First things first apologies if I didn't reply to your review for the last chapter and for this chapter being a day late. Work was really busy this week – the culmination of a project that has been running since October so I'm afraid I just ran out of time. So thank you is you reviewed I'm so glad you're enjoying it.

Chapter 4

Molly loved listening to Sherlock talking about his day, giving her an insight into the way he worked and his thought processes. It made her feel closer to him. Plus she knew he needed it, he was obviously missing John and very lonely.

She knew from Mrs Hudson though that since Rosie had been born and Mary had died that John was feeling the pressure financially. Their home might be small and cosy but it was still in London and that meant it was a very expensive mortgage. Previously Mary had been working as well but now she was gone he only had one income coming in and things were tight. John had taken on a few extra shifts at work but that meant that between work and time with Rosie he didn't really have time to go gallivanting around town with Sherlock. Molly knew he missed it and she'd babysat more than once to allow him some freedom but she had her own job and life and couldn't always help.

So Molly knew instinctively that that was why Sherlock was here in her sitting room talking about the case and eating his chips; he needed the company. She didn't mind though.

As she finished her food and put her plate down she asked him what queries he had about the autopsy on the girl.

He asked a few questions about the time of death and the time in the water as well as one about the ligature marks on her wrists. 'Can you tell how long she might have been tied up from the marks?'

Molly looked at the photos attached the email she had sent him, to refresh her memory.

'They were tight,' she gestured for Sherlock to hold out his hand which he did and she took it in her own. 'There were particular signs of pressure here...' She grazed her finger along the inside of his wrist, across his veins, 'and here' this time she touched his wrist bone. There was also evidence that she had spent time pulling on her bonds as the grazing was wider than the cord used to bind her. It had rubbed here in particular,' once again she used her finger to indicate the area of damage.

Sherlock frowned, seemingly lost in thought and oblivious to the fact that his hand was still in hers. She knew she ought to let it go but when she'd taken it she'd been caught up with the discussion about the autopsy and now she was realising she had his hand in hers and she didn't want to let it go. She could see the callouses from his violin playing and small scars no doubt from fights and it made her want to hold on and never let go but she knew she had to.

'Would you be able to let me have some hands Molly? I'd like to do some tests on the effects of ligature marks after death and after periods of time in water. I think it would prove to be valuable.'

She finally made to move her hand away from his but at the last moment he turned his over and caught her wrist. She looked up into his eyes and waited, knowing she was holding her breath.

'You know I am always glad of your help Molly. I know I don't say it as much as I ought but I am truly grateful.'

She smiled nervously, conscious that he still held her hand in his larger grip. 'I know you are Sherlock. It's fine.'

Time seemed to stretch and Molly could feel the atmosphere shifting slightly but just as she wondered if something more might happen he let go of her hand and started to stand.

'Anyway, thanks for tonight Molly but I need to go back to Baker St. I need to go to my mind palace and arrange my thoughts; this case is far from over.'

He picked up his coat and was half way out of the door before she'd even stood. 'Oh right OK, anytime.'

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

He swept his coat around his shoulders as he left Molly's flat. Something had happened in there that had made him want to run away and he wasn't happy. He needed to get a grip on his feelings especially towards Molly; all this time alone was obviously bad for him and leaving him vulnerable to sentiment.

He walked back to Baker St taking the opportunity to buy a packet of cigarettes from an off licence on the way. Thankfully it was a clear, dry night and he stopped in Regent's Park at the top of Baker St for a cigarette before heading to the flat. He tended to smoke out of doors to stop Mrs Hudson from complaining.

As he sat on one of the benches overlooking a grassy play area he thought back to the moment in the flat when Molly had taken his hand in hers. The moment she had skimmed her finger across his inner wrist he had felt his whole body react to her touch; his heart beat had increased, his temperature had elevated and his mouth had felt dry. It was as though her touch were electric. He had struggled to concentrate on what she was saying.

Her hand had felt right as she had held his; he'd looked down at it and wondered how a hand which looked so ordinary, non-descript even, could deliver such a stinging blow to his cheek, could slice up dead bodies with precision and could ignite such strange feelings when touching him.

As she had started to remove it he had found himself not wanting the loss, wanting to stay connected to her. He had caught her hand in his; letting his fingers slide over her pulse point, feeling how fast her heart was beating. It seemed to awaken something primal in him and for the first time in years he wondered if he was starting to form an attraction, a sexual attraction for another person.

It had been that thought, that and the fact that he had found his eyes drawn to her lips that had him standing and fleeing from her presence. He hated how weak that made him feel. Sherlock Holmes didn't flee from anyone let alone a small, nervous, love-lorn pathologist but there seemed to be no other explanation. Even as he said that description of her in his head he felt guilty. This was what he always did; he pushed people away with cruel observations. He was at least honest enough with himself to know he did it. Molly was so much more than that base, cruel deduction of her; she was brave, knowledgeable, resourceful and not afraid to stand up to him when she needed to. She may be love-lorn but it didn't diminish her in fact it showed her loyalty, commitment and strength.

Even just thinking about her had memories swirling around his head. Memories of him telling her that he loved her, hearing her say it back and knowing deep in his soul that maybe, just maybe the words he had said were true. He hadn't admitted it to anyone, though he suspected Mycroft knew it, instead he had buried it; promising himself he'd deal with it later, when he had more time. Well, now was later and he had had too much time recently. Maybe if he was really honest it was fear and not lack of caring which was stopping him.

