III

"I didn't see John come back. Where is he?" Molly asked Sherlock, while he was scanning the crowd, his eyes narrowing, and his brain working overtime. Molly could recognize that look from the many times he had been concentrating
"He will be co-ordinating with Lestrade."
"Right." she nodded, while looking around her. She felt horribly under dressed, the way some of the women were dressed up and were flaunting their expensive jewellery. That's when she understood why Sherlock had specified her to go plain-ish [other than the explanation her mind kept reminding her of]. She could easily blend in the crowd and not attract attention to herself, nor to Sherlock. And yet she could act as a perfect cover for his reason to be there.

However, she found herself at the centre of attention of a couple of young men, when Sherlock had asked her to stay near the bar while he went to talk to a General. She had insisted on accompanying him but one stern look and she had found herself sitting alone at the bar. Before those two men barged in.
"Hello beautiful, what are you doing in a dreary event like this?" One of them, a red-haired man, asked her while motioning for the bartender to come their side.
"Fancy a drink?" The other man asked sitting on the bar stool right beside her and winking at her.
"No, thank you. I'm here with someone." Molly said firmly, before attempting to get off the stool.
"No darling, what's the hurry? Sit down, let's talk." The red haired man caught her wrist before she could leave.
"Yeah, if you're with someone why isn't he or she here with you? I don't think they'd have gone to the loo for so long!" His companion chuckled. Molly found herself surrounded by the two men. She knew they were powerful men, or at least related to powerful men, who thought they ruled the world just because they had the power in their hands. And she didn't know anybody around them. She tried to look for Sherlock but she couldn't see him anywhere around. She felt a hand grab her hand and she stepped away, looking at the red haired man.
"I suggest you leave, before you get hurt." Molly never really spoke up much, but she was furious. Who did he think he was, going around and grabbing her hand whenever he wanted? By that time the bartender had managed to call a bouncer who shooed the men away. She could still see them eyeing her from a distance and she felt horribly uncomfortable. If all Sherlock needed her for was to gain entry, couldn't she leave now? Molly felt all energy drain from her body, and the adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins slowly dissipated. She had thought of those espionage and spy movies, and how the female would play an extremely important role in helping the main hero find the culprit. She used to imagine what it would feel like to be the heroine of the hour and before they had entered the club she had thought that this would be what the case would be like. But she knew Sherlock was co-ordinating with Lestrade and John and possibly Mycroft, so it was not like he would need her help in finding the culprit. She felt for her phone amongst the few belongings she had kept in her handbag and decided to text Sherlock. It seemed extremely stupid, considering that he was on a case and would detest her interrupting him like that; but Molly had a completely foreign emotion overtaking her as she quickly typed a text message to Sherlock.
There are creeps at this party and you have already gained entry. I don't think you need me now. I'm going home. –Molly

She thought she should wait for a reply, but her mind said otherwise. Isn't that what you have been doing all this time, waiting for a reply? How long will you keep waiting, Molly Hooper?
Molly sighed and made her way to the exit. Curiosity got the best of her and she inquired at the coat check whether number 34 had taken his coat and scarf or not. The coat checker replied in the affirmative. "He had left about fifteen minutes ago, madam." he replied, then looked at Molly pityingly. She smiled and thanked the coat checker, before leaving.
Did she really not expect that to happen? Molly questioned herself. The coat checker must be thinking that she had been abandoned by a date. It wasn't truly false, except Sherlock wasn't her date.
She went out of the club and looked around. If she could at least spot Greg or his surveillance van she could accompany him, or if she spotted John she could ask him about Sherlock's whereabouts, provided that he knew. Of course he would know Molly; he is Dr. John Watson, the consulting detective's best friend. You're just plain little Molly Hooper, who doesn't count.
However, the streets were deserted save for a few cabs racing past the street. The club was known for its discreet location and the gentry that it tended, and so she found it devoid of most traffic. She tried to hail a taxi, but none would stop for her. Ultimately, she decided to walk until she reached the nearest Tube station. Molly felt a tad bit uncomfortable in her clothes, as she walked down the road, but felt it best to go home as soon as she could manage.

