That night, just like so many others, I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking as tears ran down my cheeks. I had seen it so many times in my nightmares, Sherlock, arms outstretched, like he was flying. Then he was hitting the ground with an awful thud that hurt my heart to hear. Blood smeared across his pale face, matted in his curls. I knew it wasn t real, I knew he was alive. He had asked me to help him create the one thing I never wanted to see happen, and I had done everything I could without a second thought. I knew that he wasn t really dead. But the image of him, lying so broken and defeated still haunted me.

I threw back my duvet and padded through the living room to the bathroom, my legs and arms slightly chilled in the cool night air. Not real, I thought to myself as I splashed cold water on my face and neck. Refreshed, I stared at my reflection in the small mirror hung above the sink.

"Stop it. You know he's fine. He's Sherlock. He's always fine." I tell myself, glaring at the mirror with unnecessary intensity. I turned off the tap and patted my face dry, then went to the kitchen for a glass of water before going back to my room to try and get in another hour of sleep before I have to get up for work.

…

An hour of unsuccessfully trying to get back to sleep later, I hit the dismiss button as my alarm clock beeped at me. I showered slowly, letting the hot water work loose the knots in my neck from my stressed night. Twenty minutes later, dresses and sipping my morning coffee, I felt like laughing at myself. I had sat up for an hour last night after my nightmare, just thinking over and over that there was something more I could have done to help him, though I had done everything he had asked. What had happened, happened, it was done, and yet still I couldn't let go of this idea that I hadn't done enough. I drained the last dregs of tea from my mug and grabbed my bag, shaking my head at my own silliness as I left for St Bart's.

It was a slow day in the morgue, no new bodies, so I filled my time with paperwork. My chin rested on my left hand, the same position I had held for the past three hours, and my eyes began to drift shut, and I let the pen I was holding slip from my hand as I nodded off.

My eyes snapped open as the clink of mugs being set on the desk reminded me of where I was. Shit. I just got caught sleeping at my desk. I sat bolt upright and smoothed my hair and clothes, trying to look presentable for whatever unexpected guest had just materialised in my lab. Looking around, I glimpsed the back of a blonde male in a white lab coat leaving the room. I sighed at myself when I noticed the mug of coffee sat on the polished desk, a post-it stuck to the china that read 'Just thought you might like a little pick me up!' I stuck the note to the edge of my desk and sipped at the hot coffee. I tasted milk and two sugars, just as I liked it. I drained the mug and refocused my eyes on the stack of papers on my desk. Reaching out to take up my pen, I noticed the time on my watch and almost laughed out loud. I had slept for an hour, and I had five minutes before my shift ended. I stacked up the files on my desk and grabbed my bag, flicking off the light switch as I left my lab.
Outside St Bart's I began to feel a headache coming on, and I felt a bit queasy, so I waved at a cab, rather than walking the twenty minutes to my flat. Inside the cab, my head began to spin and my legs tingled and went numb. I pulled out my phone, thinking of calling John for some advice, but as my thumb hovered over the screen, ready to tap his name, I hesitated. Sherlock would ask why I had called, and think me silly for calling John when I just had a bad headache. My thumb hung in the air above John's name on my phone as I looked out of the window, just in time to see the cabbie pass my flat.

"Hey, mate, you just missed it, it's that big one we just passed." I leaned forward and tapped on the glass. The cabbie turned around in his seat and I nearly had a heart attack. Moriarty grinned evilly at me through the thick glass, then pressed down on the gas pedal and we sped away from my home. Panicking, with my head ready to split from the ache, and a general numbness beginning to take over my body, I slid the glass pane in front of me shut so Moriarty couldn't hear what I was doing, and pressed the name that my thumb had hesitated on earlier.

John answered on the third ring, and I could have cried, I was so glad he had picked up the phone. His voice was heavy and tired, but I heard the jolt of energy that made his voice alert when I started speaking.

"Hey, Molly."

"John, quickly, just listen. I'm in trouble, I didn't know who to call. He found me. I'm in a cab, I don't know where I'm going, but my legs are going numb and I can't get away."

"What! Sherlock! Molly, who found you? Are you hurt now? Sherlock, Molly is in trouble. Can you see where you're heading now, Molly?" John spoke in a rush, and the words hurt my head. I groaned as I heard more of John's frantic voice on the line, talking to someone else. There was a rustle , and then a deep, velvet soft voice spoke calmly and quickly in my ear.

"Molly?"

"Sherlock," I whispered, fear sinking in as my throat went dry and I lost the feeling in my hands. The fingers holding the phone went slack, and I slumped down onto the seat, the phone beneath my ear.

"Sherlock, I can't move. Oh, God, I can't move." I whispered again, and the cab took a hard left on our way to who-knows-where.

"Molly, listen to me. Focus on my voice. Now tell me, are you hurt?"

"No, but I think that blonde technician drugged my coffee." My words began to slur a little.

"Good. Can you see where you're going?" He asked, no trace of fear in his voice, but he obviously detected the terror in my reply.

"No, I can't sit up. Sherlock, I'm scared. Is he going to hurt me? Is Moriaty going to come after you now?" The thought of any curly hair on his head coming to any kind of harm sent another wave of pain through my skull, and I whimpered into the phone's mouthpiece.

"Trust you to be worrying about the wrong things at a time like this. Okay, Molly, I need you to stay strong for me. I can't stop him from taking you, but I can do everything in my power to find you and bring you back safe. Yes, he is going to hurt you, but I need you to find a way of not surrendering to him. I swear that John and I will find you, Molly. Is there anything you can tell me now? Who was the blonde technician? Did you recognise him?" I whimpered at his words and began to cry into the cab seat cushion, but at the mention of the coffee bringer of earlier this evening, I forced myself to refocus.

