Disclaimer: I own nothing! I claim nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters for my own pleasure and the pleasure of whoever reads this!

Chapter Twelve

What Lurks Inside

Sherlock's phone kept going off as he and Molly headed back to Baker's Street in a hastily summoned cab. Even during the ride, Molly stayed pressed against him, using him as an anchor for her troubled emotions, and Sherlock's arm stayed draped over her with a grip that was gentle but firm. He wasn't entirely sure that he would have let her leave his side even had she wanted to.

He was on edge now, more than ever, looking out the cab's window at everything they passed, as if the average, dull London scenery would reveal where this new enemy was.

Something in the back of his mind sighed wistfully, something not his own but that he had clearly placed there himself. He made a note of it, then another, that he had to get back into his mind palace soon to discovered what he had released into it when he had opened that damn door. Clearly, whatever it had been was now having its run of his mind, not something he enjoyed the thought of.

The entirety of the cab ride passed in silence, until it came to a stop at the flat. Stiffly, Sherlock shifted to reach for his wallet, and pulled out a note too big for the small fare. "Keep the change," he said as he got out. Molly was close behind, barely losing contact with him for more than a second before Sherlock's arm was back around her shoulders, his grip tighter.

When she shivered slightly, he forced himself to loosen his grip. "Apologies."

It was gruff, but Molly nodded once in reply, accepting it. She didn't like the constricting feeling. It made her feel trapped again. It wasn't his fault though, and she still made no move to get away. She still felt safer beside him than away from him, though why that was she had no idea.

Sherlock led her inside the flat and up the stairs. It was an interesting experience since the stairs were a bit too narrow for the both of them to walk up side by side but somehow, they managed.

As they entered the flat, Sherlock finally detached himself from Molly. A small frown tipped his lips as Molly hugged herself to make up for the loss of contact, and he removed his coat to drape over her shoulders. It swamped her just as it had at the crime scene. She gripped the lapels tentatively and pulled it closer as Sherlock turned away.

Molly claimed the arm chair as Sherlock made himself busy checking the locks of the flat. Usually, he didn't worry about such things, being on the second floor and simply not caring if someone came into his flat or not. Now, though, he meticulously went through every room, checking the windows, the fire escape, and any other entrances or exits, securing them all.

Molly watched as best as she could, though she didn't move from her seat. She could hear him bumping around in the other rooms, a bang here or there of a slammed door signifying that he was done in that room. Each time, she jumped a bit, and each time she pulled the collar of his coat close to her nose, and inhaled the scent. It was almost familiar now. Not like she'd been around it for the short... however long she'd been with him, but for longer than that, even.

She didn't like that she couldn't remember even how long she'd been free. Was she so thrown off of the time that passed? A few blinks as she thought hard, and she realized that she didn't even know what month it was, and trying to figure it out alone was making her head ache a bit. Looking around, she saw that there wasn't a calendar on the wall either.

Sherlock's cellphone screen lit up on the side table, where he'd set it down quickly before beginning his almost manic check of the flat. She swallowed softly, wondering if he'd mind if she checked the date.

He'd probably just call me daft...

Still, she wanted to know. She stood just long enough to snag the phone before sitting back down in the chair. She forced herself to take deep breaths and wait until she made herself comfortable, raising both of her legs up and pulling them against her chest before she finally dared to look at the phone.

The notification had been a message from Lestrade, but she dismissed it without reading it to reach the home screen.

She stared blankly at the date and time that flashed, realizing then that she didn't remember what day she'd even been freed. Plus her illness... It was nice to know what day it was now, but that did little for helping her figure out how much of her life she'd lost.

Molly set the phone aside just as Sherlock came back into the sitting room. Though the manic way at which he'd been moving was gone, the tenseness in his stance was still there, and the frown furrowed his brow more-so than earlier as well.

"I'm going -" He cut himself off when he realized he was yelling the words and a mumbled curse escaped him. He cleared his throat, and restarted in a calm, forced tone. "I'm going into my mind palace. Don't touch me, speak to me, or disturb me in any way until I come out. I have... harsh reactions when I'm bothered, and I don't wish to snap at you again."

Molly nodded slightly, recalling what had happened earlier, how angry he'd been. She didn't particularly want that to happen again either. Ever. And she realized that though he could have worded it less rudely, he was... trying to caution her. She appreciated that.

She watched as Sherlock took a seat in the remaining armchair. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands steepled together so that his fingertips barely touched his bottom lip, and his eyes closed.

He seemed almost... peaceful, almost sleeping, if not for the small jerky motions he made. She wanted to know what it was like, having a mind palace. She'd have to ask him about it.

