A/N; A million, billion, trillion, gazillion thanks to Johnlock13 for her invaluable advice on all things British. In this chapter, she pointed out my mistake (purse-handbag-etc...), not to mention all the other times she's helped me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Because I am so very helpless sometimes :P Remember, folks, constructive crit is greatly appreciated. As long as it's constructive...but we won't go into that here ;D

Thanks to any reviewers! You make it worth my while. And if you're going to favorite or follow one of my stories...why not drop a review? Reviews mean more to me than triple brutal bloody homicides mean to Sherlock. That's a lot, people ;)

Ta,

Anonymoustache


The cafeteria?

But if that's the cafeteria, then where…

Oh, no.

Sherlock.

Molly turned and looked down the hall after the nurse. "Sherlock…" she whispered.

What do I do?

Something was glinting in the nurse's hand; something that looked sharp and ominous. As he raised it, she saw it was a thick, gleaming silver needle.

The world seemed to slide into slow motion. The nurse raised the needle high into the air behind the detective. Molly opened her mouth, intending to yell in warning.

The nurse stabbed the syringe into Sherlock's neck and depressed the plunger.

Sherlock's head lolled back onto his shoulders, face pale. His eyes connected with Molly's for a few moments, then closed, dead to the world.

Molly's vision seemed to turn red. This nurse, this disgusting creature, was trying to kidnap her dearest friend.

Get ready to feel my wrath, you bastard.

Molly was, normally, a peace-loving person. She was the shy pathologist who enjoyed cuddling with her cat and romantic comedies. She'd never harmed a fly, before now.

To hell with the shy pathologist attitude.

Molly ran up and tackled the blonde nurse from behind.

He let out a yell of surprise and tried to shake her off, to no avail.

"Let him go!" she screamed, hitting him over the head with her handbag and clawing at his face.

They tussled for a moment, the nurse trying to get her off him, Molly trying to buy some time. Sherlock lay passed out in the wheelchair in front of them.

Molly screamed as she felt something sharp cut into her arm and let go. The nurse shook her off and, grabbing Sherlock's limp body out of the wheelchair, slung the detective over his shoulder and headed out the door.

No…

Sherlock…

Molly couldn't move. Her vision went hazy as she watched the nurse disappear from view.

She heard footsteps behind her. People around her, asking her if she was all right.

Sherlock.

John Watson was beside her suddenly, yelling something about Moriarty.

She couldn't hear him.

Sherlock.

The floor beneath her was splattered with drops of blood. Scarlet streams ran down her arm, a gaping cut stretching from upper shoulder to the crook of her elbow.

Someone gently led John Watson away. His screams echoed in her ears.

Sherlock.

Suddenly, someone was there, pressing a handkerchief to the slash and whispering comforting words.

Molly looked up to see Greg Lestrade kneeling beside her.

"Molly," he said sympathetically.

"He…he was here," she whispered. "He came for Sherlock. And he took him. Greg, he took him! Sherlock…" silent tears were sliding down her face.

Greg nodded calmly. "I know, Molly. We'll find him."

"We'll find him."


"Mycroft…Oh, god, this just can't be happening…Jesus…"

"I know how you feel, John," Mycroft said. He was sitting up in his hospital bed, hands clasped together. The doctor had brought John in to calm him down after he screamed at Molly Hooper.

"I have to talk to Molly."

Mycroft hesitated. "John…don't you think you should give her some time to get over what just happened? She was wounded, both physically and psychologically, I'm sure. Not to mention your…slight overreaction."

John headed towards the door. "No. I have to know, Mycroft. I have to know that it was her blood and not Sherlock's."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow as John looked at him, eyes hollow.

"As horrible as it sounds, I want it to be her's. Because if it's Sherlock's, there's no hope for him or me."


"Molly?"

Molly looked up from where she was sitting at Greg's desk. Her eyes were puffy and red and her arm had been bandaged. Across from her was Greg, looking over paperwork, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. He barely glanced at John, obviously not very approving of his screaming at Molly.

John took a calming breath.

Take it easy, Watson. She's just had a shock.

"Hello, Molly. How are you?"

John winced. So much for tact.

Idiot. How's she supposed to respond to that?

"I'm okay," she said miserably, sniffling a bit.

"Is it…would it be too much to ask…"

Molly shook her head. "I'm ready," she said shakily. "I'll tell you everything I saw."

John nodded. He sat down carefully, with a reassuring glance at Greg to show him he wasn't going to scream again, and folded his hands in his lap.

