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Longer chapter. Just like I promised! And explanation!

Chapter 7

3 hours previous…

"Yes, sir. Are you sure?" Sherlock's eyes opened weakly to see the man who had drugged him standing by his bed, on the phone with someone. He blinked a few times to wake himself up. The man had a very confused look on his face. Sherlock waited until he was off the phone.

"Well," the man said, hesitantly, "Boss says to let you go." He frowned as he opened the door. "He's actually waiting outside in the car for you. Have fun."

As Sherlock slowly stood from the bed, he had the same look as the man by the door. He slipped through the opening and turned back around. "Thank you?" He wasn't actually sure if he should thank the man for…torturing him and shoving him into a closet…

The man looked up briefly and the two had a shared moment of awkward "I don't know what to say to you" energy. Sherlock turned and walked away. He entered the hallway before reaching the door. There were no lights in the hallway, so Sherlock had to feel his way along the walls.

Boss? Who was Boss? He was wondering if he might know who Boss was, when he reached forward and felt the door in front of him. Well, he was about to find out. He twisted the knob and pulled the door open.

The light blinded him. He squinted and blinked, trying to escape the dots that were scattered across his vision. Once the dots were faded, he could see a cab parked at the curb. The shadow of a head sat in the backseat. Without hesitating, Sherlock crossed the sidewalk, of course checking to see if anyone he knew was watching, and yanked open the car door.

"Did you miss me, Sherlock, dear?" A very familiar voice made him freeze. Impossible. He stepped back and stared, unbelieving, at the psychopath in the back of the taxi. "You might want to get in, darling, someone might see you. Remember? You're dead." Moriarty grinned at him, showing mangled teeth. Sherlock shuddered, but admitted to himself two things: 1 – he could be seen. That would not be good. 2 – he wasn't afraid. Just because there was a ghost sitting in the cab, he wasn't afraid. He slipped in beside his nemesis and closed the door.

The cab driver set off, leaving Sherlock and Jim alone to talk. Jim began, "How have you been?"

Sherlock almost laughed. "Oh, you know how it is. Trying to appear dead." Jim grinned again and snorted.

"Oh, yes. The ever-tiring works of the deceased. I understand perfectly well."

"What do you want?" Sherlock turned to face Moriarty, beginning to get angry. He was angry because Moriarty had scared Molly. He had taken her protection. He was angry because they were both supposed to be dead, and the world would be safer if they were.

"I want you to know that I'm alive. And very much so." Moriarty's grin disappeared. His face became menacing and fierce, but a soft fierce. He glared at Sherlock. "I wanted to see what you'd gotten yourself into. With Molly, I mean. Unfortunately for me, I thought she was weak." He faced the seat in front of him. "She's not. She is terribly clever. You picked her right. Good choice."

"Is that it?"

"No, actually. I wanted to also let you know that even though the world thinks you are dead, I don't give a damn. I want you to realize that this doesn't change anything. You are still boring, and I want to have fun. I will hunt you Sherlock."

"You've already hunted me. You lost." Moriarty's head whipped around again.

He snarled back, "I am still alive Sherlock. It is a tie. We are both still alive. If this turns out to be a checkmate between the two of us, I will admit defeat. It will mean you are my equal. However, this match, this tournament will be the death of one of us. Who that will be is up to the gods. Choose your weapons well."

Sherlock stayed silent for a minute. The cab driver was obviously an employee of Moriarty's, because if he'd been a normal cabbie, he would've kicked them both out by now. They were nearing Molly's flat, and Sherlock was almost afraid to see what the inside held for him. A fuming Molly? A fearful Molly? He dreaded seeing what this monster had done to her. He turned back to Moriarty.

"You can chase me all you want. You can kill me now, even. Just don't hurt Molly."

"Oh, Sherlock. I can't kill you now, that would ruin all of the fun! And why the sudden sentiment? You love her? No, it can't be. The mighty and all-powerful Sherlock, in love with a mere peasant? Impossible!" Moriarty laughed as he mocked Sherlock.

"No. I'm not in love with her. She was the one who helped me escape my death. I owe my life to her. Don't get her involved."

"Too late!" Moriarty turned to Sherlock as the cabbie pulled in front of the flat and stopped. Sherlock frowned.

"What do you mean, 'too late'?" He swallowed, bracing himself for the answer.

"Well, I've already paid dear Molly a little visit. Go inside and see for yourself. She took it rather badly." His Irish brogue rang in Sherlock's ears, which already had blood pounding through them. His anger rose higher in his chest. Moriarty continued. "I brought her a little gift, and it should have been opened already. Make sure you remind her it was all a dream. She'll never know it was real, unless you tell her. Say hello to her for me."

Sherlock grabbed the lapels of Moriarty's suit. He drew his face closer to the maniac and growled, "This is not a game. Do not make it into one."

Moriarty laughed as Sherlock let him go and exited the cab. Before the cabbie drove off again, he replied, "The games have just begun."

Sherlock watched the cab leave in amazement. He wouldn't stop. Moriarty was like a virus. He just wouldn't stop. He turned and took a deep breath before entering the flat. He half expected to see Molly lying in a pool of her own blood in the doorway, but he did not. What he saw was her coat, hanging beside his on the coat rack. He stepped lightly to the kitchen and there, he saw Molly.

