Molly curled into herself a little further. She berated herself for not noticing Belial sooner. She should have known instantaneously when Sherlock hadn't immediately gone to check his Petri dishes when she had let him into the morgue that night. She should have noticed that he actually laughed at one of her ill timed jokes. She should have noticed how suspicious it was that the Winchesters had found Philotantus so quickly after he had eluded them for so long. But she hadn't, and there was nothing she could do about it now. She could hear Belial cursing and banging on the door. She had backed herself into a corner. Belial couldn't get in, but she couldn't get out. Her head was swimming, thoughts flying this way and that as she desperately tried to come up with a plan.

If only the Winchesters were here. If only Sherlock were here.

Molly blinked away tears that threatened to fall. She couldn't cry. Not now. Not when Sherlock was still in danger. She took a shaky breath and tried to clear her head. She scanned the room she was in, looking for anything that might be of use.

Books…no.

Empty teacup…no.

A couple dirty socks…definitely not.

Lamp…maybe.

Can of spray paint…n-wait. Can of spray paint?

Molly grinned. Finally, something she could use to gain an advantage. She crawled over to the lonely can of spray paint and grabbed it, shaking it to see if the universe was kind enough to let there be anything left inside.

Nothing.

"Damn it!" Molly hissed, tossing the can aside, before burying her head in her hands. She had nothing at her disposal. Nothing at all. Sherlock was still trapped, and she was powerless to help. She turned her face to the ceiling, hoping that the Winchesters had been intuitive enough to paint a devil's trap up there. Nope. She groaned. All her ideas and her energy had been exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and close her eyes, only to discover that it had all been a dream and she had just fallen asleep while doing paperwork.

"Molly."

Molly jumped and frantically searched the room for the owner of the strange voice. The last thing she needed was another ghost or demon or other hellish creature joining this living nightmare.

"Molly."

"Who's there?"

"Molly, my name is Shekinah. Please listen to me."

"Give me one good reason."

"Castiel sent me."

Molly froze. Castiel? Did that mean that this disembodied voice was an angel? Did that mean that this angel was here to help her save Sherlock? No, that was definitely too good to be true. The universe is never that kind. Molly narrowed her eyes at the empty space around her.

"I don't believe you."

"Molly, please, I speak the truth. Let me prove it to you."

The electronics in the room started to flicker and go haywire for no apparent reason. Molly could hear Belial screaming something about a noise. Odd. She couldn't hear anything.

"Molly, I am speaking to you with my true voice. As you can see, it's very damaging to most everyone. But you are one of the few who can understand it."

"W-what? I don't understand."

"You, Molly Hooper, are my true vessel. I can help you save Sherlock, but you have to give your consent. An angel cannot inhabit a vessel without his or her consent, so I need you to say yes."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"'I am an angel of the Lord. I am here to protect you.' Were those not among the first words Castiel said to you?"

"…Yes."

"Is that not proof enough that I am telling the truth? Please, Molly. Time is of paramount import"

Molly hesitated. Was it really worth it to give up her agency? Was it really wise? Images of Sherlock, bloodied and laughing with a voice not his own, flashed through her mind. Molly took a deep breath, steeling her nerves before delivering her answer to Shekinah.

"Okay. I give you permission."