Rain and Rooftops / Chapter Two

Disclaimer / Don't own a thing.

Its a few days after his funeral and Molly can tell he's getting ready to leave soon. Not that he's given her any set date of when he'll be heading off for god knows where (like he says much to her anyways) but she can tell he's getting antsy. Some nights she'll come home to see him pacing throughout her living area, his brow furrowed deep in thought. She's given up on trying to start actual conversation with him now. Much like the scene she's just stumbled in to.

Setting her bag down on the small chair and shrugging out of her favorite comfy cardigan, she picks up the mail that had been tossed haphazardly across the table. Junk. Junk. Bill. Letter offering some amazing new deal she's missing out on. Bill. She sighed and tossed them back on the table. That seemed to snap Sherlock's attention towards her.

He looked surprised to see her. As if standing in the living room of her apartment was somehow mindboggling. "Didn't you hear a word I just said?" he asked her, irritation laced in his words.

"Sorry?"

"I asked you to head down to the drugstore and pick me up a few things. Did you get sidetracked on the way there and forget?"

She pursed her lips, trying to squelch the feeling of being his personal maid/secretary/landlady/general all around whipping girl, before she vaguely remembers a conversation she had overhead between John and Sherlock a few months prior. Sherlock was complaining to his agitated friend that John was ignoring him. To which John hotly retorted that "For someone who can spot anything, he's remarkably oblivious as to when he's talking to himself like a madman."

"I've no idea what you're talking about." She sighs and takes a seat on the couch Sherlock's called home for the past few nights. "I just got off work. Literally minutes ago. Maybe you meant to tell me?" Molly suggests, trying not to let him feel too embarrassed about talking to himself as she was out. She doubted he ever would be, but it's always nice to make sure.

"How long were you gone?"

"About nine hours. Give or take."

He nods and turns his back towards her. The room grows quiet as Molly sees Toby perch himself on the computer desk in front of Sherlock. He detests the tiny feline which only makes him chase after the brooding man all the more. She almost chuckles at the irony of that.

"Well, now that you're here and listening," he sniffs, turning to give her a quick glance. "I hope. I do, in fact, need a few things from you before I leave tonight."

She's struck cold. "You're leaving…tonight?" she squeaks. Molly's not sure why she's so startled by his revelation. It's not as if she wasn't expecting it. It's just sudden, that's all.

"Yes. It's high time I left London. Funeral has passed and interest is starting to wane. At least for the public, anyways." His hands go behind his back and he strides towards her. She gazes up at his towering frame, a tiny bit overwhelmed. He always leaves her feeling like this. "I need you to procure small, various items for me. If it's not too much trouble."

She shakes her head, but he never expects her to say no to him.

"Good. First, I need a phone. Something cheap. Nothing traceable. New clothing. Large shirt. Button up, preferably. No. Not button up. Something simple, however. Pants, 34 waist, 32 length. You should probably be writing this down." He's talking quickly and the pacing is back, but it's not frantic movements like before. She's staring and her mouth is open before she grabs hold of her bearings and quickly grabs a pen to write on the back of junk mail.

"You know, you're probably going to need…"

She's cut off by him tossing a tiny box to her, catching her off guard. She clumsily drops it and she tries not to let her cheeks burn when she notices him roll his eyes. It's a small velvet box, one she's long to see someone like him give her. Opening it slowly, she sees beautiful diamond cuff links. Her head snaps up to look at him. "You want me to sell these? Did you steal them?"

"Yes. And these too." He tosses another tiny box her way, this time it lands near her on the couch, a deliberate miss. "And no I did not steal them." He sneers. Molly opens the box to see tie pins.

"It's not much right now, but it's enough to get me to where I need to go."

She wants to ask where that someplace might be but doesn't want to overstep her bounds. She just nods. When neither of them says anything, he obviously is dismissing her to fetch his required items.

