Chapter Four

The driver never glanced back at them or spoke as the taxi ripped through the streets of central London. Molly preferred the silence; there were those who loved the cabbie with personality and wit who liked to ask you strings of questions like you're on some poor-man's version of a Graham Norton-esque Chat show. It wasn't that she considered herself shy or even was, she just hated the rapid fire question and answer conversation. Worse, Sherlock was here with her and the last thing she needed was to be goaded into answering strange personal questions in front of him.

The car couldn't be wide enough for Molly. Sherlock was confident as ever sitting with half of his body straddling the center of the car and staring dead ahead. She didn't dare flinch for fear of brushing against him; the last thing she wanted to do was cause him to mention the kiss.

How had he managed to get out of the hospital so quickly? She wondered if this is how it always was with Sherlock Holmes. Was this the kind of thing that he and Doctor Watson got into all of the time? She never got the finer details until John updated his blog with them and with many of them being ongoing cases she didn't even get the full picture.

From beneath the car came a thunderous crash and they were jolted slightly off of the ground, Molly was bounced against Sherlock's side and instinctively grabbed him around the leg and shoulder. She had expected…she didn't know what she expected but she certainly didn't expect how he reacted. Sherlock reached up and steadied her gently.

"Sorry about the bump," came the cabbie's voice.

Molly brushed her hair back out of her face. "It's quite alright," she said.

"You pair're the quietest couple I've had in me cab all day," he said and Molly could feel her stomach churning with anxiety

Sherlock scanned Molly's face and something made her lean forward between the seats. "Knackered is all, it's been a long couple of days," she said in a tone that should have conveyed they were too tired to talk.

For a brief moment it appeared as if Sherlock had something to say about what she had told the cabbie. His lips parted and he shifted in his seat, but then said nothing and turned to glance out of the driver side window. Molly pressed her lips tight, her leg jittering beneath her hand as she turned to glance out her own window. She searched the passing cityscape as it streaked past them, Sherlock hadn't told her where they were going or what he had found in the notes that she left him about Darweshi and his thoughts on everything

Molly couldn't believe any of it, she hadn't been in a church since she went off to Uni. The things that she wrote down from the Darweshi seemed to be little more than a mixture of religious superstition, paranoia and conspiracy. Still she thought that Sherlock would be able to make something from this nonsense…

"Down!" Sherlock's voice reverberated through the inside of the car and before Molly was sure she processed what was being said, she was pulled down into Sherlock's lap and he moved to cover her with his own body.

A split second later there was an explosion of glass and then the squeal of tires. The car fish-tailed wildly and spun out. They were thrown against the passenger side of the back seat and when Molly looked up the driver's head was dangling off to one side with a huge gaping hole where his ear had been. He'd been shot.

Everything happened so fast and as she screamed she was suddenly taken with this weightless feeling, tossed to one side and then the other with Sherlock before they were jolted hard with an explosive impact. Water and glass flooded past them and her world darkened, she could feel the sting as the cold water of the Thames ripped through the car and her lungs filled.

Molly couldn't swim. She was going into the water in an out of control cab with a shot driver and she couldn't swim.

Molly's eyes opened to Sherlock's blurry face hovering over her and a stinging soreness in her body. She leaned forward, pushing him away and hacking up water onto the ground. The clothes that Sherlock had purchased for her after leaving the flat clung to her cold, pale skin. Every part of her was wet and the cold nipped at her skin.

She coughed as she pulled his coat down onto herself. "I'm sorry…I…I can't swim," Molly said.

"I know."

"The driver's dead," she said. "It was meant for us wasn't it?"

Sherlock shook his head. "One shot, straight into a moving vehicle? A sniper with that degree of skill would have hit us if he meant, though we could have very well been killed," he said.

"I would advise that you stay here, wait for the Police," said Sherlock.

"Where are you going?"

"I've still got this case and with what just happened there's more reason for me to get back to it. It's not much further now," he said.

"I don't want to wait here," Molly said.

Sherlock scratched the side of his head. "This is going to get more dangerous and while I needed someone to help me, I don't need someone who can be used against me," he said.

"They know I exist, it's too late. They could just as easily do that now and really and if you'd need the help I'd rather have you there to look after me than the coppers—I've seen a fair share of their charges come across my examination tables," said Molly with a confidence that she didn't think it was possible for her to have around Sherlock.

