A/N: As always, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, follows, favourites and views, please keep them coming! :) Enjoy!


The day was going dreadfully for Sherlock. It had begun when Molly had ruined one of his experiments after tripping over and knocking a tripod over, spilling the contents of a beaker all over the kitchen floor. This in turn had lead to him yelling at her, not realising that the acid in the beaker had burnt her hand, and therefore failing to check whether she was ok, upsetting her and causing her to storm out.

Next, he had been called to Scotland Yard, where Lestrade had berated him for not listening to Dimmock when he was doing cases for him, and threatened him with suspension from cases if his attitude didn't improve.

When Lestrade finally stopped telling him off, Sherlock skulked out of his office, snapping at John to "stop daydreaming and follow him." Now, he and John were in a cab, travelling towards the tailors where they were getting their suits fitted for Sherlock and Molly's wedding.

"Are you ok mate?" John asked, aware that his friend was on edge, and had been all morning.

"Yes," Sherlock replied shortly, pausing before continuing. "Actually, Molly and I had a fight this morning."

"Oh," John replied, unsure of how to continue. "What happened?" Sherlock proceeded to explain what had happened, sounding guilty about snapping at his fiancé.

"I'm sure she's ok now, she probably knows you didn't mean it," John reassured him, confident that Molly would have forgiven Sherlock by now.

Sherlock didn't seem much calmer when they entered the tailors, but managed to avoid insulting the tailor, instead standing relatively patiently as his suit was finished, a smart, dark grey three piece suit, which would be completed with a bow tie when Molly decided on the colour for the bridesmaids dresses. As the tailor was finishing, Sherlock's phone rang, but when he saw that it was Molly, he rejected the call, unwilling to get into an argument over the phone.

Just as he had changed back into his purple shirt and Belstaff, his phone began to ring again, the caller ID showing that this time it was Greg. "Probably only a four," he said to John, rejecting the call as he couldn't be bothered with taking on another case at the moment.

"Sherlock, we talked about this. You can't just pick and choose which cases you take," John scolded him, before giving up, aware that Sherlock taking a case he deemed boring would just cause him grief as Sherlock irritated the Yarders and showed off.

But twenty seconds later, the phone rang again. Yet again, Sherlock rejected the call, before turning his phone to silent. Then, as Sherlock and John began to walk along the road, heading towards the chip shop, the closest telephone box began to ring. Ignoring it, Sherlock continued to walk, humming something under his breath. It didn't take John long to realised that it was Mycroft calling when the next telephone box along the street began to ring too. "For God's sake Sherlock, just answer the phone!" John exclaimed, dragging his friend over to the nearest phone box.

Sighing petulantly, Sherlock picked up the phone. "Yes?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow at John. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, startling Sherlock, who was expecting Mycroft. "Come to 23 Chelsea Gardens immediately or your precious fiancé dies," the male voice said, then hung up.

Staring at the phone for a second, Sherlock felt his chest tighten in fear, a practically unknown emotion. Then he spoke, sounding unusually vulnerable. "John. John, someone has Molly. What do I do?"

Aghast, John reeled for a moment, and then replied. "Do you know where they are? Did you recognise the voice?" Something seemed to trigger in Sherlock's brain, and he switched to detective mode, detaching himself from what was happening. "They said they were at 23 Chelsea Gardens. I didn't know them, but I estimate male, late thirties, potentially stalker hoping to gain my attention. Molly must have managed to contact Greg, that would have been why he was calling."

Scanning the map in his head for the quickest route, Sherlock took off, sprinting down side streets and squeezing through gaps, followed by John. When they arrived at Chelsea Gardens, John checked for his gun, hoping it wouldn't be needed, before Sherlock silently approached the house from the side, crouching below the wall and staying out of view.

Once they were outside number 23, sheltered by a hedge, Sherlock whispered to John. "I'll head in and distract him, and then you can shoot him. He took Molly, so I don't care whether it's fatal."

Without waiting for John to agree, Sherlock strode up to the door, and upon finding it open, walked inside.

Inside, Sherlock headed up the stairs, having deduced where Molly was already. John followed behind quietly, his army training coming into practice. Reaching the first bedroom on the left, Sherlock entered the room, and was met with the sight of Molly bound and gagged on a chair in the middle of the room, tear tracks staining her flushed cheeks. Relief flooded her eyes when she saw him, trusting him completely.

Although he too was relieved to see Molly, Sherlock was still in his isolated detective mode, and focused his attention on the kidnapper. A greasy, pale man stood next to Molly, fitting the deductions Sherlock had made after the phone call.

"You actually came! I was afraid I'd have to do something to your little pet before you turned up. I'm your biggest fan, so when I saw on Dr Watson's blog that you'd got yourself a fiancé, I couldn't stand it. But now, I can show you that she's not worthy of you –"

The man didn't finish his sentence, a shot ringing out from the doorway where John stood, gun pointed at the man, who had screamed and collapsed on the floor, a bullet having passed through his leg.

"Don't worry, you won't die, I'm a doctor and an excellent shot, so it will be non-fatal," John said, stepping forward, gun still trained on the man. As John kept watch over the man, Sherlock rushed towards Molly, untying her and smothering her with kisses, uncharacteristically affectionate, overwhelmed with relief at being reunited with her. After a minute or so, Molly gently extracted herself from Sherlock's hold, smiling at him tenderly.

"Sherlock, we can't make out, it's a crime scene," she said, looking pointedly at the wounded man who still lay groaning on the floor.

"I thought I'd lose you, and the last thing I'd ever say to you would be to tell you how useless you were," Sherlock said, passionately kissing her, ignoring her weak protests. "I love you, and I thought I'd never get to tell you that again. What if I'd gotten here too late, all because I was too stubborn to answer my phone?"

"Sherlock, it's ok, you did get here in time, I forgive you," she replied, comforting him, and he kissed her again, pressing his lips against hers and vowing to himself never to be so stupid again.

Ten minutes later, Lestrade turned up, to be greeted by Sherlock and Molly making out next to a man with a bullet wound through his leg, and John looking as if he would rather be anywhere else, holding a gun. "Why is it always you three?" he sighed, although he was secretly glad that they were all ok.


A/N: Did any of you get the sneaky reference near the end? ;)