnyard in her building as she laid the tray next to the open laptop. 'I shall not pry, I shall not pry' chanted Mrs. Hudson, as her eyes grazed over the screen. She had looked all of two seconds before shaking her head, not realizing the clicked entry highlighted a Burning Man event taking place outside the church.

The taxi hadn't even came to a complete stop, before Sherlock nearly ripped the backdoor off, diving into the back seat. He could hear the cabbie curse in a foreign language, Hindu if he heard it correctly. Sherlock didn't much care for it, his mind was preoccupied withMolly. "St. James, please, and step on it."

"There are speed signs, can't risk having my license and permit voided because you want to confess your sins." Said the driver, clouded with a heavy Indian accent. Sherlock never registered the remark, he wasn't one to conduct small talk. Experiments and silence were his friends, not chatter and gossip. Sherlock felt he hadn't need for human interaction if it did not benefit him in some way. Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach, it was that exact thought process which had caused this predicament for Molly. He treated her poorly. He mocked her, had fun at her expense by degrading her fashion choices, the way she put her hair up and dressed plainly, except when she knew Sherlock would be round. He even abused the love she had for him, not like it was hard to see it, he thought, by having her smuggle to him body parts and cadavers. Sherlock could only hope that the pathologist, who loved him whole-heartedly, was somewhere safe.

It had seemed like forever, but was hardly 10 minutes, when the taxi came screeching to the curb. Without letting the cabbie speak, Sherlock tossed a 20 pound note over the front seat, bolting from the car. His eyes searched the growing crowd, scanning every face in hopes one would belong to her. A hand was laid on his right shoulder, Sherlock looking down to see John staring back. He was still fuming over the faking-the-death thing, but he still showed he cared for his friend.

"Search everywhere, John. Molly's here, somewhere, and she is in grave danger." Sherlock ushered the words, not wanting to waste time. John stared hard, and knew that Sherlock deeply believed Molly was in trouble, that it wasn't some trick to pry her from another man. The two men just nodded, going in opposite directions. Sherlock and John hollered for Molly's name, the crowd's cheers growing louder as they spotted something bright moving through the crowd. Sherlock glanced at the Burning Man, still whole and not blazing. He felt something nagging him to stare, the statue felt off in some way. He looked and looked for any oddities that would give him some kind of clue.

And he found it.

His eyes fell to the base, and around as he saw what he'd figure as a drag mark, and a good space between the sticks. And inside was Molly, her eyes wide in fear as she found Sherlock. His attention was shocked, the crowd chanting to throw the torch as Sherlock felt immense heat building from just above him.

The Burning Man was on fire.


Sorry to leave it like that. I tried my best with the fanfic, It's my first time writing a Sherlock story. This is all from Sherlock's POV, and the next chapter will be Molly's, ending in a similar standing, while the third chapter will be from both Sherlock and Molly's POV. Hope it wasn't too bad. Again, this fanfic is for BeckyRose, who asked for a fanfic where Molly, instead of John, is inside the burning man. Let me know what you think.