I AM YOURS

A/N: This story got away (so far away) from my original idea of an angsty hospital interaction between Sherlock and Molly. Then it ended up as a sort-of response to MorbidByDefault's sleeping position prompt from forever ago (hehe). I apologize in advance to those who may think that certain characters are a little OOC.

I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.

"You're mine. Never forget that."

Molly struggled to release herself from her bonds. She only stopped when the muzzle of a gun was pushed hard against her back. She raised her eyes and fought the urge to scream when she saw the wicked gleam in Moriarty's eyes. She shook her head as if to drive the image away and took a deep breath. "I am not yours!"

"No? So whose are you then? Tom's?" He turned to her ex-fiancé's bloodied, lifeless body on the floor and smirked at it. "Sherlock's?" He took two steps closer and nodded at the associate standing behind Molly.

She couldn't help the whimper that issued from her mouth when the cold, hard muzzle pressed to her temple. She watched Moriarty as he sat on his haunches before her and showed her a live feed of the consulting detective from across his window. She watched the man she loved sit in his chair, lost in his mind palace and unaware of her suffering. "Sherlock!"

Moriarty pressed a button and put the mobile back in his suit pocket. "My lieutenant is itching to shoot our favourite detective. I do believe he isn't planning to wait for my go-ahead. Soon, he'll be gone and you'll be all mine." He gripped her upper arms and kissed her on the mouth.

Disgusted, she wriggled until her mouth was free. She kept her gaze on him as Moriarty stood and stared down at her. "What do you want from me?" She glared at him despite the tears welling in her eyes.

"I want you to call him and tell him that you belong to me." He lowered himself until his face was level with hers. "If you do it, then I won't kill you and I'll call off the sniper. If you don't, well…"

"I don't belong to you!" She spat at his face, earning her a vicious slap from the consulting criminal.

"Yes, you do!" He bellowed the last word, his spittle landing on her face. "Sherlock Holmes doesn't want you! I'm the only one who does!"

Molly gave him a defiant look. "You never even wanted me. You only used me to get close to Sherlock. You're only obsessed with me now because I helped him fake his death." She shook her head. "You're wrong. He cares about me. He'll search the world to get me back. And he will kill you if you killed me."

To her dismay, he only laughed and lowered his face until his nose touched hers. "No, he won't. He needs me. His life is incredibly boring without me. He can find another pathologist, but he has no other equal."

Ignore him, her inner voice ordered. You know the truth. He doesn't. Molly took a deep breath before changing her approach. "Let me go, Jim. He's probably dead anyway. You don't need me anymore."

"How stupid are you? No matter what my idiot lieutenant says, he won't fire a single shot unless I authorise it. But you're right. I don't really need you. I am keeping you, though, because you are mine."

"No, I'm not!" she shouted. His assertion both angered and worried her. Oh, God. He's really obsessed with me.

He grabbed her arms and shook her until she whimpered in pain. "Yes, you are!" he answered in a much louder voice. He straightened up as he released her and took the phone out of his pocket. He dialled a number and pressed the mobile to her ear.

"Hello?"

She sighed in relief when she heard his baritone. "Sh-Sherlock?" She was grateful that she managed to keep her voice from cracking too much when she spoke.

"Molly! What's wrong?"

Her heart warmed at the hint of worry in his voice. Remember, Molly, that you're doing it for him. She stifled a sob before answering. "Mor-Moriarty wants me to tell y-you that I'm h-his."

"Where are you? Did he hurt you?" She heard shuffling, as well as John and Mary's voices, in the background.

But Moriarty took the phone before she could respond. He walked back to his original spot and pressed the phone to his ear. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Has Little Miss Mousy Molly captured your heart? I thought it belonged to the Woman." Turning around so his back was on her, he paused to listen to the consulting detective. He tsk-tsked. "That won't do, my dear." He turned his head and stared at her as he spoke. "Why don't I send you our wedding photo?" Another pause. "Either that, or a photo of her corpse. Pick one, Sherlock." He shrugged and chuckled. "All right then." He ended the call and pocketed the phone. He faced Molly and nodded at the associate behind her.

"Jim, don't!" she yelped when she heard the click of the safety being switched off. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes and looked at Moriarty with all the fury that she could muster. "If you kill me, Sherlock will hunt you down and he will end you. I don't know how you survived the last time, but he will make sure that you won't hurt anyone ever again." She sniffed and narrowed her eyes at him, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks.

But he only barked with laughter. "I believe you," he stated. "He said the same thing to me on the phone. But, unfortunately for you, I'm too clever for Sherlock to catch." He nodded at the associate again.

Molly closed her eyes and waited for her end. Goodbye, Sherlock.

But, instead of gunshots, she heard the sound of doors being kicked down. She opened her eyes and ducked her head when armed police in full combat gear began firing at Moriarty's associates. She raised her head when the shots ceased and saw the look of joy on the consulting criminal's face.

