Sherlock walked around by himself, looking at things, but not really seeing them. He let his mind wander to places far off as he read Mycroft's words repeatedly in his head.
Moran is within a 5 mile radius of you.
As much as he hated his brother, he was secretly grateful for all that he was doing, even if they weren't doing a good job. As cold and as calculating as the Holmes' boys were known to be, Mycroft loved Sherlock; he'd always cared for him, he just showed it in a different way. It was not something that others understood, but Mycroft took the role of big brother while Sherlock let his stern annoyance continue to tell Mycroft he resented him.
He was on high alert, out searching, looking for anything that could lead him in the right direction. This would all be over soon, but Sherlock was not stupid to think that this would not get a lot worse before it got better. He rearranged through his mind palace, cataloguing the information he had on Moran differently, piecing it together.
As Sherlock was walking around the market, Molly was having difficulty as she tried to figure out what to get, distracted by what was going through her head. She thought of what Sherlock had said, but she also thought of the danger that would soon come. She would be there for him, she would do anything that he asked of her- of course she would, and that's how she's always been.
She knew there was danger for her, but it made her more nervous to think of the danger for him. This was all about him, it always had been, and if Moran was this close, he knew Sherlock was here, and he knew Sherlock was after Moran just as much as Moran was after him.
Molly was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't realised that there was someone within her personal space, creeping behind her, until he spoke, barely in an audible whisper. "You ungrateful bitch; I save your life and you won't even have a coffee with me."
She froze dead, not knowing how to respond. What to do or what to say. She wished Sherlock had not walked away now, terrified of what was going to happen. She knew it was the man she had run into on more than one occasion, why was he still following her?
He gripped her wrist tightly, squeezing enough so that the pain made her want to scream. "Make a sound and you put everyone in danger here, Miss Hooper," he hissed. "And please do think of your beloved Sherlock."
Molly's eyes widened, her teeth gritting, but she was stock still; everything clicked now as his words rang through her ears. All was falling into place, the man that was making himself known, wanting to be seen. Letting people see him was him making his move. It was on the person unexpected; Molly had never had anything to do directly with this, but wouldn't that make her the more obvious choice? She did save Sherlock, after all.
"Now," he said, pulling her into him. It looked as if they were having a private conversation. Anyone else looking at them would think they were just a couple. "You'd like Sherlock safe, wouldn't you?" he breathed on the back of her neck, moving his face closer to her ear.
She nodded compliantly, still not moving her head as he slipped a phone into her pocket. "If I find out you've said a word to him, he's dead, you're dead; you will not ruin this for me. You will keep this phone by you at your side, and Sherlock will not know that you have it. You will wait for my instructions."
He was out of her sight before she even looked up, her hand immediately rubbing her sore wrist. She stood there staring at the tea, pretending to be intent on finding one as she processed what had happened.
It was Moran, she knew from the second he had addressed her last name who he was. She didn't know what she was about to do, but she knew this was going to be bad. She hadn't the slightest idea how she was going to hide this from Sherlock; he noticed everything, but it was just going to require her best efforts.
Sherlock rounded the corner to see Molly rubbing her wrist with a strained look on her face. He narrowed his eyes as he watched, but when her hand dropped down to her side and she looked back up (mechanically) to the tea, he disregarded it.
He came up close behind her before speaking. They were definitely on a closer level now, and Sherlock felt something different with her; he liked the physical contact when he struggled with the emotional. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ready?"
Molly jumped, a gasp escaping her lips. It was only loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but full-fledged panic tensed throughout her body from his sudden movement.
She exhaled before looking up to him. "What? Yeah, all set," she said, grabbing whatever tea her eyes fixed on first. "Sorry, you frightened me."
Jesus, Molly she said to herself. This was not a good start to hiding things from Sherlock. She walked ahead before he could say anything else, trying to search for the checkout counter.
Sherlock's stride put him next to her quickly and he looked at her sceptically, brushing it aside again. He took it in as a mental note though; the only logical thing that would make her afraid was Mycroft's text, so he figured that was what bothered her. They were out in the open, and Moran was within a five mile radius, so what else would it be?
