god more depressing stuff.

DIS- too upset and feeling like crap to put this now.

Enjoy.

Sherlock's pov:

I wake up bored.

Molly will have me something to do.

With a soft yawn I roll out of her bed and put on one of her faded dressing gowns.

She'll probably be waiting with a coffee for me; it is after all six in the morning.

I pad downstairs and freeze.

The door is ajar.

There are shoe scuffs on the wall.

I go to inspect it.

Size 4 pumps.

Molly's pumps.

Something is wrong.

I have a feeling.

I grab my coat and wrap my scarf around my curls.

I don't have time for personal appearance.

Seeing as though there's a dint in the doorframe it's a very large man.

Well built.

He did it alone, judging from the (cliché) footprints.

Very messy with their work, very messy indeed.

My brain clicks into action.

With no forensics team or investigators I'm literally stuck.

"Were would he have taken you?" I ask to a photo of molly.

I pause, then realise I'm talking to a photograph.

There's a phone of the floor.

Idiot.

Or?

I bend down to examine it.

The unsent text reads

Help me. It Damien Alcatraz, I think we're going to Fulham st.

Clever Molly.

Sweet, pretty Molly.

I now have all the information I need.

If molly is correct that is.

Mycroft comes in handy in danger situations.

With a smile I pull open the abandoned phone.

Dialling Mycroft for transport.

"I'm coming" I say to the photo of the toothy-grinned Molly.

She stares back at me, the grin still plastered on her pale face.

With a sigh I walk out of the door.

Molly's pov:

I'm sat in a warehouse.

A rather lovely gun pointing to my head and tied to a chair.

How nice.

I keep imagining the rescue scene in my head.

Sherlock dashes in quickly disabling my kidnapper, he scoops me into his strong arms and tells me,

"Your safe now Molly."

Per-lease.

I doubt he's even coming.

I've been here for 6 hours.

I hope he's seen that text.

You see Damien, like the rest of the world presumes Sherlock's dead.

Seeing as Sherlock is responsible for getting him a ten year sentence for attempted murder, he saw now as the most perfect time to get his revenge.

No Sherlock, just me.

I glance at the timer situated at my eye level so I can see it.

I have an hour before I'm shot.

Great.

Yet there he comes. Like a guardian angel in black.

He makes a dramatic entrance and waves at my 'kidnapper'.

"Why hello Damien. How was prison?" He asks in his 'fake' voice.

Damien looks up at him in shock.

"But ya dead!"

He shakes his head.

"Clearly not Damien"

Damien presses the barrel against my head and all feelings of happiness and relief quickly exit.

"Damien. Before the fun begins I want you to search me. You can assure yourself I'm not armed."

The way his face lights up in delight is extremely pointless.

I can see this is a ploy, a trick.

Sure enough once the dumbass is convinced he's unarmed Sherlock floors him.

I replay it over again in my head.

He was so quick!

The only bullet he fired was in the ceiling.

I suddenly realise he's knelt in front of me untying my rather tight bonds.

"You're in shock aren't you?" He asks.

My brain doesn't register this.

Just want to... sleep.

He nods and takes of his coat.

There is sudden warmth as I register what's going on as I clutch the coat to my body.

"Mycroft is outside."

"w-what about h-him?" I ask nodding to the ground.

"No one will believe he's seen me. No cctv here."

I nod and follow him rather slowly.

"Come on Molly." He urges.

I still fail to move more than two centimetres.

With an overdramatic sigh he scoops me of the ground and walks to the door.

I don't register that I'm in his arms until we head down a staircase.

Every few seconds, his eyes will flicker over me.

I can't be that bad can I?

Part of my dream is coming true.

I want to sleep badly now.

"Come on Molly. Open your eyes. Look at my beautiful face." He jokes.

The effort isn't worth it as my lids stay as they are.

Covering my now (I presume) glassy eyes.

I'm aware we've stopped walking.

He unhooks a hand from my shoulder and opens my eyelids.

I blink rapidly.

"Sleep." I mumble.

"No sleep."

With a yawn I try to do as he says.

I'm cold now.

"Just resting my eyes."

He shakes me.

"Molly."

A few hours won't hurt.

As I allow myself to float into the land of dreams, where I know Sherlock will be waiting for me.

Life with Sherlock Holmes can kill you.

\i hope you liked it. Reviews are always welcome as are people to cheer me up... :(