A/N: Have a second parter, I hope the italics is clear! If not again, drop me a PM and I'll try to sort out the layout!

These are not meant to be long drawn out chapters. They're snappy little one shots.

Throw My Hand On a Blade For You

Sherlock was in danger.

She could sense this stuff now. (He was in danger a lot)

Gabbling to Mike she had to run out of the double doors, hurling herself up the stairs and dashing onto the street outside the hospital. Closing her eyes, Molly oriented herself and felt Sherlock was close.

The park.

Speeding off in the direction of her favourite park she thanked heavens she neglected the slight wedged shoes she favoured in summer and gone for her trusty flats. She heard the scuffle and swearing and threw herself into the fray.

"What the fuck?!" There was a gruff voice she didn't recognise and in the semi-darkness of the evening she couldn't really tell who was who. She just fought to tear the pair apart. She worked it out when there was a burning pain in the centre of her palm and she held back the screech of pain. Instead she threw her weight against the shadow wielding the knife and was satisfied when he fell back.

It only seemed to renew his efforts and there was another searing pain in her stomach this time. Staggering back she allowed herself a well aimed kick at the man's genitals, the satisfaction of his howl of pain was the last thing she felt before she blacked out. The last thing she heard was Sherlock's questioning tone, "Molly?"

"Nice try Angel but you aren't going to win this."

"Who's there?" Molly's deaths were normally seamless into her next life but something had given her a transition.

"You're not going to save him permanently angel, he's got too much of the dark in him, it practically calls to me." The voice that sang to her was lilting and high, it brought goose-bumps on her arms and she shivered in the pitch black that surrounded her. It didn't matter whether she opened or closed her eyes, nothing changed.

It reminded her of the change she underwent for Sherlock. When she had been saving souls and had the misfortune to clap eyes on him. Angels occasionally lowered themselves to become mortal for love. The Mother said it was the purest form of joy but Molly had yet to feel that. All she did was save the stupid man.

Now there was a contender for Sherlock.

Someone with ill intentions.