She was telling him what she wanted, sharing her opinions about things. Maybe the reason that he was so shocked that she was smart was because she never let him know that she was before.

"Absolutely not," Sherlock said unblinking. "You're going back to New Scotland Yard as soon as I can contact Lestrade…"

"Why? Because I'm a woman? Would you send Doctor Watson to wait while you ran off?" she asked.

Sherlock stood as if the cold and the water wasn't affecting him at all. "You're not John, you've never been to a war zone and you're not ready for what this seems to be becoming. You're of no use here anymore, go back to the station and forget I called on you…"

"No use to you? So now you're admitting it—you're as bad as Jim was, you're—you're—"

And that was what did it, Molly didn't care that he had dragged her from the cold waters of the Thames and saved her life and she didn't care how she felt about him otherwise. She lunged up from the bench and swung as hard as she could muster making contact with his face in a quick sweeping arc. Sherlock grabbed his cheek with one hand and stared at her with disbelief, apparently he was as shocked as her.

Molly Hooper had slapped Sherlock Holmes.

It didn't measure at first, the gravity of the situation had to marinate. They stood there locked in silence and tears of remorse welled up in Molly's big eyes, she could literally feel the tectonic shift in their relationship. For an instant she was scared, unsure of what he would do next.

Sherlock Holmes glanced at the ground as he released the sore spot on his face and reached around to his back to produce a handgun, Molly was very still now. "Do you know how to use a pistol?"

"Uh—in theory, I mean, I guess," she said.

He checked the safety, ejected the magazine and the bullet in the chamber, catching the latter expertly. Then he reloaded the gun to show her. "Take it," he said. "For protection, but stay close…that's a last resort," he pointed to the gun.

Molly nodded vigorously.

"We're not too far now, getting into another cab wouldn't be wise," he said. "I carried you a little ways and we're going to have to stay off of the streets for safety. The shooter will have no idea where we ended up or even if we truly lived. He fired from some distance, high up and with a high powered rifle…"

"How did you see all of that?"

Sherlock just glared at her. "Come on."

They pressed on through the murky darkness. It was cod but his coat draped about her was a huge help in the matter. Molly kept the gun hidden close to her body, though she couldn't believe that it had just happened. Sherlock said nothing about the slap and as they made the slow trek through the city she wondered if he was even thinking about it anymore.

Hell, he was Sherlock. He was always thinking and in that instant his mind frightened her. Maybe she had gone too far with her comment about Jim?

They made their way along the river front toward the ports and then Molly understood where they were headed. Just when the silence had started to become somewhat comforting Sherlock spoke up. "If you actually think I'm as bad as Moriarty then why do you so relentlessly pursue me? Asking me for coffee, the makeup, the appalling attempts at flirting, kissing me…"

Molly grimaced. "I didn't mean that, you just—you shouldn't use people."

"You tried to use Jim to get to me, though you didn't know what or who he was. But it was blatant and despite the relatively microscopic ramifications that would have had on you and I, here you are telling me not to use people," Sherlock said.

She came to a dead stop. "I might—I wish I was using him to do that. Or rather I wish that's all it was. Maybe I genuinely liked him and its less embarrassing to claim that it was all about you, in the end you turned out to be the good one."

"The good one?" Sherlock scoffed. "You shouldn't put so much stock in people, especially sociopathic people. You should follow the examples set by others."

"You mean like Doctor Watson? Or Sarah, who actually refers to you as a friend? And then there's that odd brother of yours who has come by more than once to snoop around and ask me what you've been into and how you're doing and your sweet landlady, she thinks the world of you I can tell just from how she talked about you…do you think that with all of these people you're still some friendless recluse. Maybe it's you who's kidding yourself—"

How much did I drink earlier?

"Those people show an interest in me for excitement or mild fascination or because they see some benefit from it." He doubled back to approach Molly. "So did you think you were going to save me from myself with a cup of coffee or attempt to look cute? The only difference between me and Jim Moriarty is an arbitrary line drawn in the sand by Bureaucrats and lawmakers and which side of it we decide to stay on!" he said.

