It occurred to Molly as she awoke that her bedroom was slightly fuller than when she'd gone to sleep. A hand rested gently on her throat and she cried out. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON!?" She screeched.

"I told you she was alive," A wry voice emanated from the other side of the bed. Anthea was currently texting away, not paying attention to the scene at hand.

Sherlock frowned, "Yes, well..." He cleared his throat. "Molly we've come to rescue you."

John dropped his hand. "Pulse is good and strong...she appears to be in good health."

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she pulled the comforter up around her. When she'd gone to sleep Jim had been there. They'd made love long into the night and then fallen asleep in each other's arms. Sometime before sunrise he kissed her forehead and slid out of bed. She smile to herself and rolled back over, not yet wanting to get out of the warm cocoon they'd created. It was embarrassing that she'd slept so late...especially since she clearly had guests.

Sitting up on her elbows, she stared at them, "You've come to rescue me from what? And of course my pulse is strong! I'm fine. Where is Mrs. Finney?" She asked, worried that they'd done something to the poor sweet housekeeper.

Mycroft piped up then, "She's downstairs making tea." He replied, arms folded over his chest. "Perhaps we should allow Miss Hooper to freshen up a bit?" He could sense the distress the young woman was feeling over being seen in her nightgown by a gaggle of near-strangers. "Come." Grabbing Sherlock by the scruff of his collar.

Molly sent him a look of gratitude. She peered at Anthea who wasn't following the boys. Now that she'd wiped the sleep from eyes, she was surprised to see her in a wedding dress. "Did I miss something?"

"Absolutely everything," She replied, setting her phone on the bedside table. "Unzip me, would you?" Turning, she picked the veil out of her hair and tossed it aside. "I've been wanting to get out of this bloody thing since your Sherlock dragged us all on this fool's errand."

Slipping out of bed, she unzipped the dress before heading into the closet. "He's not...MY Sherlock." She replied hotly, "And I'm not exactly sure why you brought them here. They're sitting ducks!"

Smirking, she sat on the bed in her corset. "What makes you think this wasn't the plan all along, Mollybear?" Crossing her legs, she stared at the girl and simply laughed. "Jim was right about you, you're just the sweetest...it's sickening, really."

"Yes well..." She huffed and stalked out wearing a simple pair of white linen pants and a flowing purple top. She supposed that she was Moriarty Royalty now, she may as well dress the part. Sitting down at the boudoir, she put on a smear of lipstick and blush. "No one asked you, Anthea. I simply inquire as to why it is you would lead the man you're in love with here like a lamb to the slaughter."

"John can hold his own-" She started but Molly cut her off brutally. "I'm not talking about John, Anthea...I'm talking about Mycroft!"

Silence hung over the room for longer than a minute.

Anthea got up and stalked into the closet and came out wearing one of Molly's new outfits. Her wedding dress laid there discarded and crumpled like a used tissue. "For the record!" She replied hotly, "Mycroft and I are...ancient history. We tried it and...that was it." She huffed haughtily, "I don't see what you're so smug about, you're James Moriarty's new toy. He's bound to get bored sooner or later."

Molly stood up, "I'm the mother of his child! His queen! I don't have to justify myself to you...we're happy." And she was. She didn't know where Jim seemed to disappear to every day and a part of her truly didn't want to know. But when he was there, he was so attentive and loving and sweet; not at all the criminal mastermind that they painted him to be. Yet the question remained: would he get bored of her? Would he someday want to be rid of her? If that were true, what would happen to their child?

"Think about it..." Anthea taunted, "He's a man of many tastes and many vices. What could he see in a mousy, plain thing like you?" Walking behind her, she turned her toward the mirror. "Look at yourself. Look at what you want...you may want to rethink allowing Sherlock to rescue you."

Staring back at her was the same reflection as she'd always seen. Yet,she was dressed up in nice clothes, she had a soft glow about her that she could only assume was a result of her pregnancy. Turning to Anthea, she shook her head, "No..." Stalking out of the room, she swept down the stairs into the drawing room where Mrs. Finney was fawning over her guests. "I have an announcement."

Mycroft, Sherlock, and John were seated in the lavish room looking suspiciously out of place against the stark white decor. Sherlock sniffed the tea, unsure of whether or not he should drink it. Mycroft had already drained his cup, knowing that nothing had been tampered with. John was still too shocked to do much of anything at all. All three looked up as Molly came thundering in.

Sherlock stood the moment she entered the room, taking the wind right out of her sails. He stepped in front of her and she swallowed. Looking up at him, all her insecurities came flooding back. He towered over her and suddenly she was transported back to last Christmas. She'd dressed to the nines to impress him, tarted up in a tight dress and wearing the expensive perfume that her mother had sent her for her birthday. She'd bought him a gorgeous gift and despite his usual callousness, that night he kissed her. A kiss that had curled her toes and sent tremors pulsing through her. She took deep breaths to try and steady herself but she couldn't. Not when he stood there staring at her with those piercing blue-grey eyes. Eventually she gathered up all her nerves and stomped her foot, "Sit back down!"

Slightly shocked that Molly had shown any backbone at all, Sherlock reluctantly slunk back to the couch and sat next to Mycroft, looking sour.

"I'm here of my own free will. Jim is NOT forcing me to be here...I can leave any time." The only one who seemed surprised by that was John. "Jim and I are...happy, alright?" Straightening her posture, she licked her lips, "And we're having a child."

John nearly fell out of his chair, "What!? You and...you and Moriarty!?" He threw up his arms, "Someone wake me up from this bloody nightmare! This simply cannot be happening!"

Molly felt a pang of sadness for John. He was the one she related to the most...she wasn't extraordinary like Jim or Mycroft or Sherlock! She wasn't clever like Irene. She wasn't pretty like Anthea. She was a perfectly ordinary, kind, sweet person. "I know this may seem strange to you but I'm...happy."

Sherlock couldn't hold back any longer. "Happy? Molly, please..." He snarled. "You're living in a fantasy, trying to replace ME with some twisted version of Jim you've created in that soft little head of yours."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft scolded, rolling his eyes skyward. That was quite possibly the worst thing to say to a woman let alone one who was on the precipice of choosing between good and evil.

Anthea scoffed, "Oh please, Mycroft, it's true." She flitted into the room with Jim on her heels, carefully pulling his tie off. He was smiling like the cat who got the canary as he lingered a moment in the doorway. It appeared as if his face could crack at any moment with the magnitude of pleasure that radiated outwards into the room. Everyone shifted uncomfortably at the sight, even Molly.

"Well well well, Mollybear, you didn't tell me that we were having guests. I'd have picked up some punch on the way home." Slipping behind Molly, he coiled his arm around her waist. Gingerly he leaned in and captured her lips, shooting a triumphant look at Sherlock as he did so. "In this, as in everything else, I've already won, Sherlock. So you can simply take your hound and your lapdog home...it was an admirable try." He chuckled derisively, "You see, our game is only just beginning...and there can only be one winner. And make no mistake," The mask slipped for a moment and showed the malice roiling beneath it, "It will be me."

Loudly, Molly cleared her throat. "You gentlemen may show yourselves out." And that was not a request.

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