I….AM….SO…SORRY! I have returned from the land of no internet (AKA my grandmother's house) And I am raring to write! Sorry it took so long, Chapter nine.
Sherlock brought the tea to the living room. It had only taken the amount of time for the kettle to boil to roughly explain the situation, as he had emitted all but the most essential details. But even his brief recap turned him cold. Molly was patient and thanked him for her tea, mixing in a generous amount of sugar.
"Thank you for coming, Molly." He said. He was looking into his tea. His mind was yelling at him. Oh for god's sake, man up. You were lucky, so stop fawning over it. Delete it, just delete it. Molly seemed to sense his discomfort, and put a hand to his arm. He looked at her, his face so lost and helpless. When he had been in hospital, he was more preoccupied with his wounds and his enemy that he didn't really have time for the mental aftermath. But now to be flung so quickly back to where he….where it happened, it was too much. Molly recognised his silent plea for help, the same sort she made in the hospital in Barts, a day which seemed almost a million years ago. She couldn't help herself and wrapped her arms around him in a way he could only hope he didn't interpret as sexual and more friendly. He hugged back with shaking hands. He thanked the gods Molly was so kind and patient to put up with him. He remembered something Moriarty had said to him:
'Oh come on dear, do you really think anyone would miss you? Sherlock Holmes, the great sociopathic detective. No one cares for you. Not Mycroft, not John, not Mrs Hudson, not Lestrade, not even sweet little Molly. Why should she, when you criticize her 24/7?'
He pulled back, suddenly feeling weak. He closed his eyes. Casting his mind back to the scene had reviled all the half deleted memories, bringing him back to square one. He forced himself not to cry out.Memories, too many memories, no no no stop please stop.
As he thought this, he turned to Molly, but she was no longer looking at Sherlock, but behind him. Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted to turn around, but made himself twist to face whatever lurked behind him. He had thought as much.
Anderson stood by the door, a Beretta 92 in his hand.
He stood up and slowly walked over. Anderson was physically shaking, and Sherlock saw the gun was still on safety. He didn't want to shoot.
"So, Anderson. It's come to this. I always thought it would be me first to reach the point of murder."
"Your famous one liner's aren't going to get you out of this one, Holmes."
"Ah of course not, but they do make the situation a lot less dull. Moriarty, of course, sent you here?"
"I had no choice, Holmes, please believe me."
"Oh, I believe you alright. Who was it then, wife, kid, parents?"
"Why do you care?!"
"Just a conversation starter. Shame you got roped into the game, even with a man of your intellect I assumed you would be brighter than to get caught into this."
"Shut up ok, SHUT UP! Just let me do what I need to. I have orders to kill you. And her."
Sherlock felt himself go cold. Dear god no, not Molly, I can't let her get into danger again. He turned to her. She was now shaking slightly. He turned back to Anderson, pure fury in his eyes.
"You leave her alone, understand me? This is our fight not hers!"
"I was told to eliminate anyone with you, I'm sorry."
"We can cover this up, I'll pay you anything, but for gods sake let her go!" Anderson was stunned, then couldn't help but smile.
"You would pay money, make negotiations with your killer to save some girl, but not so save yourself." Sherlock moved closer, till the gun was just inches away from his heart.
"She is not just 'some girl', do you understand me? She's amazing. She is kind, loving, and was patient enough to put up with my shit and still help me when I needed her most, so do not even try to degrade her, you hear me? I will never delete the memories of what happened to me, and right now she is the only one who can help me, so if you take her you may as well take me too."
Molly was shocked. Sherlock didn't look back after his speech, but Molly knew that he had bigger things to worry about. All she could do was sit and wait, as she honestly didn't know how to help, but she was happy to go, now that she knew. Sherlock loved her. She could hardly believe it.
Anderson seemed calm, but deep inside he knew he couldn't do it. Sherlock was a lot of things. Rude, sociopathic, arrogant, and a smug old bastard, but he was also a human being. And no human being deserved to die. Sherlock could sense this. He slowly moved his hand towards the gun and lowered Anderson's hand.
"Lestrade and John will be here any minute; you came from the yard so they must have seen you leave. We can help you, nobody has to die today." Anderson now had tears in his eyes. He shook his head.
"There's nothing I can do. They're probably gone, right now." He raised the gun again, and snapped the safety off. "I'm sorry."
Sherlock closed his eyes. He would welcome it, as surely nothing else could cure the scars on his mind except that bullet. Molly, I'm so sorry.
But what happened next was not the blinding pain of a bullet to his heart, not the cascade of blackness he had been expecting, ready to embrace. What happened next was John's gun to Andersons head, and two squad officers joining him along with Lestrade. Sherlock ran to Molly, who was gripping him tightly. She smiled as they pulled apart, and then kissed him on the cheek.
"Thank you." She whispered into his ear. He smiled and kissed her back. But right now anything further could wait. He had business to attend to. He walked up to Anderson, slowly as he saw the face growing with hatred.
"This isn't your fault, Anderson. We can get you protection, and find him. Wherever he is, we can find him."
"No, you can't protect anyone from him, you know well enough. You were left alone for what, ten minutes? Look what happened to you!" Sherlock flinched at the last sentence. John watched the colour drain from Sherlocks face. Flashback. God Anderson, you think he isn't tactful.
"It won't be like that, I promise you. You won't be left alone not for a second. We can protect you."
Anderson's phone buzzed. He reached into his pocket to get it, stopped as the guards reached for their guns. Sherlock raised his hand to stop that and nodded at Anderson to continue. He got his phone and looked at the screen. One multiple media message from Moriarty. His hands shook as he opened it. It was Kate, beautiful and radiant as ever. But on top of the picture was a blood red cross. Anderson dropped the phone. He put a hand to his face.
"I failed." He whispered. "She's gone." He looked at the gun in his hand and seemed to make his decision.
"Look." Said Sherlock. "Listen to me, don't do anything irreversible."
"Tell Peter Daddy loves him." He said finally and before anyone could stop him, the Berretta was in his mouth and he pulled the trigger.
Noooo! Last chapter next! Thank you anyone who has followed, favourited, reviewed or just taken the time to read this, it means a lot :)