A/N: still unbeta-ed, unbrit-picked. Small shout out to Rogue Squadron from Star Wars because it fit so well. ^_^

Previously: Molly is faced with the reality that her husband is possessed by a demon.


Molly stared blankly out of the car window as London swept past her. Greg had offered to take her home, grumbling under his breath about her missing husband.

"I just don't understand it. He should have been here well before me." He had looked at her sympathetically before leading her out.

Now, the car could not move fast enough for Molly. She needed to get home. She needed an explanation that made sense. She needed her husband. Sherlock's voice drifted through her mind. "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth." Mad was the right word indeed.

The car slowed to a stop in front of 221.

"Do you want me to come up?" Greg turned to face her. "I can wait with you until that burk of a husband of yours shows up."

"No," Molly shook her head. "No, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" He looked uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her on her own. "You seemed to've had a bit of a shock back there."

"I'm sure." Her tone grew stronger as she continued. "I'll have a cuppa with Mrs. Hundson. I'll be fine."

"If you're sure." He still did not look convinced. "Call me if you need anything."

Molly opened her door to get out but paused as Greg spoke again. "One more thing. Give Sherlock a good dressing down for me when he finally shows up again."

She forced a smile onto her face. "I will."

Greg waited until she was inside before driving off. Molly did not even glance at Mrs. Hudson's door. She made her way quietly up the stairs and into her home.

Molly leaned back against the closed door and let her eyes travel over the proof of the life that she had made. Her chair; fluffy and floral, the antithesis of Sherlock's and yet they sat side by side so naturally, as if they were part of a matching set. Her desk; organized and precise. Sherlock's; anything but. Her romance novels and medical journals mixed into the bookcase. The few pictures on the walls that Sherlock had reluctantly agreed to put up. Their wedding photo; small, but sitting in a place of honor on the mantel. The only photograph in the entire flat that Sherlock himself had insisted upon.

Molly wiped tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. This was her life and she was not about to let anyone take it away, demon or no demon. She had faced down a psychopath, not once, but twice. She had helped fake a man's death and kept that secret for years. She had won the heart of a man who claimed not to have one. She was Molly Hooper, damn it! Impossible was her business.

Nodding once to herself she pushed off from the door and booted up her laptop. What she needed was research. The problem was clear, her husband was possessed. Now, all she had to do was find out how to fix it.


One hour, four phone calls, three cups of coffee later, and Molly was ready to pull her hair out. The internet was full of information; the problem being that she could not tell the facts from the fiction. She had tried calling a priest, a psychic, and a self-proclaimed supernatural expert, all with no luck. The fourth call was out of desperation and she only hoped that Sherlock would be able to forgive her for it later.

Molly sat contemplating the merits of tossing her mobile out of the window, when the screen lit up with a call. She debated on not answering but knew that would only result in a personal visit to check in on her.

"Hello John." Molly tried to brighten her voice to its normal chipper tone. She had the passing thought to be thankful that it was John calling and not Mary. That woman's ability to read people was simply uncanny.

"Molly. How are you? Greg just called me." He paused. "He told me about what happened."

She knew that he was fishing for more details but decided to feign ignorance. "Yeah," she laughed, "but really, a man impersonating a detective isn't the strangest thing to have happened in that building."

"That's true," he chuckled weakly before switching tack. "Have you heard from Sherlock lately? He isn't answering his mobile."

Molly hesitated. If she said no, John would start looking for Sherlock. If she said yes, he might press to talk to him. She decided to take her chances.

"Actually I have, just a bit ago. He may have found a case and wanted to check on some of the details before he gave you a call." John was silent. "You know how he is." She held her breath, hoping that he would buy it.

"Yeah, I do." She could hear the doubt in his voice. "Have him call as soon as he gets in, would you?"

"Of course." Her free hand had started to tremble and she shook it to stop the movement. "Listen John, I've got to go. All my love to Mary and the little one."

"Right." Another pause. "Molly. Stay safe. And you know that you can call me or Mary for anything, don't you? Anything at all."

"I know. Thank you." Molly had to fight against tears again as she disconnected the call. It had been a long time since she had had anyone that she could count as family. Sherlock had given her that, had shared his family with her. Sometimes she still forgot what that meant, and it was nice to be reminded.

Molly took a deep breath, steeling her resolve.

"Right then," she said to the room. Toby responded with a soft meow. "It seems like the only one who knows anything about this is that man Williams," she told the cat as she filled his food dish. "Guess I'll just have to pay him a visit."

