A/N: Guys! Chapter 10! This is crazy. Thank you so much for everyone who has read and reviewed and thank you for sticking with this story. I think we're about at the half-way point right now and I don't want to speak too soon BUT I may or may not have a sequel in the works. What do you think? I hope you like this chapter. I love you all :) -thefaultoflegend

His feet fell hard on the pavement, John right behind him trying desperately to match his long strides. London's pedestrians let the pair pass as Sherlock shouted for people to move. The bright day did not match the detective's mood at all as he turned sharply on his feet around the corner, his dark brown curls being pushed off his forehead. He didn't even bother to grab his coat or scarf. When the second text arrived, he just got up and ran, a shouted explanation going to John as he practically jumped down the stairs. He still had his robe on as he ran down the sidewalk and streets, darting between cars and taking detours through alleys.

How much does Molly Hooper mean to you? Let's find out. -M

The text included an address that he was now trying to reach. His mind was in a panic because Mycroft said he would protect her. He promised and now she was in danger. His pathologist, one his best friends, could be hurt and it was all because of him. And he couldn't even do anything about it. It was too late to pull away from Molly Hooper. Whoever this murderer was, they already knew how much she meant to him, maybe even more than he knew. And if he was being honest with himself, there was no way he could pull away from her, not when they had gotten so much closer over the course of the few previous weeks. And yes, she had changed him. He had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle that included Molly Hooper. And even if that lifestyle meant eating and sleeping regularly plus keeping the flat clean and occasionally feeling real emotion, he wasn't ready to give it up.

His breathing sped up, his heart beating faster as he neared the tall building where "M" had sent him. The name Moriarty only flashed through his mind briefly because all he could think was Molly Molly Molly Molly Molly.

Sherlock came to a skidding halt, with John almost smacking into his back. The detective and the doctor stood there panting and trying to catch their breath. "It's here," said Sherlock. He checked his phone again as John put his hands on his head and glared into the sun. "Why are we here? There's nothing here."

The building that they were at was a simple coffee shop. Sherlock peered in at the people who were milling about, drinking their coffee, reading books, or just chatting. Molly was no where to be seen and nothing was out of the ordinary. He thought of what it could mean. Why would M send him there? The shop was probably a place where Molly would go, but she obviously wasn't there now.

Confused, Sherlock? Scared? Maybe we should try somewhere else. -M

There was another address and the detective took off again, his robe blowing in the wind. John didn't chase after him this time. He simply shouted, "Sherlock!" But the detective was already on his way. This time, he was angry. If this was Moriarty, he wouldn't let him get away again. He had hurt and threatened his friends enough. Sherlock had already killed Magnussen and he wouldn't hesitate to put a gun to Moriarty's head. His thoughts stopped suddenly and rewound wondering what he had become. Was he really the type who would kill men without a second thought? No, of course not. But the line between being a hero and being a villain was a fine one. Sherlock knew that he wasn't a hero; he could never be a hero. But being a villain didn't suit him either. So where did he stand?

He stopped in front of a bookstore, beginning to think that this was a decoy. What if this was simply a distraction? But a ding from his pocket made his heart leap through his chest.

Try again. St. Barts. –M

He didn't even stop to catch his breath; he just took off while messily sending a text to John.

Sr Bars. Nw –SG

He got to the hospital and ran immediately to the lab, pushing the doors open hard and stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Molly Hooper standing there, completely unharmed and okay. He bent over and gasped for breath as Molly stared at him, completely confused.

"Sherlock?" she asked. He didn't say anything, just stood up and stared right at her. She looked to be in the middle of running a few tests. He noticed bags under her eyes, her messy hair, and her slumped over shoulders, and knew that she probably didn't get any sleep last night. She took in his rumpled appearance, wondering why he would be in pajamas. His eyes were wide with relief it seemed, although she had no idea why. There was something else there, too. She thought she had recognized the look from maybe the way John looked at Mary, or maybe the way Molly herself looked at Sherlock. But she knew it would be impossible.

"Sherlock? What do you need?" He was silent still. When she had asked him that question before, he had been in much the same position he was now. He was scared and didn't know where to turn and the only person who seemed to make any of it better was Molly Hooper. And the answer to the question was still the same, even if this time he couldn't bring himself to get the word out. So instead, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her tightly. He breathed in her scent of vanilla and various chemicals and felt okay again, even if his entire world was about to be turned upside down by the world's only consulting criminal. And as he pulled her closer the word that he wanted to say but couldn't ran through his head. You.

When John Watson finally stormed into the lab, he expected the scene to be frantic and tense. He expected to see his friends in danger, so what he got was expressed as a giant sigh of relief. He watched as Sherlock tightened his grip on Molly and tried to get his breathing to regulate. Molly stood stiffly against him with a confused expression on her face and her still gloved hands sticking up in the hair behind Sherlock's back, trying not to touch his robe. She slowly took off the gloves and threw them on the lab desk, then wrapped her arms around Sherlock and squeezed back. She had no idea what was going on and Sherlock was definitely not acting like himself but he was holding her unlike he ever had before and she knew that it must have been pretty bad for him to do it. Plus, it made her feel instantly better after a night of worrying and although she knew that sometimes being around Sherlock could be dangerous, he made her feel safe in that moment.

"You're okay," he whispered, his breath short and his voice low. John backed out of the room, giving the pair some space.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" she asked as he tightened his grip even further before taking a big breath, as if to prepare himself, and let go of her. The sudden coldness and lack of pressure was unsettling for him, and he wanted nothing more than to just go back to hugging Molly. He had never felt like that before and the thought accompanied with the lack of sleep, loss of breath, and racing mind made him start to feel off-balance and distant. But he at least knew what he had to do now.

"You will be staying at Baker Street until I solve this case," he said to her. He didn't want to tell her about the texts; he didn't want to scare her even more.

"You don't have to do that," she replied.

"Nonsense. It's really no trouble at all. I will pick you up when you get off." He took one last look at her before turning on his heel and walking out.

"Wait!" she shouted after him. "Where are you going?"

"To your flat of course. To pack," he called over his shoulder and walked out. John was waiting for him outside.

"Can you stay with her?" Sherlock asked his friend.

"When you tell me what the hell is going on," stated John while crossing his arms over his chest.

"I think it's Moriarty. I really don't have any more information than that. I'm going to her flat to pack up her things to take to Baker Street and I need you to stay with her because I don't know what he has planned and I don't know if she's in danger and I know Mycroft has her protected but I just don't want her to be alone and I trust you." Sherlock was pacing back and forth as he talked and John still saw the distress in his friends face.

"Yes. Okay. I'll stay here until you get back." Sherlock nodded and began to walk off.

"Thank you," he said softly to John, thinking that he had never said the phrase so much in his whole life, and wondering what on earth was happening to him.