Molly had never been so happy to see John Watson in her entire life. The friendly doctor walked right into the flat he once shared with Sherlock and immediately his gaze met with hers. His smile was warm, welcoming.
"Molly," John greeted her. "How are you?"
Wonderful now that you're here to take the world's only consulting detective's attention away from me.
"Fine, fine. How are you? How is Mary?"
John shook his head. "Swollen ankles, tender back, trouble sleeping. Cravings for ice cream. The baby can't get here soon enough."
Sherlock hadn't looked up from the files he'd spread over the table in front of the sofa where Molly sat trying to read the paper. She knew better than to think he wasn't paying attention to their conversation though.
"And then there's this one." John jerked his thumb in Sherlock's direction.
"I assure you that I've been just fine, John." Sherlock still didn't look up. "Molly saw to my wound last night. I see no reason why she can't continue my care now that she's living here."
"Staying here?" John clarified. "You mean Molly's staying here?"
Sherlock looked up on that note, annoyed. "I said so, didn't I?"
Blowing out an exhale, John turned back to Molly, taking a seat in his old chair. "How did it look then?"
Molly nodded. "No swelling or sign of inflammation. I changed the bandage. It's healing well."
"Thank you, Molly." John meant it. "That doesn't mean I don't reserve the right to take a look myself here and there."
Sherlock shook his head, his attention back on the files.
"So any leads then?" John asked, leaning forward to see the files laid out.
Sherlock explained to John that he had a few leads, a few ideas that he would need Mycroft's help on. She really should have paid attention to what he told John but she just couldn't.
What had gotten into Sherlock? He'd been acting strangely since Charlie had arrived in her life. He either seemed angry with her – why she honestly didn't know – or he behaved in ways he'd never acted with her before. Mostly the latter.
On top of that, Moriarty's reappearance had unsettled her. How could it not? She'd been involved in saving Sherlock from the master criminal's plan. The man she'd known simply as "Jim from IT" had to know all about her by now.
And Charlie? Sherlock didn't believe she was knowingly part of Moriarty's plan and that terrified her for the young woman who had already been so disadvantaged. She hoped with everything she had Mycroft would be able to keep her safe, that the girl would have a chance at a future. Apparently it was no coincidence that the girl found her way to Molly. Sherlock was determined to find out more about that. Molly just worried that it could mean Charlie's doom.
Sherlock was more focused on Molly though. That he cared about her safety, wanted to protect her? She'd be lying if she said that it didn't please her. To know he cared? It was everything. Hell, he'd even taken in Toby and his relationship with her feline companion was strained at best.
Last night he'd taken over her call to John, swept into her apartment like a knight in a Belstaff, and before she knew it, Charlie was whisked off who-knew-where to be protected by Mycroft and the British Government. Sherlock had taken her back to Baker Street where she'd slept in his bed, in his shirt. Hell, this morning, she'd waken up with her head on his chest and her leg against his…
Her face warmed up at the memory of waking up with the man she'd adored for so long under such circumstances. She could almost think that he wanted her.
As if the damned man could read her very thoughts, Sherlock looked up at that moment, not pausing in his conversation with John and smirked at her.
Leaving the paper on the sofa, Molly tried to ease her way out of the room without notice. Right. She could practically feel his eyes burning into her back as she fled to the bedroom. His bedroom. And then she paced. Molly actually paced as she'd seen him do so many times.
Since waking up next to Sherlock, she'd been waiting for the day to gain any sort of normalcy. In reality with Sherlock, as she had always known it, she should have showered, dressed, eaten the lovely breakfast Mrs. Hudson had brought up for them, and then tried to stay out of the detective's way while she fretted about all of it. And that was how it all happened. Yet something was off. Something was very off.
Molly remembered how he was when he'd crashed at her flat. He'd ask for things, she'd provide them. She didn't try to engage him in conversation or interrupt his delicate internal balance in any way. Years of working with him had taught her well. For him it was the work. It was all about the work.
Yet she could feel his focus on her as heavily as if it had been a physical weight. What she didn't understand was why. Why was he looking at her now with such interest? If it were any man but Sherlock, she'd think he desired her.
Molly shook her head. No, that couldn't be right. Sherlock didn't do relationships or social customs. He didn't like physical contact at all. How in the world would he ever be interested in sex? Much less relationships? It didn't make sense.
And yet he'd been holding her this morning before she'd awakened. He'd said he slept on the couch and she had no reason to not to believe that. Still, how long had she been curled around him in bed?
Something was different. Molly didn't understand.
Poking her head out the door revealed that they were still talking and Molly straightened herself up and decided to go back out there. If John left, she didn't want Sherlock to come looking for her here, in his bedroom. It was probably her imagination. Or she was the unwitting subject of a weird experiment? There had to be some explanation.