"Even you seem to have an attraction to dangerous, unavailable men. One profound enough to cause you to chase after cruel, heartless men," Sherlock added.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Molly said with a finality to her voice. Her frustration with him washed away the fear she'd felt and she couldn't worry about the death of that innocent bystander, the cabbie when Sherlock was making sure to push her to such an extent and now that there was nothing else to be said she just kept quiet and followed him through the darkened streets.

This time Molly did as instructed and the results were pretty amazing. Sherlock loosened his tie and slid it up until it was around the top of his forehead as they entered the hotel, his movements became jaunty and over exaggerated and he wobbled with each step. He was pulling Molly by the hand excitedly but somehow the feeling of magic that she felt there would be between them was gone.

She stayed near the entrance way as Sherlock approached the counter, speaking a little too loudly. "Aye, mate," his accent was totally different from normal. "You see this bird I got back here, we're a little far from home so I was wondering if you could offer a little assistance and what not, there's a few quid in it for you…"

Sherlock placed the money on the counter and took a key, he held the cover up until they were in the lift. Of course the key was necessary to get upstairs and Molly had to do in the matter was stand back pretending to bite her nails that little devilish motion was enough to get what Holmes had wanted across.

They took to the halls of the third floor, the key was for the fourth floor but it was just for access. Darweshi was here…in a hotel by the docks. When they found the desired room number Molly was the one who knocked, lightly at first but with a growing intensity. There was no answer.

Molly sighed. "You think he's not there?" she asked.

"Wait here," Sherlock said and he was off.

For several moments Molly didn't know what he had gotten up to. She thought about little arbitrary things. At least here in this hallway she was safer than she was in the streets and they could call the police for that man they'd left in the Thames. And the thought of Toby left in Sherlock's flat crossed her mind. She wondered how the cat was fairing. He seemed to like Sherlock at least, animals were usually right about people, they could just sense things.

The door opened and Sherlock was standing in the frame. "Darweshi's dead," he said. He opened the door wider to show her the splayed open corpse of the African. She winced at the sight of the body sprawled out across the bed with the skin folded back as if someone had been doing surgery. There was so much blood. So often in her profession you forgot about blood, it was mostly gone by the time she got to see a body.

"What…what happened here?" she asked.

"The killer entered through the window, like I did, and killed him. He's been dead more than an hour and it looks like he was looking into the same thing we were, the dead bodies of the men who were found at the docks were found less than a block from here and he checks himself into this hotel right before it happens?" Sherlock said.

"This body is fresh, not old like the others," Molly treaded softly into the room. "We really need to call the Police at this point. I mean really Sherlock."

"This one of yours now, Freak?" Sally Donovan spat. "What, he bring you here to get you all turned on? I knew you were into monsters…"

"Enough Sally!" Lestrade hollered from the other side of the room and the other she was forced to shut up, moving silently out of the room. Lestrade made his way toward Molly and Sherlock. "This is a busy night for you, cab at the bottom of the river with a dead body in it and a dead Kenyan in a bedroom…"

"Are you going to tell me that you think I killed them?" Sherlock asked.

"That's not it at all, but it seems you're just causing a ruckus here in town and this latest investigation seems to be putting people in danger. I noticed Doctor Hooper was a little cut up here," Lestrade said.

"I'm fine, really. But you're too kind."

"Even so, Sherlock we've got to take you out of the picture for a while…I'm being forced by my superiors to confine you to your flat," Lestrade said.

"Preposterous, I'm not one of your bloody lackeys!"

Lestrade grimaced. "Even so, we can place you under house arrest and ask that you not stray from your flat. You can ask your landlady to pick up anything you might need."

"She's not my housekeeper and I can't stay stuck inside of that ruddy flat on Baker's street all day!" his eyes were wide and he looked honestly afraid.

Molly pushed her way into the conversation. "Can I…visit him? I can take him things and bring him any news, it might keep him stimulated and the like," she suggested.

"You're welcome to help him out, Doctor Hooper, I'm sorry that you got dragged into this whole thing," Lestrade said. He was always so polite; she thought he felt sorry for her because of the Jim incident. That was when he had met her, him and everyone else and most of them felt sorry. Sally Donovan felt otherwise.

Sherlock shook his head. "You don't seem to grasp the situation at hand here, there's no possible way that you can solve this, you need me…"

"You overextended that privilege by not coming to us sooner, Sherlock. This is the second time; the first almost got three other people killed…" Lestrade said. "Now I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to come with me and I'm sorry, but it's going to have to be in the back of a police car this time."