He flicked the dying fag end into the bushes and pushed himself to his feet, maybe he was sleep deprived, he hadn't had much recently. His mum had always said a good night's sleep could help with every problem, not that he'd ever paid it that much attention.

The next day however just brought a fresh set of problems with the form of another set of photographs. This set had Sherlock phoning Greg immediately.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

They met at Barts and Sherlock quickly laid out the photographs staying silent as Lestrade, Donovan and Molly looked at them. Lestrade's mouth set itself into a tight line whilst Molly put one hand over her mouth and turned immediately to Sherlock. 'You can find her can't you?'

He shrugged. 'All I know is we haven't got much time. These were taken yesterday; he's making a point of leaving a paper in each time.'

This time the three photos were of a frightened and very much alive young girl. She appeared to be in the same location, her wrists bound to the wooden chair she was sat in. Her eyes pleaded with the camera for help but the dirty rag tied across her mouth prevented any other form of communication from her. The photos were tight in on the girl so there wasn't much to be seen of the background but there was some, on both these and the previous pictures, and that was what Sherlock zeroed in on.

He barked instructions to Lestrade and Donovan and twenty minutes later they left Molly to go to Scotland Yard.

Molly tried to get on with her work but all she could think about was whether they'd be able to find that poor girl in time. Her face haunted her; dirty blond hair hanging limply around a face with dark blue, haunted eyes, and she hoped she never had to witness anything like that again. She didn't know how Sherlock carried that burden with him, the burden of having to be the one to save them...all those victims all needing a rescuer. No wonder he sealed himself off emotionally, he wouldn't be able to function if he felt everything too keenly.

From the sounds of it John was joining them at Scotland Yard and as she didn't want to bother Sherlock she sent John a quick text asking him to keep her informed of progress. He replied in the affirmative and Molly tried to put it from her mind and concentrate on her work.

It was mid-afternoon when Peter texted to say how much he was looking forward to their date and that sent Molly into a bit of a spin. She really did want to see him but with everything that was going on she really wasn't sure whether she could go out on some sort of fun date knowing that that girl was still out there somewhere.

In the end she called Peter asking if they could put off their date for 24 hours. He wasn't happy and even asked her if it was connected to Sherlock which made Molly regret being quite so open with him.

'Not specifically but I'm helping him and the police with the murder that was reported in the papers yesterday and I don't feel right going out when there's a serious development taking place. They may need me.'

'They or him?'

Molly stayed quiet feeling concerned by the jealous overtones in his voice and he soon cut back in. 'Listen Molly, I'm sorry, that was unfair of me. I just...well, I was looking forward to seeing you later. But don't worry tomorrow is just as good. Take care and I'll call around tomorrow at the same time.'

She hung up feeling relieved that she wasn't going to have to put in an effort when she really didn't feel like it. She sent John another text but didn't hear anything back so assumed they must be busy.

JWJWJWJWJWJWJWJWJWJWJW

Molly wasn't wrong in her assumption. John's afternoon with Sherlock had been a whirlwind of activity and he was almost ashamed to admit that he was thoroughly enjoying it. He had missed this since Mary had died. Being with Rosie and his work in the doctor's surgery just didn't come close to giving him the same thrill.

He was currently running full pelt after Sherlock, they'd abandoned the cab five minutes ago and were continuing their search on foot. John knew that Lestrade and his team weren't far behind them and would be hitting similar identified warehouses on the other side of the industrial estate.

Between the photos, the location that Sherlock had worked out the first body had been put into the Thames and the analysis of dirt from the dead girl's fingernails Sherlock had narrowed their search down considerably but they still had too much ground to cover and too little time.

Printed onto the back of one of the photos had been the epitaph 'tick, tock 6pm'. John looked at his watch as he ran, 5.55pm. They were going to be too late he just knew it. They would never have even got this close without Sherlock but even he couldn't conjure up miracles. John's leg muscles were straining, his chest burning...he was out of practice with all this.

Sherlock burst through the doors of the warehouse and immediately scouted around for the stairs. His assessment was that where ever she was being held was an upstairs room based on the angle of the sun coming in through one of the windows. The maths had baffled John.

Two minutes later and his muscles were protesting once more as they made it to the top floor only for John to see Sherlock banging his fists in frustration against the wall of the empty, barren space.

'It's the wrong one John. Damn it...' John saw him look at his watch and spin on his heel as he dug in his pocket for his phone.

'Lestrade, where are you? Do you have her?'

John could hear Lestrade's voice but couldn't make the words out. Whatever he said wasn't what Sherlock wanted to hear though because the Consulting Detective fair exploded into the phone.

'No...for god's sake not that one. The third one, I clearly said the third one. We have one more to try on this side but we're out of time.' He paused for a moment listening before replying. 'I doubt we'll find her alive now.'

He replaced his phone and turned to John looking so dejected that John felt he had to say something.

'Come on mate, it was always a long shot, you gave it everything you could. This is not your fault.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Well I know that. If I hadn't been surrounded by incompetence we might well have found her but as it was...oh, don't look at me like that I'm just stating the obvious. Come on let's check the last building.'

A rare failure and another body, but don't worry things will be starting to hot up soon for our pair.