Molly stood up from the bed and began pacing back and forth. After they had come back from the grocery store, she was quick to take a shower. It was the best place to clear her head.
She had taken her time in the shower and getting dressed afterwards. She saw tints of a bruise that was forming on her skin from Moran; lovely. She ruffled through her coat sitting on the bed and took the phone out; the one he had given her. She flashed the screen on, but there was nothing, no message yet. She had no idea how long it would be, but as the minutes passed, they dragged heavily.
As she examined the case around the phone she realised it looked identical to her own. The only difference in the phone was when she pressed the button to view the screen. Unless Sherlock was fumbling with her phone, he wouldn't be able to tell that it was different.
She had to do this though. She had even told Sherlock herself that if she could help in any way, she would do it. Molly had a chance to protect him, and she was going to do her best. He was important; London needs him back, his friends need him back. She let out a small sigh as she locked the phone and put it safely in her pocket.
Molly walked into the sitting room to find Sherlock lying across the sofa, his dressing gown wrapped around him. His head lay back against the arm of the sofa, his eyes closed as his head faced the ceiling. He didn't even notice Molly come in as he was already lost, detached from the room totally. Molly sat down quietly in a chair and skimmed through a book, her mind not registering any words her eyes glazed over.
There was more danger now, for him and for Molly. Sherlock would be damned if anything were to erase everything he's been working for since he faked his death. It was beginning to overwhelm him even more than before. He was so close, yet so far. Every time he took a step forward, there was nothing else that he could do from that point. It wasn't even him investigating. He was tired of waiting; he wanted to just go and finish this now, but he didn't know where Moran was. He wouldn't risk further opportunity unless his information was precise.
He was becoming tired of this; it wasn't a game anymore as much as both Moriarty and Moran tried to make it that way. It wasn't fun, but it was for them; ruining his life as it continued to end, dragging every day to make sure that he knew it wasn't ending with that day at Bart's. No, Moriarty would have lost the game that way. Of course he had a backup plan.
Molly helped of course, as always, but at this point there was only so much that she could do. He wasn't going to put her in any immediate danger. She mattered too much now; he had lost everything and everyone, currently, and she was the only one left. She put with him at a low he hadn't been at it in a long time; she pulled him up out of that state and helped him recover. He could function now, and for some reason, he could care and feel more so than ever before. It felt raw, but he was in constant apprehension that it would be distracting him, which was overbearing.
Sherlock finally opened his eyes- it had been almost an hour. He had realised halfway through the hour that she was there and noticed her nervous demeanour. He spoke without turning his head to her, continuing to stare up at the ceiling. "You're not reading."
Molly looked up from her book and at him. She let the book fall down into her lap and gave a sigh. "I'm just… worried is all." Well, that wasn't lying. She really was worried; he just didn't know the extent of what.
But as she rested her hand on top of the book, he saw the bruising around her wrist; it was darkening. His eyebrow rose as he looked it at. She knew that he saw it, so she waited, biting down on her lip. She was reprimanding herself in her head, deeply. She was going to fuck this up, he was going to know, and he was going to get hurt.
"It's nothing," she continued.
"If I were the one hurt you would be angry with me for not telling you," he said matter-of-factly. He was starting to catch on to this, learning quickly about whatever it was their relationship currently was. He was right though, Molly would've done the same thing on the other side of the situation. "Which, you also did not tell me about when you got attacked."
She hadn't even mentioned it that far, but he deduced, of course it was enough to figure that out. She was being like him; it wasn't in the same context, but she was being hypocritical, which Molly knew wasn't very fair. But she couldn't necessarily be fair. She was doing it for a reason and she couldn't tell him why. She knew if he were on the other side of this he would understand, but he couldn't be.
Molly took a deep breath before running her hands down her face. She went over and sat down next to him on the sofa. "Sherlock, I-" she began as she exhaled. He sat there and he waited. He watched her trying to find the words and it made him feel less inferior in the one place he did feel it. This was completely new; he never approached anything lightly unless it was boring.
Molly's phone buzzed in her back pocket and she froze completely. She knew it was not her normal phone. It was the one Moran had given her.
