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CHAPTER TEN: AN AUDITION FOR THE CHOIR INVISIBLE

Surprisingly enough, despite spending her formative years living in the East End, Molly has never attempted anything illegal before.

In fact, she's never done anything even remotely… naughty, since her upbringing beautifully illustrated for her the consequences of straying from the path of righteousness.

So given those facts, she muses, why does she now find herself running desperately after a stolen hansom, Anna and Sally at her heels and Mr. Sherlock Holmes urging her to "hurry the devil up," whilst Dr. Watson tries to manoeuvre the purloined vehicle delicately enough for her to catch it?

Oh yes, she muses, huffing a breath and reaching desperately for Sherlock's out-stretched hand, she doesn't find herself in these situations.

At least, not usually.

But then, ever since the madman she's engaged to walked into her life yesterday, she has found herself in positions which she would normally never permit herself to fall into. Even her current predicament, committing theft rather than risk going to a cabbie in Oskar's employ, would have been anathema to her. She frowns at the thought.

It would appear her fiancé is not exactly the best influence on her.

At this Sherlock gives a gleeful whoop and laughs, his arm swooping down to (finally!) lock around her waist and pick her up, her feet leaving the ground.

Molly's stomach lurches in fright and she gives out an entirely unladylike "Oomph!" which causes the detective to grin more widely.

At the sound she flicks her head up to stare at him, horrified by the notion that he might be enjoying this madness; As soon as their eyes meet she feels it again, that queer, jittering warmth he seems to elicit in her and scarlet flushes across her cheeks. Her breath catches and she loses the run of herself, her grip on his hand- let alone her attempts to pull herself into the hansom- nearly forgotten-

But then he drags her to him, his other arm hoisting her up the last of the way and pulling her to his chest, her momentum knocking them both backwards and into the hansom's cab.

She lands messily, splayed atop him, and now it's his turn to let out an undignified, "Oomph!"

For a moment he blinks up at her, their bodies once again pressed together with an indecent-seeming thoroughness. His hands are heavy and warm and they've- They've found their way to her backside.

Molly would object if her own weren't splayed across his chest, her little fingers pressing into the warm, solid mass of his pectoral and abdominal muscles as her palms slide, completely of their own volition, across his flesh-

"Oi, you two!" Sally's voice barks from the door of the cab. She's managed to pull herself halfway in, one arm around Anna. "The goo-goo eyes can wait until later, have you got that?"

And with a huff she pulls herself and thence the younger woman into the cab, gestures for her to take a seat. The cab turns sharply and takes off at a fierce clip, now that they're all inside. Anna is jolted into the back seat and as she is Sally mutters something in Yiddish that Molly doesn't catch, probably referring to herself and Sherlock since at these words Anna's saucer-wide eyes narrow in understanding.

"What did you tell her?" Sherlock asks sharply and the young woman smirks.

"What do you think I told her?" Sally counters. "Considering what she's just seen?"

And she gestures to he and Molly; Holmes closes his mouth with an audible snap, the very tips of his ears turning red.

"Yes, well, I'd rather you didn't try to make my interactions with Ms. Hooper appear… tawdry," he says stiffly.

Sally snorts and his cheekbones… Good God, his entire face actually turns pink.

"There's nothing tawdry 'bout a woman and a man figuring out how they'll fit together," Sally says wryly. "We get into your brother's house and you and Mols can work your… configurations out to your heart's content."

Her grin turns wolfish.

"Just keep your eyes on the road until then." She cocks her head in Anna's direction. "Not in front of the children and all that, eh?"

Sherlock sputters, annoyed clearly at Sally's impudent tone but as he opens his mouth to speak three sharp raps sound from the roof of the hansom.

Dr. Watson's voice sounds, and Molly could be wrong but he appears to be less than happy.

"Sherlock!" he yells. "Get up here- Dimmock and two of Oskar's boys are giving chase, I think they've stolen a couple of horses- I mean, who steals horses these days-?"

At this news- news which should be absolutely horrifying to any normal man- Sherlock lets out a crow of pure delight and, without any warning whatsoever, pulls Molly to him and presses a scorching, sharp kiss to her forehead.

"Excellent!" he grins, "you are the best fiancée ever!"

And then sets about clambering out of the cab and, assumedly, up onto the driver's perch where his friend sits. He succeeds, his long, lanky limbs making short work of something which even Sally would have found difficult.

Despite herself, Molly's rather sad to see him go.

Her ennui doesn't last long though: There's a hiss and a whole lot of swearing then, the sound of a gun going off behind them.

A bullet pierces the back of the hansom, causing Anna to scream in fright and throw herself to the floor. Molly and Sally follow suit.

It sounds like a localised clap of thunder to the young doctor, the noise reverberating through the cab as she puts covers her ears with her hands and tries to struggle over to Anna (the girl is clearly more frightened than she or Sally).

"Hold on," she hears Sherlock call from his perch, the wind outside snatching at his voice, making it sound breathless.

They must go over a pothole or some such because the hansom takes a sickening, bouncing lurch, throwing Molly painfully onto her side.

"What the bloody hell else are we going to do?" Sally yells but even as she does it the payment hatch in the front of the cab opens, one of Sherlock's large, white hands appearing through it.