The additional piece being added to Sherlock's wardrobe required more than just a little work. Lestrade left them in the car while the flat was policed and prepared for the bracelet. Though the senior detective had tried to get her to sit up front, Molly took to the back seat with Sherlock and as a result was locked in until they came back. The whole way to the flat Sherlock didn't say a word despite the attempts by Lestrade to speak with him.

And he had driven them himself, as if to make sure that they were no more abuses acted out today. It might have been more for her benefit than Sherlock's but even then Molly was glad for both of them. It had been five minutes when she finally mustered the nerve to say something to Sherlock again.

"I know this seems dim, but it might not be that long," she said.

He didn't answer.

She sat, legs pressed together and her hands clasped together in her lap. It was tense in the back of the car with him and after all of the biting remarks they'd taken out on one another the only thing that Molly could feel was a sort of mental exhaustion. The events of the last few days were starting to take their toll and she wondered if it would get better before it got worse.

"You don't need to feel like you're broken or a monster, no one's normal," she said. "I take anti-depressants now, I did before I met you too but since Jim…I've had nightmares and I've spent a fair share of nights crying myself to sleep."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"When I was younger I used to cut," Molly said suddenly. "It wasn't constant and it was just…it was addictive and my therapist said I hid it well…she said it was more common than I thought but…heh…I never believed her, you know?"

Sherlock turned to her. "I noticed, you cut the backs of your legs where no one would care to look, I saw the them when you were in the towel earlier…"

Molly blushed, having forgotten that he had seen her wrapped up in nothing but a towel just hours ago. She let out a short dopey laugh and glanced in his direction. "We're having an awful string of dates, that ought to be a sign. First you drink a glass of coolant meant for cars and I steal a car…then the next night you go from seeing me mostly nude to going over the bridge into the Thames to the back of a police car…"

Then he did something she never expected. He honestly chuckled. "No one can say it was dull," he mused.

"Sherlock…can you come here, I want to see something," Molly said in her boldest tone. When he didn't move she looked somewhat cross. "Come now, I saved your life you know…I could at least get you to trust me on this."

When he moved close this time, she turned to face him slightly and pulled him in and kissed him. He didn't resist her or appear shocked, though she couldn't tell if he knew why she was doing it. Hell, she didn't know. And as they were pressed together two things became abundantly clear.

First, Sherlock had no idea how to kiss. Molly wondered if, kissing this badly, he had ever done it before.

Second, the police had made a big mistake. See they had been otherwise thorough in their inquiries when placing Sherlock into custody and checked him head to toe, much to his dismay. But with her back pressed against the door and his coat pressed in around her she felt the cold metallic weight pressed against her thigh…

When she pulled back from him she could hardly think about what she was doing but there was something deep inside of her that was screaming for her to do it. "Sherlock…you're brilliant…"

Blatant realization washed the confusion from his pale face as he saw Molly go into the coat. She drew the gun and steadied her arms on Sherlock's shoulders. "This is incredibly stupid…"

"Don't worry, Miss Hudson will care for Toby," he said.

"I know," she said fumbling to click the safety into the off position. Sherlock leaned into her and while she knew it was to avoid dampen the explosive sound of the gunshot, her heart tripled in speed.

For a brief second in time Molly could only hear the sound of her own heart and Sherlock's breathing. She huffed in as much air as she could, shut her lungs and fired.

The muzzle flash and sonic boom were more than she had expected and Molly had unintentionally closed her eyes. By the time she opened him Sherlock was out of the car offering his hand to her. She reached out and let him pull her from the back seat and he took the gun in a flash.

Outside of 221B Baker's Street there were three police cars, Sherlock flattened a pair of tires on each of them with six quick, well placed gunshots. He tucked the gun back into the coat Molly wore and the two of them dashed off through the streets.

In spite of everything that Sherlock was, in spite of how much she was reminded of Jim whenever she looked at him there was something that he could do better than anyone else and whether Lestrade admitted it or not the police weren't equipped to help themselves this time.

The dead bodies moving around, an African man murdered for getting too close, a crackshot sniper putting slowing them down and Jim Moriarty showing up at the same dinner party they happened to be…it was all interconnected and this was Sherlock Holmes's case.