Moriarty grabbed a gun from the floor and pointed it at Molly's head as he advanced towards her. She didn't take her eyes off him as he pulled out a knife from the nearest associate's holster and began cutting the ropes tying her to the chair. "One wrong move and you're dead," he whispered to her ear as he freed her feet, leaving her wrists tied behind her. When Mary, John, and Sherlock entered with their guns drawn, he forced Molly to stand, wrapped his free arm around her neck, and pressed the gun to her temple.

"Lower the gun, Moriarty!" shouted John. "Let Molly go!"

"Sherlock," the Irishman sing-songed, "I cannot believe it. A few years without me and you've completely given in to sentiment. I mean, not only have you fallen for Little Miss Mousy Molly, you also delivered a lively and fascinating speech at Johnny Boy's wedding reception. So sorry I missed that, by the way. You also killed poor Charlie Magnussen to protect Mrs Watson. I hear you're also babysitting now." He shuddered, as if disgusted by this new Sherlock Holmes. "How ordinary."

The consulting detective shrugged. "What of it? I simply realised that sentiment can also be a strength. At least, my friends can depend on me to rescue them or to solve their murders. You, on the other hand, clearly feel nothing for your associates. I mean, you certainly don't care that your sniper's head and chest are riddled with bullets, do you?" Sherlock asked as he allowed John space to get a better view on his target.

From the corner of Molly's eye, she saw Mary stepping over corpses and guns as she walked along the wall to the pathologist's left. The kind blonde woman winked at her and cocked her head towards Sherlock, whose jaw clenched and whose grip on the gun tightened as he stared at Moriarty.

Molly shook her head ever so slightly at the detective. Don't you dare do anything stupid, she threatened in her mind, hoping that he would see it in her eyes.

He glanced at her, his jaw set and his eyes dark with worry. "Are you hurt, Molly? Did he hurt you?"

"Yes," she answered, ignoring Moriarty's tighter hold around her neck. "He-" She paused to take a deep breath. "He hit the back of my head with a blunt object, likely the butt of a gun, when he took me from Bart's. He also d-drugged me and slapped me around."

Sherlock nodded and turned his attention on the consulting criminal. "You will pay dearly for hurting her."

The Irishman chuckled and turned his head towards his captive. His tongue darted to taste Molly's sweaty skin. "Well, she's mine so I will do what I want with her."

Sherlock scoffed and shook his head. "She's not yours."

Two shots rang out, effectively ending the conversation. Molly turned to Moriarty when his hold slackened and, upon seeing the exit wounds on his forehead, tried to push him off her. But he fell forwards, taking her with him. Sherlock grabbed her before she reached the ground and disentangled the dead Irishman's arm from her neck. She barely registered the armed police carrying Moriarty's body out of the room with Sherlock's arms around her.

"Sorry, Sherlock," Mary spoke from behind her. "The talking was taking way too long. I had the shot and I took it." She tugged at Molly's hand to stop her from moving. "Sherlock, have you got a pair of bolt cutters?"

He smiled at her as he removed a pair of bolt cutters from his coat pocket. "Thank you, Mary. I was wondering when you were going to bloody shoot him." He held Molly's face while his friend began cutting the zip ties around her wrists. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and began sobbing. "I thought I was going to lose you!"

His eyes softened, and he gave her a tender smile as he wiped her tears away. "I'm all right. I'm indestructible, remember?"

Molly's hands cupped his cheeks once the last of the zip ties fell from her wrists. "Is he really dead? Are we safe?"

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. "Yes. Finally. Mary made sure of it. So we're all safe now."

Molly looked up and smiled at the Watsons, who had walked up to them and watched her with concern. "Thank you, Mary. And you too, John."

Mary took her hand and squeezed it. "You're welcome. We're just glad that you're all right."

"John? Could you look her over?" asked Sherlock as they walked out of the abandoned building.

"The paramedics will do a better job than I would." John sighed at the consulting detective coaxing the pathologist to sit down at the back of the ambulance.

"Please, John?" Sherlock entreated as he wrapped an orange blanket around Molly's trembling body.

She turned to Sherlock, whose eyes were filled with worry. "There's no need. I'm OK."

John cleared his throat and she turned towards him. He had approached her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "He - sorry, we - just want to make sure that you're perfectly all right. Who knows what else he did to you while you were unconscious?"

Mary offered Sherlock her hand. "Come on. Lestrade and your brother will be here soon. They'll need to debrief us. Molly will be fine with John and the paramedics. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Of course." He nodded at someone that Molly could not see. A paramedic and her assistant appeared from the side of the ambulance. The former army doctor helped her up the stretcher. The paramedic began to examine her as John turned to Sherlock. "I'll take care of her. Go with Mary."

The consulting detective nodded and took Mary's hand. "Text me the moment she's cleared to go home. Drop her off at her flat. I'll be there as soon as I can get away from my brother."

John replied with a quick nod. "I'll see you later."

Molly watched him turn his back from her. "Sherlock!" she called out, though her voice was too soft to be heard.

John heard her and called out to his friend. He, as well as Mary, turned around. Releasing Mary's hand, Sherlock climbed into the ambulance and knelt beside her. He held her hand in both of his. "What is it?"

