DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story that you can find in your Sherlock Box Set are the property of Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I am not making any money, nor are they hocking my products (which I have none). I don't get anything from this except the pure enjoyment of writing!

This story is un-betaed.

Chapter 6

"Sherlock and I are on our way. Hang on…" John suddenly heard the phone being jostled then a shriek. "Molly? MOLLY?"

The last thing John heard was Molly screaming, "HEEEELP!"

The door to the cupboard flung open and Molly was yanked out by an impressively large man. That was all she could make out in the shadows of her bedroom. "Molly? MOLLY?"

"HEEEEELP!" Molly shrieked as she dropped the phone. This only made the impressively large man grunt with anger. He dragged her toward the front door of the flat but Molly, remembering she'd left the windows open as it had been a somewhat humid evening, yelled at the top of her lungs, "SOMEBODY HELP ME! TOP FLAT! I'M BEING KIDNAPPED!" The impressively large man grunted again then punched her across the mouth, splitting open her lip, cutting her jaw with a hard object (most likely a ring but she couldn't see anything) and sending her head whipping back.

Molly had the overwhelming panicky feeling she was running out of time. But she hadn't run out of adrenaline. She could feel the chemicals pulsing through her body. With as clear of a head as a woman who'd just been punched had, she threw herself, with all of her strength, against the bottom half of the impressively large man (seriously, the guy could have been a tree). While she was very petite, she certainly had the element of surprise on her side, which sent him falling.

And, as luck would have it, as he fell he cracked his head on the corner of a bookcase, knocking the impressively large man unconscious and slumped on the floor. Molly jumped up and assumed a pseudo ninja position, in case he should make any sudden movements, but the guy was clearly not going anywhere. At first she was afraid she killed him. Not that she would have mourned him or anything but the paperwork alone would have been a hassle. Bending over she took his pulse and sighed with relief. He had a heartbeat.

She ran to her bedroom and picked up her phone, to find that John had hung up. She called him again. "John?"

"Molly! Wha…" She could hear a scuffle over the phone but the second person clearly won. "Molly? Is he still there? Where is he?"

"Sherlock! I knocked him out!"

"You did what?"

"He's unconscious in my sitting room. Hurry!"

"We're on our way." Molly hung up and sighed with relief when she heard sirens. Running out of the flat she saw Lestrade running up the stairs. "He's in there."

"Molly? What the hell is going on? And haven't we already done this bit before?" Molly smirked but winced at her cracked lip, laceration from what looked to be a hard object and rapidly swelling jaw. He narrowed his eyes at her face, frowning at the blood and swelling. He rested his hand lightly against her cheek as he studied her. "Did he hit you?"

"Yes but…" She quickly told him what happened.

"We're gonna have to take him to hospital."

"I know but Sherlock's gonna want to know who he is. At least search him for identification."

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Oh for God's sakes, he's turning you into him. Whatever you do, resist him. In fact, never look him in the eye again. That's how he ensnares you…"

Molly forgot how much it hurt to smile and groaned when her mouth hurt too much to move. "He's this way…" She led the detective and two other uniformed police officers to the room, where the man hadn't moved. She turned on the light and got her first good look at the man. And yes, he was impressively large and yes, could have impersonated a mighty oak tree.

"Damn, that is one huge bloke." The ginger patrolman commented, his mouth hanging open as he looked down at the very muscular, dark haired man with a goose egg on his forehead and pissed off look on his face.

"Exactly what I thought as he was pulling me out of the cupboard to take me God knows where." Molly said. She was starting to get really, really irritated. By this time the flat was swarming with coppers and she was in her nightie. It was an oversized t-shirt that read 'Talk Nerdy to Me' but if she turned just right her bum was on display, for all the world to see. And she was wearing her granny panties. A burst of relief shot through her that she at least WAS wearing panties.

UGH. And Sherlock would be at her flat. For the second time that evening… now morning.

This night, err, morning, couldn't have gotten any worse.

Granted, Sherlock had already seen her night wear (actually he'd seen the Full Monty on more than several occasions) that evening but she'd shucked her shorts when she went back to bed. "Greg, I'm just going to go change before…" She suddenly heard footsteps, footsteps she'd know from anywhere. Oh damn, she was too late. Sherlock came bursting through the door, his eyes dancing with anxiety. When he saw Molly she could see him settle down but he was all business.

"That's the second time you've called us with an emergency in less than 24 hours. Some would say a cry for attention?" His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he took in her physical damage, then he gave the rest of her body a more thorough examination, his nostrils flaring at her bare legs. When he returned his eyes to her face, he leaned forward and moved to touch her face carefully but stopped. Sherlock cleared his throat and stuck his hand behind his back. "So where is he?"

