Sherlock pushed against the door and felt its weight shift. It was unlocked. Which meant his entrance was expected.

He entered the small flat, the smell of mould assaulting his nostrils almost immediately. Mrs Hudson often complained about the damp aspect in the small studio apartment, stating it was why the place was impossible to rent. Sherlock never said it out loud, but he was sure that the place was uninhabitable mainly because 221c was a shithole.

From his vantage point by the door, Sherlock could tell that Jim was not present, but there were numerous signs that his nemesis had in fact been living there. Rubbish waiting to be disposed of, a leather bound diary on a small side table and the heavy odour of expensive cologne, just to name a few.

"Jim?" Sherlock called. He wasn't in the room, but it was possible that the criminal was in the adjoining bathroom and had not heard him enter. He stepped further into 221c approaching the bathroom door that was ajar.

He wasn't in there either. In the commotion, he had obviously fled the building completely. It was like him to flee, he would need time to recoup, especially after his run in with Assassin Watson.

Sherlock made his way back to the main room, taking in everything his eyes set on. Particularly the diary.

Of course Moriarty would be self indulgent enough to keep a diary, probably under the deluded notion that it could be published one day, held high like some sort of masterpiece, but Sherlock saw it as a risky move. Surely he would not make the mistake of writing down details that could easily be used to incriminate. Sherlock opened the book, the well cracked spine flipping open to a page in the middle, and he almost dropped the item in disgust.

A photograph of Molly graced the pages, obviously taken without her knowledge through the horizontal blinds at her flat. The view was into the bathroom, of Molly stepping out of the shower. But the image was defaced. Black pen scribbled across her breasts. And a single word. 'Disgusting'

He flipped to the next page, and it was a picture of Molly again. This time a small picture often printed in medical journals when Molly had a paper published. This time it was her eyes that were scratched from the paper.

Page after page, pictures of Molly, defaced and commented upon. Moriarty had a sick fascination with Molly. A tremor started in Sherlock's hand as he continued to flip the pages.

Then suddenly the pictures stopped. Words dominated the pages that followed, scratched in insane strokes. The same words, over and over again. 'Shame' 'humiliation' 'disgraced'

The last page of the diary was a surprise, and if the situation was any different, Sherlock knew he would have laughed, it was an actual diary entry, even starting with the words Dear Diary (he was sure for theatrical purposes.) It spoke of the disgrace Moriarty felt after his name was slandered, discussed the humiliation related to whole situation, and in a conclusion that made Sherlock's stomach turn, outlined his plan.

'I'll kill her Sherlock' the entry ended, speaking directly to its reader now 'But I'll make her suffer first.'

0o0

When Molly left the bathroom through the side door into Sherlock's room, she was surprised to see him moving frantically around the space. On the bed was her overnight bag, and a second small suitcase, which he was organising with his own things.

"Sherlock?"

He looked up, wild eyes relaxing almost instantly. He didn't stop his frenzied packing however, throwing shirts and pants into the open case.

"Sherlock?"

He paused, a pair of socks in his hands, and stared directly at Molly. "We are going to leave Baker Street for a little while."

Molly fought the temptation to say 'obviously', merely nodding and crossing to where he stood, prying the balled up socks out of his tense hands. "I've never seen you like this."

"Because I am never like this." Sherlock replied, and the truthfulness of the statement almost broke her heart. Taking his hand in hers, she led him to the bed and sat him down, crouching onto the floor before him so she could see his eyes.

"Talk!"

It was an order, but Sherlock also knew it was what he needed, to sort through his thoughts. It was why he had kept John around and now it was a role filled by Molly. "He's living in 221c."

Molly's hands left his to cover her mouth.

Sherlock took a deep breath before continuing. "I've sent word to Mrs Hudson to stay at her sisters for a few days until I have this under control. I am getting you out of here too."

Sherlock paused, because he knew that Molly would have complaints. "Me? What about you?"

"I'll be with you" Sherlock replied, "but I will also be working the case. I promise that I will come home to you every single time I can Molly, but I can't work a case and be worried about you at the same time. That foul vermin, that undeniable evil needs to be terminated once and for all. It is going to take time, an unknown amount of time, but I promise to you, Molly Hooper, that I will not let any harm come to you. He'll never take you away from me, no matter how hard he tries."

Molly lunged at him then, her hands tangling into his hair, her lips crashing onto his. Sherlock, surprised by her reaction to his words, fell back onto the bed, Molly resting on his chest. Molly's lips attacked his, and while Sherlock had no idea what he had said or done to deserve the reaction, he kissed her back, hands rising to her back.

When she did pull back from his body, Molly answered the question in his eyes. "No man had ever said such nice things to me... About me."

Sherlock tightened his grip on her, staring at her face with such intensity it made Molly look away. Sherlock recaptured her gaze "And that is a true crime."

Molly was suddenly overwhelmed, pulling away from Sherlock to sit on the edge of the bed. "Oh God. You must think I am so foolish. Making this all about my stupid feelings when there is a madman just downstairs."