"Thank you," she told him as tears began to flow.

Sherlock wiped her tears with his thumb and gave her a tender smile. "You're welcome." He kissed her on her forehead and gently pushed her shoulders down so she was comfortably lying on the mattress. "John is helping the paramedic to ensure you're completely OK, all right? I'll see you once I'm done here." He gave her forehead another peck when she nodded. Then he glanced at his best friend and left the ambulance.

The emergency care assistant closed the door after hopping off the vehicle. The paramedic and John resumed checking her vital signs as the ambulance pulled out of its spot. Suddenly feeling drained of all her energy, Molly watched her friend assist the paramedic until she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was John smiling at her.

Molly had been lying in bed for a few hours when her front door opened. She watched Toby jump from her bed and listened to him meow at her visitor. She smiled when she heard a low baritone saying her pet's name as if the feline were Anderson.

Turning over to lie on her right side, she shut her eyes and evened out her breathing just before her bedroom door opened. She felt the mattress dip when her visitor joined her in bed. A large hand shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes and turned to look at the other person. "Hi, Sherlock," she greeted, her voice soft. She turned to lie on her back and her hand reached for his face.

"How are you feeling?" He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Her chest ached at the worry and pain in his eyes. "I'm better now, thanks. Physiologically, that is."

He cupped her jaw. "You're safe now. Moriarty is dead. I made sure of it." The look in his eyes made her wonder exactly what the last sentence meant.

"Thank you. I'll be fine, Sherlock." She gave him a soft smile. "How did you know that he took me?"

"The cat figurine that I gave you."

She recalled the golden cat with the raised left front paw and red inner ears sitting on her desk. She remembered him telling her that he got it from Chinatown. She nodded as she realised what he meant. "You put a camera in it. That's why you put it on my desk."

"Yes, exactly. I also put a couple pieces of discreet surveillance equipment in the morgue and in the lab." He tilted his head and smirked. "I'm not telling you what they are and where they are, so don't even think of asking." He caressed her cheekbone and kissed her on the lips. "I needed to keep an eye on you."

"I guess we were lucky that he took me from my office, eh? So who was the person sitting in your flat then?"

"It was a dummy I had made for a different purpose. Once I was alerted that you were abducted, I put it there. From my previous encounter with Moriarty, I knew that he would have a sniper on one of us. He'd already taken you and he'd already used John, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade to control me, so the sniper would be on me now. I suppose he could have had a sniper on Mary as well. We're lucky he chose me."

She took a deep breath. "I thought I was going to lose you. I couldn't bear it. I'd probably die of a broken heart."

He rolled his eyes. "Nonsense. No one dies of a broken heart. Plus the paediatrician who's been eyeing you will be glad that I'm out of the way." He shut up at her disapproving look. His face softened, surprising her. "I wouldn't be able to bear it if I lost you."

Tears welled up in her eyes. The lies that Moriarty spat at her continued to torment her hours after she was rescued, and she wanted to hear Sherlock say that she mattered to him. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled and kissed her. Then he rose from the bed. "Why are you up anyway?" he asked on his way to her en-suite bathroom. "It's nearly three in the morning. You should be resting."

As was her wont when Sherlock stayed over, she followed him into the bathroom and took his clothes. She folded his dress shirt and trousers as she waited for him to finish brushing his teeth. She had just set his clothes on her vanity chair when he emerged from the bathroom. "I was waiting for you," she finally answered. She got into bed and turned over on her side until she faced Sherlock. "I'm glad it's over."

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. "I feel the same way," he answered when they broke apart. "We should invite John and Mary for dinner sometime to celebrate."

She raised her eyebrow. "You're into inviting people for dinner now?" she teased.

"Well, we do owe them. Think of it as a way to thank them, as well as celebrate Moriarty's end. I'll try not to drug them," he joked, making her giggle.

"You're right. Would this Saturday work for them? And will it be at your flat or mine?" She wrapped her arm around him and slid the other under her pillow.

"Let's just do it at Baker Street. That way, Mrs Hudson could look after Hannah while the four of us laugh at Moriarty's demise."

"Sherlock-"

"What?" He furrowed his brows at her warning tone. "Fine, maybe just the three of us. Come on, Molly. The man thought you belonged to him!" He began to laugh, but his laughter turned into a sigh as he gazed at her disapproving face. "Sorry. But, seriously, he should have known better that you don't belong to him."

"Right. Because I am yours."

"As I am yours." His genuine smile, the one that belonged only to her, melted her heart and made her smile brightly and her cheeks flush. He looked pleased with himself as he gave her a peck on the lips. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, darling."

Molly turned onto her side and revelled in the warmth of Sherlock's body. She shut her eyes and sighed as he held her closer. Sleep was about to take her when she heard him rumble her name into her hair. Without opening her eyes, she asked, "Yes, Sherlock?"

"I love you."

She smiled. "I know."

I hope you guys liked this. It's also my first time writing established Sherlolly. Did you guys guess that they're together before the second scene? Hehe.

Thoughts? Hated this? Liked this? Loved this?