"How could you miss him? He's the felled tree in the middle of the sitting room. Follow the trail of coppers." She pointed to the swarm of people around the unconscious man. "Sherlock, I stopped them from taking him to hospital so you can search him for anything but you better hurry. I don't think we want to be around when he wakes up." Molly looked at John who was studying her face.

"Ouch. That looks rather nasty," He pointed to the injuries on her face. "Can I take a look?"

"Yes but I need to change clothes. I'm in my nightie." Sherlock cleared his throat at that but didn't look up from his examination of the man on the floor. Molly sighed and went to her bedroom.

SHERLOLLY***SHERLOLLY***SHERLOLLY

After a quick but thorough investigation, Sherlock didn't find anything on the man except a gun, a silencer (not attached), some plastic handcuffs and a handkerchief doused with some sort of drug to knock her out. "There's nothing. No identification. He didn't come to kill her though."

"Are you done?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock gave him a quick nod. The man was quickly loaded onto a gurney, where he was promptly handcuffed and taken to the waiting ambulance. Lestrade turned back to Sherlock. "He looks professional. Who are these people and why are they targeted?"

"I've got Mycroft working on it but…" Sherlock turned to see Molly entering the room, wearing a pair of yoga pants and her cherry print jumper over the sleep shirt. He turned back to Lestrade. "…the feather is the calling card of a Kansas City criminal."

"I was guessing he was American. Where's Kansas City?"

"In the middle." Molly, Sherlock and John answered at the same time. When Molly flinched John stepped closer and guided her to a chair. "Where are your plasters and ointments kept?"

"On top of the refrigerator." When John found what he needed, along with some ice and a plastic bag, he handed the bag to the tired girl and began working with her.

Sherlock, watching the progress of her doctoring, looked strangely curious. "Why does nobody seem to know where Kansas City is?"

"Perhaps for the same reason nobody outside of southeast Devon has ever heard of the town of Beer." Lestrade said.

Sherlock's eyebrow rose. "Except that the Kansas City metropolitan area has over a million people, whereas Beer only has about 1500 residents. Yes, I have heard of it." Sherlock began to pace. "A man was killed by a professional killer in a strip club, in Kansas City, called 'Midnight Call'. A falcon's feather was found on the body. While I could find nothing on the killing itself… it was pretty much ignored by the local media… I did find that there is a notorious criminal around Kansas City whom nobody has ever really confirmed the identity of."

John added, nodding as he finished with Molly. "A bit like Keyser Soze."

"Ohhh…" Both Molly and Lestrade nodded with understanding.

"You know what that means?" Sherlock asked, rather incredibly. The two nodded. "Interesting. I thought John made that up."

"It's the name of the bad guy in the movie 'The Usual Suspects'. It's about…"

Sherlock threw Lestrade a horrified look. "Why would you think I would care? I think, in this case…"

"I think you better care," Molly said quietly. The men turned to look at her. "If this guy is like Keyser Soze, he is able to do the things that he does because of his anonymity. He will be ruthless and he will hide behind layers of people, even without them knowing who he is or that they are being used." The men looked at her in awe.

"How do you know that?" Lestrade asked, his eyes showing pride in what she said.

"I don't watch crap telly like some people do."

"When did that movie come out?" Sherlock asked, his mind whirling at her magnificent deduction. He was greatly relieved she'd put on more clothes.

"Hmmm…" John pulled out his phone and looked it up. "…1995."

"So when he killed the guy in Kansas City, he wasn't copying the movie. You need time, resources and contacts to build up the sort of organization we are talking about. Perhaps this 'Falcon' was the inspiration?" Lestrade mused.

Sherlock rolled his eyes then huffed, turning to where the impressively large guy had fallen. "It's a movie. It doesn't matter. The idea we got from the movie is what matters."

John sighed but looked ready to chuck his phone at his best friend's head. "You're the one who asked."

"Yes and I'm sorry I did. I've got Mycroft looking into Falcon. Lestrade, where is the child?"

"She's with Child Services at the moment."

"Get her in police custody. There's a good chance this child is a target for Falcon. He's going to want to do a thorough house cleaning and she could be in grave danger." Lestrade nodded and hit speed dial on his phone. "Now…" Sherlock turned to Molly who was watching the man do his thing. It was always her favorite part, watching the man work. "…what are we going to do with you?"

"Me?! I'll be fine."

"Oh Molly…" Sherlock shook his head, his tone suggesting parental impatience. "…clearly that isn't the case. You need to go somewhere safe."

"And just where do you suggest?"

Sherlock shifted from foot to foot, wringing his hands behind his back. "You'll come to Baker Street."

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