AN: If this seems familiar, jump back and read the previous, chapter 8. Usually I check whenever I post that it's the right one, but yesterday I rushed it and didn't check and posted this one early. Oops.

Chapter 9 - No Hesitation

"Hello again, Dollface. Did you miss me?"

Did you miss me. Did he have to pick those words? As if the presence of the known rapist who harassed her wasn't enough, and hearing the lock clicking shut didn't send her heart hammering with fear, he just had to throw in a phrase that would forever remind her of her evil ex, just to completely shake her already frayed nerves.

"St... st... Stay away from me!" She stuttered as he turned and started advancing on her.

"Oh I don't think that's gonna happen, do you? I've been waiting a long time for this you know, since he first showed me your picture. Said I could have you, but I'd have to wait. Now the waiting is over."

Molly backed up as much as she could in the small room, steering well away from the bed, even though part of her knew it wouldn't matter to an animal like him.

"No. I ... I won't let you. And.. And Sherlock will be here soon, and he'll stop you." She hoped.

"Sherlock is a little busy right now, it's just you and me." He was within arms reach of her now, and she didn't have anywhere else to go, backed into a corner. He raised a hand to stroke her cheek. "Relax, Doll, you might even like it. Everyone knows you're a slut for him, and word on the street is you even put out for Moriarty. So be a good little bitch, and put on a good show for the cameras."

His eyes flicked up with a grin to the camera she already knew was there, but her eyes followed briefly anyway. They intended Sherlock to see this no doubt.

Alright, then, a good show he'd get.

A little over three years ago, just after his dive from the roof of St. Bart's, Sherlock had stayed in her flat for a couple of days. To make final preparations for his trip and make sure the heat died down first. He was fast asleep (in her bed, while she took the sofa) one morning as she left to get some extra groceries, but when she returned he had rearranged all the furniture in her living room against the wall, apparently to make space for either the martial arts or interpretive dance he was engaged in. He barely glanced at her as she edged around the room with the shopping bags to get to the kitchen, but her curiosity got the better of her as she put the bags down on the table.

"What are you doing?" She had to ask.

"Bartitsu. It's an English variation on several martial art disciplines." He informed her, moving fluidly from one position into the next with his eyes closed.

"Oh, okay." She carried on putting the shopping away for a bit, until the need to break the silence overcame her "I always planned to learn some sort of martial art for self defence when I got my own place in London, but I never got around to it."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he slid back to standing, staring at her incredulously. "You're a single woman living alone in London and taking the tube to work, also alone, and you don't know any self defence?"

"I've got by alright without it. And I do have pepper spray in my purse." Molly shrugged.

But Sherlock shook his head. "This won't do. I'll just have to teach you myself. Leave the shopping, come on, front and centre." He pointed to the space in front of himself.

"What, now? No, Sherlock, you don't have to... You have important stuff to do for your trip I'm sure. I can wait until you get back or... or sign up to classes while you're gone or something. There's no rush." Molly quickly declined, feeling blood rush to her cheeks at the idea of doing such an intimate physical activity with Sherlock.

"Of course there is! I thought you realised what you were getting yourself into when you signed up for this, Molly. If anything goes wrong, if they realise you helped me fake my death they will come for you. Of course Mycroft will have people watching you in case anything like that happens, but still. I couldn't possibly leave you unable to defend yourself." He moved over to her as he spoke, eyes fixing her with the seriousness of the situation, until he was gazing down into her eyes, driving any idea of resisting out of her mind.

"Okay." She said breathlessly, swallowing to try and get her voice and heart back under control. "What do I do?"

Sherlock grinned and rapidly backed up into the middle of the room again, beckoning her after him.

"Try and hit me."

"What?"

"Do it."

If she had any notion that it was romantic of Sherlock to insist on staying to help her learn to defend herself, it was swiftly driven from her mind as, almost as soon as she swung, she found her back forcefully hitting the ground, Sherlock's long limbs wrapped around her in a tight pin, which he tightened almost to the point of pain around her throat, before just as suddenly retracting and standing back over her.

"That was a Single Leg Takedown and Clock Choke from the Jujitsu discipline. Up you get and try it on me this time."

They spent almost the whole day at it, him teaching her how to takedown and subdue an enemy.