Neither man looked up when she returned to the sofa and resumed her reading. Well, her attempts at reading. She wasn't having a lot of luck actually retaining any of the words she took in. Her mind was so swamped with the upheaval of her entire life and the changes in her relationship that had all taken place in the last twenty four hours that she felt on edge.
John had stayed for a little while, leaving only after Sherlock had assured him that he was physically fine and he'd keep him updated with any new developments in the situation with Moriarty. Sherlock explained they were all being monitored by Mycroft's agents and would continue to be for the foreseeable future. After giving Molly a hug, he'd left her alone with Sherlock once again.
To her relief, Sherlock seemed still absorbed in his files. Thinking that she hadn't checked her email today as she normally did before she went to work, Molly fetched her mobile phone from her coat pocket. As she sat down on the sofa again, she opened her email app and saw that she had a few new messages.
Emails sent out to hospital employees, an email from her mother.
And email from Jim.
Jim?
Oh, it couldn't be.
Molly's breath hitched in her throat as she tapped on the message with a finger to open it and saw that there was a link to something in the body of the message.
So quietly she didn't notice he'd joined her on the sofa, Sherlock gently wrapped his hand around hers and the phone. This time he tapped on the screen. A video launched, filling up the small screen.
"Hello there, Molly," Jim Moriarty's smiling face greeted her. "Sherlock. Aren't you two cozy in there, plotting away about what to do with little ole me?"
Her heart was flying. Moriarty knew where she was, who she was with.
"I'm a little surprised that you didn't bring Charlie back to Baker Street too, Sherlock," Moriarty taunted him in his crazy Irish accent. "You're no longer a virgin, after all, and Charlie? Well, it's true Charlie likes girls a little bit better than boys. But she'd be so fun to play with, wouldn't she? She likes our little Molly. You like our little Molly. You had the makings of one delicious pathologist sandwich there. Mmmmm-mmmmm."
Molly's face went up in flames while Sherlock's hand tightened around hers.
"Or maybe you're just not ready for a threesome just yet? It is all so new." Jim laughed then, moving closer to the recording device as if he were whispering in one's ear. "Threesomes are so much fun but hard to make work. I'm still willing to give it a try. Charlie is mine and I know exactly where she is. I'll have my two birds here together very soon, yes."
Backing away from the recording device, Moriarty widened his eyes comically and held up a hand in front of his mouth as if he were shocked at something he'd just discerned in a very bad play.
"Oh, Sherlock, you got that reference, didn't you? Two birds, one stone? Yes? Charlie and her sister are my two birds. My two pretty, pretty birds. One of them I've taught to fly. Oh, Sherlock, you should see her fly."
Molly swallowed hard, not wanting to hear more but unable to move until she'd heard everything.
"I'll have to punish Charlie though. Such a naughty bird that one. Such a dirty little bird." Moriarty stopped then, his expression sobering. "And you, my little Molly, you are the stone. Did you figure that out?"
Fighting to keep her composure, Molly took a deep breath, seeing that the video was almost at its end.
"You're the stone around Sherlock's neck. And you… you're going to drown him." Moriarty stared wildly at her in the video, his intense gaze searing into her heart and filling it with fear.
He planned to use her to hurt Sherlock. How?
The video ended. Sherlock closed out of the message, taking the phone gently out of her hand.
"Molly, breathe," he said gently.
Releasing the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, she struggled with crippling fear. Moriarty was back. He'd devastated Sherlock's life before – all of their lives – and now he was back for more. How would they get through this? Any of them?
"We will stop him, Molly." There was such determination in his voice. "I will stop him."
Molly stared up at him. This is new. The last time Moriarty had come for Sherlock, the detective had been worried, frightened – and not for himself. He'd come to her for help and all of their lives had been altered for over two years. He'd paid such a price to keep them safe.
Now there was something different flashing in those beautiful eyes of his – anger, resolve. Carefully he set her phone to the side before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest. Molly was only surprised for a moment before she slid her arms around him, settling with her ear against his heart and trying not to cling too tightly because of his injury. And his heart was pounding. His chin pressed to the top of her head and his hands were smoothing up and down her back.
It wasn't like him at all. None of it was. That as much as Moriarty's thinly veiled threat had tears flooding her eyes.
Sherlock didn't understand. He thought her fear of Moriarty was the cause of her upset.
"I won't let him hurt you, Molly."
Had he just pressed his lips into her hair?
"I'll keep you safe. Shhhhh."
Who was the man holding her and what had he done with the clinical, impersonal detective she'd always known?
Sherlock let Molly cry it out for long moments. When her distress seemed to let up, he eased away from her, tipping up her chin with one of his long, elegant fingers.
"I need to send the video to Mycroft. All right?" He was gazing into her eyes as he spoke.