"Ms. Sally?" he calls. "I say, I could rather use another shot up here, John and I are having some trouble controlling the horses…" His head appears suddenly and he grins gamely at her. "Care to help?"

Another bullet rips through the back of the hansom, at the far right corner this time, and again Anna screams. The poor girl is now crying, praying desperately under her breath.

Letting out a string of curses- and wearing the expression of a martyr- Sally scrambles forward and slaps Sherlock's hand. "Get out of the way, toff," she barks and she pushes herself in through the money hatch, starts wriggling. She's small enough to shuffle up to the driver's perch that way, something neither Sherlock nor John would be able to do.

For a moment her feet dangle and then she either pulls herself up or is hauled up by the two men driving-

Anna and Molly share matching, worried glances as another bullet sounds behind them, this one causing the glass of the cab's right lamp to explode in a shower of shards, the bullet itself lodging in the lamp's brass.

This time she distinctly hears Dr. Watson yell, "Oh bugger," something Molly doesn't feel bodes well.

Sherlock's voice sounds again- she can't make out the words- but whatever he says mustn't calm Watson because the other man lets loose a string of invectives, all of them aimed at his best friend and most of them questioning Sherlock's paternity, sanity and justification in foisting himself upon his unfortunate friend.

"I left the army, Sherlock," she distinctly hears the other man yell. "I lived through Kandahar and Afghanistan, I am not dying in a hansom cab just so you can show off in front of a girl!"

Whatever Sherlock's answer to this accusation might have been is lost however: Three shots sound from the front of the hansom- Sally, no doubt- and then there are yells. Noise. The sounds of horses neighing, angry voices shouting, gravel hitting the cab's windows with angry, staccato force. The hansom bounces violently again, lurching so sickeningly that it nearly goes over onto its side-

Anna, seated and holding onto the ceiling bars to keep her in place, is merely jostled. Molly on the other hand is knocked against the sides of the coach once more, the impact sending pain hissing through her even as the hansom rights itself and picks up speed, the sounds of honking horns and yelling, angry cabbies demonstrating what desperately bad drivers Messrs Watson and Holmes are being-

"Mols?" she hears Sally's voice call. "Mols, I need you and Anna to brace yourselves- The Gentleman Idiot's about to try something which is, and I quote, "A Bit Not Good.""

Knowing better than to ask needless questions of her friend the young doctor nods, pulls herself over to Anna who helps her into the hansom's seat. The pair grip each other's hands and then reach up, Molly securing herself with the roof ties as the young woman has done. The cab increases speed, its bouncing becoming more nauseating as it jumps and slides all over the road-

And then there's a joyous, wild yell, she thinks from Sherlock. The distinct feel of wheels leaving the pavement, the hansom rising into the air.

For a split second it hangs, weightless, flying-

And then gravity claws back her hold on it, the vehicle smashing into the ground with a teeth-rattling force which nearly forces both Molly and Anna out of their seats.

There's a sound like branches smashing against wood, greenery clattering against the windows and turning the interior of the cab a dark forest green.

The hansom lurches forward though, its movement jerky and ungainly even as it clears whatever foliage it had found itself in and bursts back into daylight: Now there are yells and calls but they are demure. Confused. The sounds of pedestrians, not drivers.

Using the roof ties Molly pulls herself forward and peeks through the window: the vista before her is one she knows.

For they're now in Hyde Park, one of the Royal Parks in which, she happens to know, driving a conveyance is forbidden (not that she thinks such a thing will stop Sherlock). Several people are staring at them and she does her best to smile back. Leaning back in her chair she and Anna exchange glances, the young girl clearly looking to her for reassurance-

So Molly smiles as if nothing's wrong and pretends a high-speed carriage chase is something she does every day.

It seems rather the best strategy, all round.

Meanwhile,

Back at Molly's Clinic

Thomas Jenkins, runner extraordinaire and grateful employee of the Milverton Press Group bangs tiredly on the door to his destination.

The note in his hand is important- as he has been made painfully aware by Ms. Adler- and he needs to get it delivered right. Bloody. Now.

When the door opens to reveal a tired, cross, supremely indifferent-looking woman with four small children at her heels however, it occurs to Thomas that he may have underestimated how difficult this task would be-

"There's no Sherlock Holmes here," the woman says belligerently when he tries to deliver his missive.

The note feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket.

He opens his mouth to inquire where the detective might be but before he can say a word the woman closes the door in his face.

And, at the same time,

By the time they get to Mycroft's townhouse- taking, to quote Sherlock, "the scenic route,"- Anna has calmed down nicely.

Molly's still clutching her side however and wincing when she moves.

When the battered, decrepit, ill-used hansom clatters up to Mycroft's front door Sherlock jumps lightly down, John and Sally following him.

He reaches in and hands Anna out before gesturing to Molly to do the same.

As she moves she hisses in pain however and this prompts the- entirely thrilling, completely unnecessary- reaction of Sherlock jumping into the cab and physically lifting her from it. He hefts her easily into his arms and up Mycroft's front steps, ignoring both his brother's horrified stare and Anthea's amused smile.

"You owe me," the Countess whispers as he passes her.

To this Sherlock merely rolls his eyes heavenward.

"Behave yourself, Thea," he mutters back, shifting Molly a little closer to him and she can't help but smile at his words.