"I won't actually have to break someone's arm, will I?" Molly asked breathlessly as he showed her a pin that would put her in a position to do just that. He twisted out of her hold to look her in the eyes sternly.

"Molly, listen carefully, because if you don't keep this in mind, everything I've taught you today with be for nothing." He began, capturing her full attention "If you find yourself under attack you must not hesitate to do what is necessary to save yourself, understand? Because they won't hesitate to hurt you, and even with what I've taught you, the chances of you fending off a stronger male attacker or more than one is very slim, so you must take any opportunity presented to you, and make the most of it. No hesitation."

That wasn't all the advice he had for her. Whenever she got too out of breath and needed a minute he would fill the gap in action with words.

"Know your strengths and weaknesses. Your small stature and nervous disposition are a weakness that makes you an easy target, but they're also a strength. They won't expect you to resist, so if you're quick you can end the fight before it begins."

"There's no such thing as the 'Queensbury rules' outside of the boxing ring, no shame in fighting dirty. If your attacker is male, which is statistically more likely, a knee to the groin is the quickest way to incapacitate, so do it. Scum like that doesn't deserve to pass on their genetics anyway."

"Be aware of your surroundings, it's full of dangers and opportunities. Don't let yourself get cornered and keep your eye out for anything you can use as a weapon. With any luck they'll come for you in the morgue, you know your way around a scalpel."

They kept on until dark, Sherlock barely agreeing to stop for meals. Finally, when she was battered, bruised, and throughly exhausted from their training he declared her 'passable' and allowed her to crawl away for a long soothing bath and bed.

When she awoke he was gone. The only trace of him was her laptop browser, open on several sites for self defence tips and classes.

She wished she'd followed his implied instructions and signed up for one now. If Sherlock wasn't coming, Molly had no choice but to fight for herself. She tried to call to mind everything that he taught her, but most of it was no good to her with her hands cuffed.

She raised her hands, knocking away his and hiding her face behind her arms, giving the impression of cowering. Sure enough he just laughed at her pathetic attempts, grabbing the chain between her handcuffs and using it to pull her hands further up, pinning them against the wall above her head, before swooping in for a savage and brutal kiss. As his other hand made its way down her body her resolve strengthened. No hesitation. As Sherlock predicted he wasn't expecting her to fight back, leaving his legs wide open as he pressed against her.

She felt no shame kneeing him between them.

When he recoiled in pain, letting go of her hands, she wasted no time in bringing her arms down to settle around his shoulders, before slipping around him and yanking back, using her cuffs as a garrotte. Now all she had to do was hold on.

Easier said than done. Her wrists, already chaffed from a night in the cuffs, screamed in pain as the metal bit into them, while he pulled at it trying to loosen the choking force on his throat, but she didn't loosen her grip. He drove his elbows into her sides, he stamped on her feet and kicked back at her, even tried slamming her backwards against the wall, but she just screwed her eyes shut and held on with all her strength, which after years of moving bodies in the morgue was more than her size would suggest.

After what seemed like an age, but she knew was probably only minutes, his struggling became weaker, and then stopped altogether, his sudden weight pulling her down to the floor, legs trapped under him. She knew he was just unconscious, not dead, yet. She could let go and he'd survive, but stay down. But she couldn't. Couldn't open her eyes, couldn't relax her grip, couldn't move at all, paralysed by fear and uncertainty. She couldn't let go or he might wake up and hurt her. Even as she heard the door rattle, and knew someone was coming for her, she couldn't let go. If it was his friends maybe they'd leave her alone if they saw what she was capable of. And they wouldn't be able to get to her if she didn't let go.

"Molly!" A familiar voice broke through the haze of her panic, and her eyes snapped open to focus on Sherlock, halted at the door staring at her, a gun in his hand aimed at the unconscious man in her arms. "Molly, it's okay. It's okay, you can let go, I've got him."

Taking a big breath, as if coming up from underwater, Molly slackened her grip, shoving the man off her legs and jumping to her feet, to run to Sherlock. She ran straight into his arms, which tightened around her as she burst into noisy sobs, though his gun hand and eyes never left the man on the floor.

"It's okay, you did well, Molly. You did well."