Molly was struggling to breathe. She was able to nod and watched him as he took her phone and forwarded the email with the video to his brother with lightning speed. He didn't let go of her for a moment.
Only a moment later, Sherlock's phone rang and he pulled away to answer it. It didn't take her long to figure out it was Mycroft on the phone.
"I'm aware of that, Mycroft, but Molly will remain here with me," Sherlock said with no small amount of ire in his voice. "I'm as good as fully recovered so your point is moot."
Molly shook her head. Sherlock was far from fully recovered.
"Yes, we can discuss our plans. Later. I will call you. Just make it happen." Abruptly he ended the call, his attention back on her.
At least she'd managed to dry her eyes, still swiping at them with the backs of her hands.
Sherlock stopped, studying her. Oh what she wouldn't give to know what was going on in his mind.
Then, judging from his expression, he decided on a course of action. He ordered takeaway from Angelo's, requesting delivery. He'd ordered her favorites, everything from appetizer to dessert. He'd requested two bottles of wine to be delivered with it. Molly hadn't know that wine could be ordered and delivered from that or any restaurant, but if the request were questioned at all, she missed it.
Getting ready for the food's arrival, Molly immediately went to the kitchen to tidy it up. They'd need plates, utensils, flatware – and a clean surface to eat on. She worked diligently at this for a while as Sherlock studied some items he'd stuck up on his wall, including a picture of Charlie.
When she'd finished her task, Molly couldn't help but ask the question that lingered in her mind. "Mycroft doesn't think I should be here, does he?"
"I really don't care what my brother thinks," he said flatly, not moving.
"That's not what I asked."
"I know."
He might have said more but then then someone knocked, the delivery man stood in the doorway. Sherlock paid him and took the bags while Molly scrambled to get the table ready. She didn't get far when he marched into the kitchen and pretty much took over arranging the table, setting out containers, serving them. He'd insisted that she take a seat and eat while he opened the first bottle of wine and poured her a generous glass.
"Sherlock?" Molly was trying to think how best to phrase her question.
He'd just sat down and took a drink from his own glass of wine. "Let me."
"Let you…"
"Molly, ever since I've known you, you've been there for me. To help with cases, to provide whatever I needed. Just this once, let me comfort you."
"Okay," Molly said, downing a large drink of wine. What else could she say? If nothing else, she could maybe drown out the crazy questions swirling around in her head.
Sherlock chuckled at that. "Is it that hard?"
Molly took another drink before answering that. "No… And yes."
His smile was warm. "Why yes?"
"You've been different… lately." The same old fear of earning his cutting remarks kept her from elaborating on that.
His intent gaze on her made her wonder if he'd just reached the same conclusion.
When he didn't say anything, she rambled. Damn it.
"I know you've been through so much in the last couple of years with the fall. And then the Magnussen case. Being shot. You sacrificed so much to keep us all safe from him." She would say his name just now. "You killed a man to protect John, Mary and their child."
"Molly…"
Molly had to say it. After she had another drink of her wine. "Sherlock, you're barely back on your feet physically. The greatest enemy you've ever faced is back from the dead. Everyone you care about is again in danger and …"
Those blue-green eyes didn't release her as he stared at her from across the table. "And?"
"Well, I just wondered why…" Damn it Molly, just say it. "Why, with all of this going on, are you trying to comfort… me?"
Sherlock was smiling again. "Molly, I don't need to remind you that you saved my life the last time we faced Moriarty. He'd confirmed for you, today, that you will be as much a target of his as I am. I want to keep you safe. I want to be certain you're safe and the only way I can do that is if you're with me."
Nodding, Molly grabbed one of the garlic knots. She'd almost finished the first glass of wine and it was probably a good idea to not continue downing it on an empty stomach.
"Please don't feel as if you have to… repay me," she muttered, afraid on some level that it was the sole reason for his actions.
"I don't." Sherlock didn't seem interested in his food, his wine. His gaze remained on her, intense. "You'll recall I told you that you were the one person who counted most to me."
Molly remembered all too well when he'd said that to her. It was the day she'd accompanied him on some of his cases. He'd congratulated her on her engagement to Tom.
"You said that day was your way of saying thank you," Molly pointed out. "Spending the day with you was thanks enough. Please don't feel like you have to watch over me, Sherlock. If you spend half of your time fussing over me, your full attention won't be on stopping him. Your brother knows this."
"I'm not fussing over you." Sherlock drank from his wine glass now. She watched him swallow, his neck was long and graceful. "You have a good mind, Molly. I'm counting on you to help me in dealing with Moriarty. And in keeping Dr. Watson from fussing over me. I need you strong for the days ahead of us."
"But do you need me here?"
"Yes." There was something downright predatory in his expression now. "Eat."