Molly gave a small shriek and dropped the dish in her hand when she turned around and found Sherlock standing directly behind her. Little bits of kibble spread across the floor unnoticed. They stood staring at one another for a handful of seconds and Molly fought the urge to throw herself into his arms. She reminded herself that this was not her husband. This creature had killed two people.

"I know what you are." She kept her voice calm and controlled, although she felt anything but.

The demon's gaze bore into her from Sherlock's eyes. "I promise you, whatever you think you know about the situation, you are mistaken."

Molly bristled and years of habit had her responding to his condescending tone before she could think better of it. "So you're not a demon escaped from Hell, then?"

His stoic expression cracked for a moment and one side of his mouth twitched up in a smirk.

"Well," he pitched his voice high and drew out the word in the way that Sherlock would do sometimes to be playful.

"Stop it," she ordered. "I don't care who you are or what you are. I want my husband back."

The demon took a step towards her and Molly retreated as far as she could in the small space of the kitchen, cat food crunching under their feet.

"Molly." His voice cracked and she had to remind herself again that this was not her husband.

"Don't," she pleaded when he reached a hand out to her. "Please don't. Just stop pretending that you're him!"

The demon let his hand drop and took a step back. "I'm not pretending. I am your husband."

"Why are you doing this?" Her tone was desperate. "Just let him go. Please." The last word caught on a sob and Molly fought to control her emotions.

His brows furrowed in frustration. "There is no letting go! There is no 'him'. I am not possessed!"

"But you just admitted it!" Molly could feel her own frustration emerging from the storm of emotion inside of her. She took stock of her position and found that she had inadvertently backed herself into a corner. "There are ways to force you out," she threatened. "I've got help on the way and they'll exorcise you."

"For God's sake! I am not possessed by a demon!" Closing the distance between them he grabbed her by the arms and gave her one good shake. "I am the demon!"

Silence settled between them as his words sank in. Sherlock seemed to realize that he was manhandling her and let her go. Molly's phone rang from the sitting room and she let her eyes drift past him. It was Greg, probably calling to check up on her.

"Leave it. Please," he added as an afterthought. "Just give me a chance to explain." She evaluated her situation again, and not really having a choice, nodded for him to continue.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes died as a child." The man, creature, in front of her began to pace in the small space, his hands raking through his hair. "he had run away from home after the loss of his beloved dog and I found him broken and bleeding in the woods." He stopped his anxious movement and faced her again. "The boy did end up dying but I was able to save the body. I have been in 'possession'," he sneered the word, "ever since. If you exorcise me, there will be nothing left."

Molly could feel her legs turn wobbly and she sank to the floor. "Why?" Her question was nothing more than a whisper. Sherlock kept his distance, though it was clearly a struggle for him.

"To relieve the boredom," he answered with a shrug. "I am old, Molly." He spoke softly now. "I have lived many lifetimes and done truly horrible things." He met her gaze unflinchingly. "I am tired, and trying to make emends in the only way that I know how." His fingers tapped unconsciously at his side. "Every case that I solve, every person that I help, brings me that much closer to redemption." he took a breath. "In the beginning it was only about escaping from Hell for good; but you, you and John, have made me want to do better, to be better. You have given me the one thing that I needed in order to succeed. You have given me back my humanity." He crouched down in front of her. "For the first time in eternity, I have hope. You gave me that."

Molly searched his face, desperately trying to gauge his sincerity. "Did you kill those people?"

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "I did not. But I knew that Hunters would be near by and I didn't want you involved."

"How can I believe a word that you've said to me?" There were tears in her voice again. "If what you're saying is true, then how can I trust anything you say ever again?" A tear finally broke past her defenses, then two. "Do you really love me, or have you been pretending this whole time?" She could see her words hurting him, but needed to continue. "Are you even capable of love?"

Sherlock drew back slightly, sitting on his heels. "I was human, once upon a time." He spoke slowly, measuring every word with care. "So long ago, I can't even remember my name. I don't remember that life at all, only what came after." His eyes unfocused as his mind drifted back. "My new life began in indescribable torment. Fire and pain; that is how a demon is born, and I wanted nothing more than to escape." His gaze focused back on Molly's face and the present. "I have stayed hidden from Heaven and Hell for centuries by refusing to use my powers, but I would go back in an instant if it meant saving you."

Molly stared into his eyes; eyes that she had loved for so very long. She thought back to her first memories of Sherlock and of how much he had changed in the years since then. She reached a hand out to lay on his cheek and he covered it with one of his own.

Molly opened her mouth to speak but found her train of thought derailed. Over Sherlock's shoulder she could see Williams standing in the sitting room, gun drawn and raised. She could do no more than shout an objection before the trigger was pulled and Sherlock was sprawled across her lap.