For now, seeing as he was consumed by... whatever it was, Molly simply got more comfortable in her seat, and pulled his coat more firmly around her, reveling in the strange comfort his scent gave her.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

As soon as Sherlock breached his Mind Palace, he recognized the difference. It was... brighter, almost. Not as though a light had been shined on the area, but more like everything was uplifted. The air tasted sweet on his tongue, and a delicious scent filled the area.

He recognized it, but couldn't name it. Almost like the puzzle pieces were blurred in front of him. He could feel them, but he couldn't put them together.

As he walked the main hall of his mind palace, he kept his senses open for whatever had been let free.

The first, most obvious place to look was behind the door, though he doubted that it would have lingered long.

Still, he made his way there, moving past other doors and turn offs until he reached the hall dedicated the his medical knowledge. Next, to the door. But as he entered the room, he came to a halt. The door was missing. He felt at the wall where it had once been, but there was no evidence of there ever having been a door in the first place. Had he deleted it when he opened the door?

It's contents were somewhere, though. He knew it. And that was the cause of the change.

He sped from the room, trying to think.

Back on the main hall, he inhaled sharply as he caught a strong pulse of the scent again.

He looked down towards another side hall. It was one he'd set up early in life, but only visited in emergencies. It had one of his most precious memories tucked away inside.

Sherlock followed the scent trail with mixed feelings.

As he pushed open the door, he was not greeted as he usually was, by Redbeard coming to him. She was busy comforting another. Though her face was tucked away as she crouched against the wall, and her knees pulled up to her chest, Sherlock recognized her easily. She even wore that accursed shirt, stained and raggedy and disgustingly covered with the vile scents of sex and alpha and her blood. It was Molly, as he'd found her.

And beside her, was another woman in a crisp white lab coat, a plaid ruffled shirt, her brown hair up on a ponytail. The scent came from her, slightly sweet, reminiscent of baked bread, coffee, and honey. Completely undiluted. She gently stroked the defiled Molly's hair, comforting her as she whined softly.

"You left her like this, Sherlock," she said, raising her gaze unrelentingly to meet Sherlock's.

It was Molly.

No, Sherlock corrected himself. It was Molly before her kidnapping. Her figure was fuller, no longer thin and malnourished, and she held herself confidently. She no longer had the edge of fear that Molly always had. Always, her scent was tainted with the smallest hint of fear. Sherlock had never realized until he found them both side by side. He looked between both of them, wondering how he had managed to create two totally different women in his mind palace, and yet they were the same.

"You locked me away."

His eyes were drawn to hers again. Molly stepped away from her fragile self, calming closing the distance between herself and Sherlock. "You never believed I would actually leave you. You should have listened to yourself more."

He deserved the sting of her palm across his cheek. Of course he did, or it never would have happened. After all, she might seem real, but she was created by him in this area, in his mind.

More importantly though, the sting brought remembrance.

He straightened his gaze, and nodded once. "Thank you, Molly. You always were helping me."

"More than you deserved. But you knew that."

He nodded once. "It's my turn now," He said, glancing past her at the other Molly, who still cried. Redbeard looked his way, and whined before turning to nose at her, trying to comfort.

"You'll take care of her?" he asked softly.

Molly half-smiled and nodded. "Until the time is right, yes."

"What does that mean?"

She smirked. "You'll know. You already do, actually. Don't lie to yourself, Sherlock."

Words of caution, or a request, he couldn't quite tell.

She pursed her lips. "Be careful. Don't hurt her anymore."

He frowned, his eyes on the fragile woman again. "I don't intend to. Why -"

Again, a small smile touched her lips as she cut him off. "Time to go, Sherlock. Don't worry, you can do it. Just use that self-control you pride yourself on."

"Wha -"

Everything began to blur away as something intoxicating filled the room.

Intoxicating, but laced with the hot, sour taste of terror.

As Sherlock's eyes opened up to reality once more, they fell upon a trembling, shaking Molly.

Her eyes locked with his, and he read the panic just moments before he realized what the scent was.

It was Molly, her heat, her fear, and as the need rose, Sherlock could only think of one thing, which came out rough, husky, and a warning to her.

"Run."

Chapter 12 done! :D Insert cackling here.

A huge thank you to everyone who left a comment, MorbidbyDefault, Seraphina25, Mizjoely, JigokuShoujosRevenge, hiddleston-mania, whenisayrun, Rose of Zakarisz, Reina434, sweetnightshade, Nirvanic, Cecily Mitchell, TheTalkingCupcake, BelieverofManyThings, Renaissancebooklover108, priestessofeternity, Guest, Mistykins06, MakeMyProud, Shannon Burns, Nice Nipps, je'wella19, WayTooEasilyObsessed, GiselaWV, FuRong, MargieLuvv, Heather87, Emily, and lilsherlockian1975. I read every comment, and ya'll always make me smile :D

Another big thank you to my Beta, Liathwen, without whom the errors would be so many more than they are :D Mah fingers can't spell alone!

Until Next Time! :*