When she turns several hours later, still surprised at how much she fetched the cufflinks for, she finds the living room completely empty. Every day, since he's been cooped up with her, Molly's always come home to find him in the living area. Or in the kitchen. But now he's nowhere in sight. Her stomach drops and a feeling of dread sweeps over her. He's sent her away so he can leave without having to say goodbye. What a selfish prick, she thinks bitterly. After all she's done –

"What on earth are you doing standing in the doorway like that?" his voice booms over her thoughts, startling her. She turns and almost drops her bags in utter disbelief. His usually long curly hair is gone, in its place much shorter hair. "What?"

"N-Nothing. It's just. I'm not used to seeing your hair so short."

"Ah, yes. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. And don't worry, I cleaned up the mess. Did you get everything?"

Molly nods her head and turns to the bags she's carrying. Damn. He even looks amazing with his hair chopped off. Makes her want to run her hands through his hair all the more. Clearing her throat, she sets them down and shows him what she's brought. Two types of shirts: one soft cotton t-shirt and one sweater. Molly wasn't sure where he was going, or what the weather would bring, so she prepared for either situation. She debated on jeans or slacks but since she's almost positive she's never seen him in jeans, she chose them instead. Also hands him a small pre-paid smart phone that comes with internet if he wished. She knows he's attached to his phone and couldn't live without one.

He goes over everything and she hands him an envelope with the couple thousand pounds his never worn jewelry raised. He doesn't open it and turns to her. Molly finds herself staring at his hair because, really, it's such a nice change. His cheekbones are more prominent and his eyes take center stage; no longer hidden behind curls. Before she even realizes what is happening he has inched slowly towards her. It reminds her of that night in the lab, the one that changed her life irrevocably. His eyes are directly on hers and the gaze is so intense, she wants to look away.

"Thank you, Molly. You've done a great deal for me with nothing in return. I'll…forever be grateful." He's speaking softly and Molly feels like she can't breathe. It's not as if he hasn't been kind to her before, it's just such a rarity.

"Sherlock," she gulps, deciding on whether she wants to ask him this or not, but her gut out matches her brain and before she has time to think, words are tumbling out of her mouth. "Are you sure you want to do this? Jim is….Moriarty is dead. John is no longer in danger. Can't you at least.."

Any softness that was previously held in his voice was gone now. He takes a step back, his eyes hard now. "I wish it were that simple. You think he's the only one out there? That Moriarty is the only psychopath to exist? John's been kidnapped. Had a bomb strapped to his chest. A snipers gun trained on him. All because of his open association with me. Moriarty was a consulting criminal. He did bad things for high prices. Are you so sure he'd merely operate alone? He plants bomb in London for fun. Can bring the British and American governments to their knees. How simplistic do you have to be to entertain the notion that he'd do that all alone."

Molly feels her knees grow week and she's so utterly confused. It was a simple question, really. She had no idea where this…this came from. It's almost as if he's justifying it. Leaving John behind. Must be so hard for him, she muses. "So…you're looking for Ji…Moriarty's John Watson?"

"His what?"

"His John." She answers softly. "You've got John. Someone you trust more than anyone. Your…weakness." His brows furrow and she hastily adds "You're looking for someone that Jim trusted more than anything. His right hand."

Sherlock's back is stiff but the tiniest of smiles touches his face. "His right hand."

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Watching the tiny brunette bounce away from her flat, Sebastian sat up in his car and gave it a few minutes before getting out and strolling into the three story brick building, telling Max to wait in the car. Since he'd discovered the news that there was no body for Sherlock Holmes, supposedly, he'd being watching Miss. Hooper and John Watson, alternating nights. Both painfully boring people.

Or mourning. He supposed that was an option as well.

Either way he'd already tried breaking into the now previous residence of Sherlock Holmes, only to find that John Watson never left the bloody flat. And the terribly fussing old bag was there whenever he decided to grace the world with his presence. So he'd begin tailing the tiny git. He only ever left the flat to go to see a psychiatrist.

Interesting.