"I…came down to visit with Sherlock. About…about Mr. Holmes," she said, voice shaking ever so slightly. "When I got to his room, there was a tall, blonde nurse standing there with Sherlock in a wheelchair. He said…"

"Hang on," John said, interrupting quickly. "A tall, blonde nurse?" He looked over at Greg, who was now following the conversation with deep interest.

Greg's eyes widened. "…the waiter." He looked at John, pupils dark. "The one who gave Mycroft the poisoned coffee…he was tall and blonde!"

Molly stopped, looking confused. "Sorry…poisoned coffee?" she asked.

John nodded. "Today in the cafeteria someone poisoned Mycroft's coffee."

Molly's face paled. "Oh my goodness. Is he…"

"He's fine," Greg reassured her. "But we got a good look at the guy who delivered it, and the waiter that we think poisoned the coffee fits your description of the man who took Sherlock."

Molly's eyes widened. "So…"

John finished her sentence. "…So the man poisoned Mycroft to get us out of the way for a bit. Then, he went up to drug Sherlock and take him…somewhere."

"But he didn't take Molly into his equation." Greg added. "He didn't plan for anyone else to see him."

John turned to Molly. "So, we've got tall and blonde. Anything else you can give us?"

"Think about Sherlock, Molly," Greg said quietly. "What would he have seen?"

"Well…" Molly thought for a minute. "All his clothes were fairly new, which tells us that he must have a good source of money."

"One would assume that means a high-paying job, right?" John asked.

Greg nodded. "You'd think so."

Molly continued. "However, we know that he's been hired by someone to kidnap Sherlock and drug Mycroft, so he most likely doesn't have a day job; he'd be too easily recognized."

"So…assassin? Hit man?" Greg asked.

"Something like that…" John trailed off.

Greg watched him closely. The look John was getting was similar to the one Sherlock got when he had a major breakthrough. "What is it, John?"

"Well…tell me if you think I'm being stupid…" John hesitated, then spoke. "What if…what if no one's hired him to do it? I mean, Moriarty's dead. As far as I know, Sherlock didn't have any other enemies who would go to this much trouble to get at him." He leaned forward and leveled his gaze with both of them. "What exactly are we dealing with here?"

"Maybe some crazy stalker fan?" Greg suggested.

John looked at Greg incredulously. "Would a stalker go to all the trouble of poisoning a major government official just to kidnap Sherlock Holmes?" he shook his head. "No, we're dealing with something much bigger than that."

All this while, Molly was sitting in the corner with a confused look on her face. John turned to her. "What do you think, Molly?"

She looked up, startled, as if she had been in deep thought. "What?"

"About this…thing. Who's doing this?" Greg asked her.

"I just…" Molly trailed off. "He looked so…familiar."

John tilted his head. "Sounds like he had a pretty common face, though."

Molly raised her eyebrow, tilting her head. "Noooo…this isn't like that. You know how, sometimes you see someone on the street, and you're absolutely sure you've seen them before? That was it. I know I've seen him somewhere before…" she trailed off.

John and Greg shared a look. Was it just nerves, or was there something more to Molly's sudden revelation?

Suddenly, her eyes went wide. "Jim from IT…" she whispered.

John leaned in. "What?" he asked, alarmed.

Molly nodded, eyes on fire. "That's it. That's it!" she said, sitting up straight.

She turned to John. "John…do you remember the day that Sherlock was in the lab during the Carl Powers case?"

John nodded. "Yeah. You introduced us to your boyfriend. 'Jim from IT'…who turned out to be…Moriarty…"

Greg balked. "No…really?" he turned to Molly. "You dated Jim Moriarty?"

"Well, I didn't know who he was, not then!" she said defensively. "Anyways, a few days later we broke up. After…after I told him about Sherlock's deductions. You know…" she lowered her voice to a whisper. "The gay thing."

"Ah." John nodded.

"Well…a few weeks later, I met him. Again. Just…just randomly, on the street." She laughed, a high-pitched tension-filled laugh. "Strange place to meet Jim Moriarty, on the street."

John nodded, indicating that she should continue.

Molly looked around self-consciously. "Sherlock was right; he was gay. He had another man with him. His boyfriend, in fact; he introduced me."

A look of understanding began to dawn on Greg's face. "And was this boyfriend the same man you saw today?"

Molly couldn't speak. She nodded, overcome.

John gently laid a hand on Molly's shoulder. "I know this is hard for you, Molly. Jesus, it's hard for all of us." He hesitated slightly, then continued. "Molly…what was his name?"

Molly took a shuddering gasp, tears sliding down her face.

"Sebastian Moran."