"Not currently" Sherlock sat up to sit with her. The ways of women would always be a mystery to him, but if John was correct, the ways of women were a mystery to all. Sherlock stroked her back. "We all deal with fear differently Molly. And believe me, if that's how you deal with fear, you are welcome to be scared all the time."

Molly laughed at the stupid joke but understood that he was trying to put her at ease. She squeezed his hand as a thank you. "That really was a sweet thing you said to me."

"And I meant it" Sherlock smiled. "Molly Hooper, no harm will come to you. The same way that you would never let harm come to me. I think that maybe I..."

She squeezed his hand to stop his words, not needing to hear them. Then abruptly she stood, and started to throw items into the two bags on the bed. "So, where are we going?"

"The safest place I know."

0o0

"Oh Sherlock!" The door swung open to reveal a kind, middle aged woman, who ran down the garden path with her arms wide open. Sherlock shot a glance at Molly, who stood nervously at his side, then turned to his mother arms outstretched. "I've missed you."

"Rubbish mother" Sherlock said, returning the hug. "I was here at Christmas"

"Yes, and then Mikey said you had to go away again" Violet homes pulled out of the hug, holding her son at arms length, eyes drinking him in like she hadn't seen him in years. "Without saying goodbye this time."

"And did Mikey say where he was sending me?" Sherlock fished, but knew instantly it was a lost cause, as his mother's eyes had left him and were locked on Molly.

"Oh dear, is this Molly?" Violet pulled away and moved to look at the young pathologist, holding her at the same arm length to investigate. Molly automatically felt self conscious under Sherlocks mother's gaze. "You are every bit as beautiful as my son said."

"I never said that" Sherlock spat in an embarrassed tone, making both women snap their attention to him. "I mean, I think it all the time, but I didn't say it."

Molly laughed at the panic Sherlock was showing while Violet waved her hand to dismiss him. "Come on Molly. Sherlock, take her bag." She turned the younger woman towards the house with a gentle and warm arm around her shoulders. "I swear I taught my boys to be gentlemen."

Molly entered the cosy living room of the Holmes' house. The mismatched, comfortable sofas and large wooden bookshelves made Molly feel at home instantly. Every available space was filled with knick knacks and photographs, framed certificates and vases overflowing with flowers, Sherlock shut the door behind Molly and his mother, placing the bags neatly by the door.

"Now" Violet began, clapping her hands together. "I'll put the kettle on. Tea? Coffee Molly dear?"

"Tea would be lovely Mrs Holmes." Molly replied while Sherlock grumbled that she hadn't asked him.

Violet agains dismissed her son with a playful hand. "I am Violet, Molly, not Mrs Holmes! Sherlock, why don't you show Molly around, take her up to get settled and I'll make the tea."

Sherlock picked up both bags in one hand, then wrapped his other hand around Molly's. Molly followed him to a small set of wooden stairs in the corner of the sitting room. They climbed them slowly, allowing Molly to look at the collection of artworks and photographs. Pictures of Sherlock and Mycroft at varying ages was a surreal experience. Even as young men, they preferred to wear suits.

The came to a landing and Sherlock started his tour. "This is Mum and Dad's room" he indicated to a door to his left. He then pointed to one directly across from it. "Mycroft's old room, now Dad's study for his little project. And the next door is the bathroom."

Molly didn't get a chance to ask what Siger's little project was as Sherlock continued up the stairs, their entwined fingers giving her no chance to follow. On the second landing there was only one door. From the location, Molly could tell they were about to enter an attic space. It was the signs on the door that made it obvious that this was Sherlock's room. Molly let out a small giggle at the hand written sign, stating that the genius in side the room was not to be disturbed.

"I beg mother, every single time I visit, to clean out all my old stuff." Sherlock sighed, opening the door. "She goes on about reminiscence."

Molly stepped into what she had correctly identified as the attic room. Two large windows were on the sloped ceiling, between them an old cast iron double bed. Across from the bed was a large desk, still scattered with books and scientific instruments. There was a full human skeleton in the corner (wearing a bow tie) and above it was a large insect collection, pinned expertly to a foam board. It reminded her of Baker Street.

Sherlock set down the bags and stepped up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. Molly leant back onto his chest, a move that she was still surprised he would allow. "When will you be heading back to London?"

"In the morning" Sherlock replied. "I'll track Moriarty and work on bringing him down."

Molly nodded, turning in his grasp. His hands slipped from her shoulders to her hips. "And you'll succeed."

"No question. Of course I will" Sherlock laughed.

"Don't!" Molly said through her own smile. "Don't do that. Don't hide, Sherlock. If you are worried or concerned about this case. If you need anything at all, please tell me. Don't hide until its too late for me to help you."

Sherlock rested his forehead against hers but said nothing. He didn't want Molly involved in the case anymore, especially now that he had learnt just how important she was. To the case and to him personally.

"Sherlock," she whispered, hands caressing his sides. "Promise me!"

"I promise."

A/N: hi all. My mind is leading this fic in a direction that may require a rating change. I am still not 100% sure that that's where I want this to go, but I just thought I'd warn you just in case.