She was sitting cross-legged on the counter, staring at a cup of tea.

Sherlock paused, confused. She took it rather badly? She obviously did because she was…staring…at a cup of tea. Sherlock waited a moment, watching Molly watch tea. Then he cleared his throat and shamed himself as Molly jumped and she grabbed a knife on the other side of her. When he pointed it in his direction, he put his hands up. He hadn't seen the knife.

Molly's jaw dropped. She put the knife back on the counter after seeing it was Sherlock and ran to greet him. She threw her arms around him, and he hugged her back. She seemed alright… Just a little relieved to see him.

"Are you alright?" He wanted to make sure she was.

She looked back at the tea. "You lied."

"What?"

"You lied. You said he was dead."

Sherlock looked at the tea and noticed what she'd been staring at. The mug, which had once been Molly's favorite, was decorated with a big red 'IOU'. Sherlock felt a shiver run up his spine, making the hairs on his neck stand out. Was that Moriarty's gift? A message? Surely not.

"I know, and I thought so too. I was just with him. He's very much alive, but I really don't know how. I'm sorry Molly. I am!" He hugged her tighter. She eventually let go and went to the cupboard.

"Surely you'd like tea? Or coffee?" She asked. Sherlock smiled. There was the Molly he knew. He nodded.

Molly set to work on Sherlock's tea. She didn't want any because her favorite teacup was currently an art display. She heated the water and poured it into the mug, wincing as she stepped on a piece of glass. She checked the bottom of her foot for a cut, and flinched as a small pool of blood began to form.

Sherlock could see her injury from where he was standing. He opened a drawer next to him and pulled out a First Aid kit. He motioned for Molly to sit on the counter so he could take a look.

Molly hesitantly obeyed, trying not to spill the hot water or put her foot down. She gave up and set the mug down on the counter and lifted herself up beside it. Sherlock set the First Aid kit on her other side and pulled out a disinfecting cloth and dabbed at the wound. He covered it with a Band-Aid and closed the kit. He stood opposite her and began steeping his tea.

Five minutes passed before anyone spoke. Sherlock was enjoying his tea by now, although, it wasn't coffee, and therefore didn't have the same effect. Molly sat across from him, simply watching him drink his tea. His lips slightly touched the lip of the mug every so often. Molly spoke first.

"I'm glad you're okay."

Sherlock smiled. It was a genuine smile. He nodded, thinking of his meeting with Moriarty. It seemed like the psychopath hadn't terrorized Molly too much. And Sherlock hadn't seen any other 'gift' besides the message on the mug, so he didn't know what the actual gift might have been.

He replied, "You got a visit?" Molly's face darkened. She nodded.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, not directly, anyway. I did get cut one other time by the glass he left behind, but other than that, I'm fine."

"Glass?" Sherlock looked around at the floor. "You obviously cleaned it all up. Let me see."

Molly showed him the bigger scar on her hand. "It happened about three minutes before you arrived. I cleaned it the same way you did the one on my foot, so there's not a chance of infection."

They became silent again. Sherlock thought of his meeting with Moriarty. The games have just begun. What could he have meant? Surely he wasn't going to start all of the stupid endeavors again that they had been through before. He thought of his last encounter with Moriarty when they were both still legally alive. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. He – he knew. He staged his death just like Sherlock did. He knew Sherlock would end up jumping. He wasn't after Sherlock. Now he was after Sherlock's friends! But…what could he possibly want with an old housekeeper, a seasoned detective, and a mourning ex-army doctor? He hadn't even mentioned Molly.

He hadn't mentioned her. His intention was to keep Molly alive all along. What did he want with her? Sherlock's attention snapped to Molly, who had jumped down from the counter and she was warming Sherlock's forgotten tea. He concentrated.

"What exactly did he say to you?"

Molly jumped. She turned to Sherlock and tried to remember. "I can't remember exactly, but he was warning me like the creep he is about how he wants you dead, but he will make it as fun as he possibly can. Then he told me a last riddle."

Sherlock turned away from Molly as he asked his question. "What was the riddle?" He didn't see Molly place a hand against her forehead. He didn't see her grip the counter for strength. He didn't see her struggle to stay standing. Her eyes dilated and she collapsed.

Sherlock heard the thump as Molly's body hit the floor. He panicked and ran to her side. She was breathing, that was good. She was alive. He scanned her body for any other injuries, but found none. She didn't drink anything, no poison. He picked her up and carried her bridal style into her bedroom and set her down on the bed, placing the cover over her.

Sherlock perched on the chair across the room and stayed like that, watching Molly, thinking what the cause for this unlikely and surprising incident could be. Two hours passed, and Molly didn't wake up. He decided to continue his thoughts in his room. No one could get to her in here, not while he was awake. He exited the room and left Molly in peace.

Thank you all for the reviews! They keep me going! And I am truly and overwhelmingly sorry for the long breaks in between chapters. I have been busy with recording for piano competitions and schoolwork. However, this week is Spring Break. Here is a celebratory chapter! I know I will be working on this story every spare minute I get, but I won't update every day, just so I can have a few chapters written in advance. Thanks so much for the feedback! They really do help with writer's block and when things are looking tough. Thank you to every person who has stuck with this fanfiction so far. It means a lot to me!

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