The air was cold and Molly wrapped her thin shawl tightly around herself. She had called Marie a few minutes back, informing her of her surprisingly early return and had been walking for the past ten minutes. She hadn't reached very far from the club, but she was still thankful for the comfortable sandals she had decided to wear for that night, although she missed her simple and convenient flats.
The sky was clear and she hoped for a sunny day tomorrow; that's the least she could hope after her holiday had been occupied by getting ready for a subsequent case and then returning home all by herself. While she didn't mind her job, she liked the few days off she got, spending time sitting at home and playing with Tobias, or watching the telly. Sometimes she would go to a pub for an occasional drink, but that was not so common, unless she had a date, which wasn't a common occurrence either, so Molly usually found herself home with Tobias and the telly. She didn't mind those lazy days so much. What she did mind was the way she felt her day had been wasted. Ever since Sherlock had called her to his apartment her mind had been at frenzy, imagining the different scenarios she would encounter while on a case with him. She had heard of the many different and crazy cases Sherlock and John had gone to; nobody would blame her for thinking that she might be a part of it. She supposed that her job was done, that the duo didn't need her anymore. Still, a little message from them would've been nice.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the steady sound of footsteps behind her. Molly realized with a dawning horror that the footsteps had been around her ever since she had left the club, she had just chosen to ignore them, rationalizing them to be footsteps of people walking around. But she had taken a short route, cutting through an alleyway to get to the station quickly, and realized that the footsteps had been trailing her all along. She wanted to cry out but knew that it would be futile; she was amongst abandoned buildings and it would be highly unlikely that anyone would be around to help her. She gulped and she thought of the various ways she could escape. If this were a mugging, she could throw her belongings to one side and then run the other way. She had been taught these basic survival skills by her father when she had been a teenager and she knew exactly what she had to do. She knew to kick in the groin and to pull at the man's hair if she could. Molly didn't know what to do in this case; she knew taking out her phone would only serve as a distraction for her and the stalker would overpower her in her distracted state. She knew she had to take one step at a time and Molly cleared her head, trying not to over react, before making up her mind.

She broke into a run, running out of the alleyway and into a nearby vacant warehouse. The warehouse was being demolished and there was nothing other than some cemented pillars and rubble. All she needed to do was to hide until she was able to notify the police about her location; she needed to find a good hiding place. The footsteps had increased as she had started running and Molly knew better than to turn and try and look at her pursuer while running. She felt a blister forming on her heel and she had nearly twisted her ankle. Running in heeled sandals, no matter how low, was extremely dangerous but she had persevered. She kept running until she found a pile of rubble, where she crouched and tried to control her breathing. She could hear heavy footsteps rummaging near the rubble before a voice spoke up.
"Come on beautiful, I saw you get in here. We won't hurt you; we just want to ask you a few questions."
Molly recognized the slightly nasal tone of the red-headed man from the club. She felt her blood turn cold; the men weren't simply bothering her then─ they had a purpose, and they were here to get her. Damnit, this is not the way she wanted to get involved in the case.
"Come out of your hiding place, butterfly, we just want to know where your boyfriend is. We will let you go then." She recognised the other brown-haired man's voice from the club and tried to hold her breath as the two men approached the rubble she was hiding behind. There was no light illuminating the warehouse, which was the only advantage she had. She heard footsteps approaching nearer to her and Molly tried to hold in the whimper which was threatening to escape her mouth.

"Come on Mac, I don't think she is around here. Maybe she ran away to the other side of the warehouse, we should check there." The red-head spoke up, and the other man, Mac, sighed in response.
"I thought she was wearing heels, so she would eventually trip. You've got the torch haven't you Cecil?"
'Yeah, let's go." She heard the footsteps retreating and felt her heart calm down. Now all she needed to do was to call the police and get the hell out of there. However, before she could do so, her phone dinged loudly in her handbag, the sound resounding throughout the empty and quiet warehouse. She had disabled alerts for all contacts, except Sherlock's so she knew he had texted her. She heard the two men stop in their tracks and knew that she had no other option except to make a dash for it.
She got up and started running out of the warehouse, not bothering to pick up her shawl or her handbag from the floor.

Molly ran as fast as she could, and she felt a burning sensation shoot up one of her legs as she slowed down due to the impact of the sprain. But she willed herself to run somehow and managed to pick up speed again. She shouted for help loudly, when she saw a car approaching the road she began to wave her hands wildly, in hopes that the car would notice her plight. She shouldn't have been so naive; she slowed down so the men were able to catch up to her. Mac held her tight as his companion Cecil injected her with an unknown drug. The car stopped and the driver helped the men put her now-limp body in the backseat. Molly found herself slipping into unconsciousness as she lay in the backseat, wanting to run away but unable to do so.