"Blonde, short hair slicked back. About 6 foot 4. Male. Quite fit, but not overly muscly. I didn't recognise him, so he's either new or an impostor. Pink sticky note with what might be his handwriting stuck to my desk. I'm sorry Sherlock, I don't remember anything else." I said, trying to keep my voice level and hide the building panic inside me.

Sherlock was repeating the details to John while the car squealed to a stop in a location unknown to me. I heard the door slam and took my last few seconds to shout into the phone.

"Sherlock! He's coming! Help me, please help me! I love you, Sherlock! I love you, please save me! I love y- AAAAHHH!" Rough hands wrenched open the door and struck my cheek, stealing my phone. I looked up at Moriarty as he listened to Sherlock and John's frantic shouts down the phone. I closed my eyes against the pain in my cheek and cried into the cab seat as I listened to Moriarty addressing my friends.

"Well, well. Hi there, sorry for borrowing your pathologist. I was a bit bored, see, and you seem to enjoy the company of a live-in ordinary person, so you know, I pinched this one." He smirked, and pinched my stinging cheek. My whole head was spinning from the slap, and I flinched away from his touch.

"Oh, we can't have that. You're going to live with me now, we need to get along," He crooned in my ear. Putting the phone next to my mouth, he struck my face again, and I cried out, listening to the furious stream of shouts and threats pouring out of the phone from John. I yelped at the next four hits to my cheek, and felt my skin open as it connected with a metal ring Moriarty wore. Blood trickled down into my mouth, and I spat the red liquid into the face of my kidnapper, earning a full-force punch to the stomach. Winded, I ended my resistance.

With the phone still next to my head, I could hear Sherlock's voice, pleading with me to stay strong. I laughed to myself.

"Oooh, do tell me the joke!" Moriarty chuckled. In truth, I was laughing because Sherlock Holmes was pleading. Sherlock, who only had to smile at me to have me working overnight on a case, was begging me not to break under Moriarty. But of course, I would never admit that to any of the three men that would hear my voice, so instead, I muttered my reply to Moriarty.

"You made a mistake." I groaned as new waves of pain and nausea shook my body. Moriarty frowned, momentarily taken aback. At John and Sherlock's end, silence had broken through the threats, and I could feel them waiting for me to explain. So I did.

"And what was my mistake, Molly Hooper?" purred Moriarty. I gave him a sarcastic grin and rolled my eyes, infuriating him.

"You obviously took me to piss Sherlock here off. You took his friend and hurt this friend to make him angry enough to come chase you, play your little game. Am I wrong?" I purred back, my voice rasping in my throat.

"That's just stating a fact, honey, you didn't tell me my mistake yet." Moriarty replied, his voice dangerously soft.

"Your mistake was me. You chose the one person in Sherlock's life that means nothing to him. To him, I'm just the conveniently manipulable pathologist that just happens to work at St Bart's. You didn't take and hurt his friend. You took his acquaintance and slapped her, hardly enough to entice him into your little game. I'm nothing to him. I don't count." I mumbled, trying to keep a scornful tone of voice, to show him that I was disappointed in him for being so laughably misinformed about me.

"Through the phone, I heard John disagree with me, tell Sherlock to tell me I was his friend, that he would find me, save me, bring me home. But Sherlock didn't say a word, and I let the tears flow down my face, knowing that what I had said was right.
Moriarty grinned at my tears and took back the phone, chuckling into it.

"She's crying now, Sherlock. Don't you care? Don't you want to help your conveniently manipulable pathologist? Oh, shush, John, this game is for grown ups." He grinned to himself as the sound of John's raging reply reached my ears. I sobbed, and Moriarty glanced down at my now limp form.

"You know he doesn't care for you. You know he will abandon you. His odd little world of mysteries and crimes will go on turning without you. He knows it, too. He knows that he doesn't care, so I don't think he'll care for your last words, but it seems only fair for you to leave a little something behind. Go ahead, say goodbye to your acquaintance." He held the phone to my ear, and I gulped as I heard Sherlock murmur into the phone.

"Molly, what are you doing? He'll kill you, if he can't use you to get to me. You shouldn't have said that, you know it's not… Molly, please don't let him break you. Don't surrender to him. You're more than my acquaintance, you know that." The words tumbled out in a hurry, like he didn't know how to string the sentences together properly. I took a breath and told him everything I could before I dissolved into teas.

"Sherlock, don't lie to me because I'm in trouble. I don't count, I'm nothing, always have been. Don't deny it; I have seen you lie enough times to know when you're doing it." I heard Sherlock take in a sharp breath, like I had stung him. I said the words briskly, trying to sound like they didn't shatter my heat as I said them. Forcing myself to continue, to make the most of this last opportunity to talk to my friends, I spoke quietly into the phone.
"John, keep an eye on Toby for me, and if I don't come home, please find him a nice home. Keep yourselves safe, for me, would you? I won't forgive you for dying because of me or Moriarty." I fumbled for words, now focussing on the last thing I would ever say to the sociopath that held my heart.
"I love you Sherlock. Please don't try to find me, just stay safe. I'll be fine. Or dead. One way or the other, you know. Give John my love and tell my mum why I won't be over for dinner next Thursday. I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to avoid this, and I'm sorry I called John. I love you Sherlock Holmes, and I want you to remember me. Please remember me. Goodbye, Mr Holmes."

Moriarty smirked to himself as he pulled away the phone. I listened to the shouted denials John aimed at the phone, closing my eyes and blocking out the desperate sound. The evil man that stood above me stooped and laid my phone on the ground, and I heard John go quiet as Sherlock spoke. His voice was unsteady, almost afraid now.

"Molly, I-"

I never heard what Sherlock said. Moriarty's foot crunched my phone into the gravel and the connection was lost.