Rain pounded down on the streets of London, leaving Molly in a slightly unfortunate position walking to work. Literally every cab she saw was taken, and the ones that weren't wouldn't stop for her. Therefore, she'd be showing up at St. Bart's not only late, but also with the possibility of being drenched with water.

The streetlights were still on, as it was highly overcast. A few other people were on the street mumbling about the weather or throwing insults at cabbies that wouldn't pull over for them. Some of the pathetic anger brought a smile to Molly's face, and others frightened her more than amused her, such as the 12 year old going to school with a rather extensive vocabulary for his age.

Quietly, she hurried down the street, knowing that if she wasn't 30 minutes early, she might get locked out of the lab, as Sherlock, Mary and sometimes John just locked the door once they got in, leaving her without a workplace at times. When that happened, she had to bother Keith, the janitor, for the key, which always made her feel a bit guilty.

From getting locked out so many times, she had actually gotten to know him a little bit. In her eyes, he was a man down on his luck and had a family to care for. Sherlock had eyed him suspiciously lately, and Molly had seen him with files that had his name, 'KEITH VASQUEZ', written on them, but Sherlock had told her that it was only a mere coincidence; just two people with the same name.

Molly didn't quite believe his story, but she hadn't known Sherlock to lie to her before. At least, not that she knew of. She didn't dwell on it much, though: she was actually very busy with work. Unfortunately and fortunately at the same time, that was also filled with Sherlock, but along with Sherlock came the frustration of, well… Sherlock. His cases and random outbursts and discoveries were both exciting and incredibly confusing. Molly laughed as she wondered how John put up with him 24/7. Not even Molly could handle that. When Sherlock lived with her, there were times when he could be really impossible, yet John never complained to her about it.

She took the back way to the hospital, as it was easier and the London streets were very busy with the normal route. Relieved to be at the hospital earlier than usual, although soaking wet, Molly hurried to the lab doors and tried to tug them open. They were locked, yet the lights were off. "Hello?" Molly called into the door, then groaned. Someone must've come in and locked the door when they left. Wishing she had her own key, she gave up and sulked to the lift, going up to the main floor.

As the doors slid open, Molly's eyes widened at the sight of policemen everywhere, reporters in a large cluster behind the doors, and she hurried over to the counter, where a secretary sat, typing away on her computer with a somewhat irriated look on her face.

"What is all this?" Molly asked, taking off her gloves and putting them in her purse. "Apparently our janitor's been hiding some rather important secrets from us," the secretary replied, sounding bored. "They've been here all morning, which is really distracting."
"What kind of secrets-" Molly began, then caught sight of Sherlock, and narrowed her eyes. "Oh. Right. Nevermind, thank you."
"Uumph," The secretary grunted in response.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sherlock?" Molly grabbed his arm and he spun around. "What?" Sherlock asked, confusion crossing his face. "Really? You got the janitor fired? He needed this job!" she said angrily. "And you've gotten him arrested?"

"Obviously," Sherlock replied. "He's a convict. He's not exactly a good man who needs to get back."
"Well, as I recall, you were arrested not too long ago," Molly retorted, almost instantly regretting it. She knew that these were completely different pretenses, and Sherlock wasn't responsible for what Moriarty had done, but had been accused of all of them for a long time. "Those were under false charges, completely different," Sherlock replied, looking slightly hurt but voice not changing.

"Okay, you're right. That was harsh. Sorry." Molly said, then looked over at Keith, who looked at her with something that seemed like disappointment, or even a hint of anger.
"But he couldn't have done anything that terrible. He had two kids and a sick mother to care for, Sherlock," Molly said with a hint of annoyance in her voice, turning back to Sherlock. "You didn't have to get him fired."

"He was lying to you," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. "He didn't have any children, and if he did he certainly wouldn't have had all those guns close in their reach in his flat, and he certainly wouldn't have had three dead bodies hidden away in a coat closet."
Molly's jaw slacked. "He… bodies? Are you sure?"

Sherlock sighed. "Honestly Molly. Who wouldn't be sure about seeing dead bodies? He's a murderer."
Molly opened her mouth to speak, but Sherlock interrupted. "And before you say he could've been framed, I checked. He used to be in a prison in America for killing seven people violently in California, which was definitely rightly accused, considering he killed three of them in front of a police officer and the other four in front of security cameras in a gang territory in Los Angeles somewhere close to some cowboy-themed bar. How he got to England is convoluted and slightly vulgar, so I'll spare you of the details, but it was clever, very clever, and he's definitely not an innocent and good man."

"It just… the things he said to me made him seem so nice. I didn't think he'd kill anyone," Molly said in disbelief, looking over at Keith again, who looked slightly more terrifying now than she'd thought before. "Molly, there are awful people out there, and they lie sometimes. You shouldn't be so trusting of everyone." Molly didn't respond, but continued to stare at Keith, who glared at her menacingly, in an almost vengeful way. She suddenly felt uncomfortable, and turned her head away.

"Well then, I have some work to do, and it looks like you might as well," Molly said, sounding as chipper as she could. She stood up on her tiptoes and gave Sherlock a quick peck, and disappeared down the lift, going back to the laboratory.

When she arrived back down to the mortuary, she was surprised to find that the door was now open. Mary must've come in and gotten the spare key from their boss. "Hey, Mary, how're you?" Molly asked, taking off her coat and hanging it on the hook, then looked around. "Mary?" She turned around in confusion. Sherlock couldn't have beaten her here, especially without a key. Besides, he was probably talking to the police. "Hello?" She called again, and went towards the back door when a hand clamped down on her mouth and she felt the cold metal of a knife against her neck.

"If you even think about talking, you're dead," a gruff voice responded. Molly closed her eyes and exhaled, trying to calm herself. To her dismay, this didn't work. She was already panicking inside and tried to scream, but her vocal chords neglected her.

"We've seen you with Keith," the voice growled. "Where the hell is he?"

Since this story is going a different direction than I had planned, I decided to not have Sherlock's perspective here until a little bit later. It doesn't seem quite fitting yet. Thank you for your patience and thank you SO, SO much for reading. I love reading all of your reviews, they're so nice :) Please feel free to leave more, I love feedback of all sorts.

Also, if you have any questions, feel free to PM me and ask away! I love answering questions! Unless the question involves me giving you my social security number, in which case... sorry. But anything concerning my writing, please ask! I promise to respond! :D