He actually thought he'd been on to something. Until a quick break in here, a sneak peek at the files there only provided proof of a severely wounded man. Wounded by war and loss of numerous friends. Feeling alone with trust issues, he had a hard time opening up and blah blah blah. Based on these files, he'd think John Watson a weak man if he hadn't known better.

After a few seconds with the lock, he quickly pushes open the door and steps inside. A small grey cat eyes him suspiciously and Sebastian curls his lips. Horrible, sneaky creatures; like furry snakes. He begins looking around and is surprised at the tidiness of it. There are lots of books and magazines, but it's a structured chaos. He starts opening drawers to the desk and flipping through various papers and letters she has stored there.

Booting up the computer, he heads to the bedroom down the hall when he hears the door open. Standing still, afraid to move a muscle, Sebastian barely breathes. Lifting his body onto the balls of his feet; he waits for the unexpected visitor to make some sort of noise. He tiptoes quietly into the nearest open door, which happens to be the bathroom.

"Hiya, boy." A cheerful womanly voice her recognizes as Molly finally says. "Miss me?" she chuckles at her horribly bad joke and Sebastian rolls his eyes.

Why the fuck was she home? He'd remembered her work schedule by heart. She was working till nine tonight. It's not even bloody noon. And why the fuck didn't Max send him a warning text? He only brought the useless sod with him to keep a look out. Great fucking job he did.

"Hmm..I don't remember leaving that on." He barely hears her mutter.

Fuck.

Bring out his phone he quickly sends his moron partner a text. She came home early. Do something to get rid of her. It's as if he can feel things slipping out of his control because almost immediately he hears a bloodcurdling scream. Jerking his head up, he sees her standing in the doorway. Her eyes are as wide as saucers and they both stand there, staring each other down.

Fuck.

She scrambles backwards and runs toward the living room. He runs after her but she's started tossing things in his way. She's faster than he's given her credit for because before he knows it she's down the stairs. She's out the door and he's almost got her, he can literally reach out and grab her when a loud POP rings in his ear.

Everything seems to go in slow motion as he looks down to see if he's been wounded. His first instinct is to get down and find cover. But this isn't a battlefield. This is a plan quickly spiraling out of his grasp. How the fuck did this get so bad so fast? He looks up and see's that it's the tiny woman who's been hit. She looks so frightened. So pale. He remembers James trying to seduce her to get closer to Sherlock. His prognosis of her was never favorable. Easily manipulated and very gullible, she cares too much. Like a tiny bird, he once laughed.

It's a few seconds since the gun shot rang out and in those precious moments where Sebastian lost his wits, the woman did not, however. She was already running down the street. He turns to the car and see's Max aiming the gun from the back of the car and he runs over, his whole body shaking with anger.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You told me to get rid of her."

"I also told you to keep a look out!" he was starting the car and pulling out of the neighborhood, just as people were starting to come and inspect the scene. "And you shot her? In broad daylight? While I was standing there? Are you mentally challenged or are you just that stupid?"

Sebastian's making sure not to speed, doesn't want to draw too much attention to the car. The dark haired man crawls back into the front space and, when he positions himself down, Sebastian punches him in the cheek, sending him back into the door. "I swear to Christ I didn't see her!" he's shouting now too. "I looked down at my phone for a few seconds. That's it! I swear I didn't see her!" he's quiet for a moment, rubbing his cheek. "I'm sorry." He mutters.

"Yeah. Me too."

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She's running down the street as fast as her legs will carry her. Holding her arm, she feels the warm, thick liquid drip drip dripping down her side. Her whole mind is jumbled and she can only think of one place she can go.

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So there you have it, chapter two. I know this is a really crappy place to leave off but if I didn't post this now, I wouldn't have been able to get it up before work. I've already started on the next part and there are a lot of things that chapter answers. The next chapter won't be to terribly long, just wanted to get some things started and stated before Molly joins Sherlock on the run! I hope you like it!