Apologies for ending the last chapter where I did, I couldn't write anything involving Sally because I dislike her so much that nothing sounded authentic XD

Quite proud of this chapter, it translated well on paper how it appeared in my head, and that almost never happens. And now it's all yours. Enjoy :)

Sherlock stood in the shadows as Molly came out of a small side room in the lab, switched off the lights and walked across the darkened room, sighing tiredly. Her day was at an end, and she was looking forward to home and bed. Human comforts. He almost let her leave, let her go home in safety, not adding his burden to her woes. She was reaching for the door handle when he finally spoke.

"You're wrong, you know." He heard her sharp intake of breath. "You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." He turned to look at her. She was confused, and a little startled. "But you were right. I'm not okay."

"Tell me what's wrong." There was a hint of fear in her eyes, but not for herself; for him. Concern. He walked towards her, ever so slowly.

"Molly, I think I'm going to die." He didn't think, he knew, but he didn't want to put her off helping. When she had spoken to him before she had no idea just how right she was. He didn't need to hide himself from her, and she had seen something human in him. More than that, she had observed the meaning.

"What do you need?"

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?" Because he was tricking her. There was no hope, not really, not if he was going to save John. She had met Moriarty, she would know that what it said in the papers was all a lie, he had no doubt about that. But she thought he was wonderful. She thought there was no puzzle that he couldn't solve. And he was about to prove her wrong.

"What do you need?" she repeated.

"You. You know something."

Molly stared at him. She was tense, her eyes wide and her hands shaking slightly "I don't, not really" she replied, a slight quaver in her voice. She was anxious, but not lying. She knew something, but perhaps didn't know the importance of her knowledge, or whether it was worth bothering him with. But there, in the way she held on to her coat; fear.

She backed away from him, and put her bag down on the work bench. Sherlock stayed where he was, obscured by the shadows.

Molly knew something. In the lab that day, her eyes kept flickering unconsciously to one of the seats, indicating a memory associated with it. And now, her body language suggested that there was something in her bag that she wished to protect from him.

She looked up at him, clearly deliberating whether she should give up her evidence.

"Where's John?" she asked, trying to change the subject, possibly to give her more time to decide how much to tell him.

"Safe, for now. Molly, you know something. I have a better chance of saving him if you tell me what you know."

Hesitation. Frown. Tightening of grip on bag. What had she seen? What had she found?

"I think they're watching me, and she told me not to tell you." Molly murmured softly.

Sherlock's mind was sent spinning. He walked over to her and crouched down before her so that his face was at her eye level.

"Who?" Mycroft? Moriarty? Some yet unknown foe?

"I don't know" Molly answered, looking him in the eye. Her shoulders were relaxed and her expression was solemn. She was telling the truth.

Sherlock grabbed a chair and seated himself close to her, so that she could see him without his having to switch on the light, and waited for her to elaborate.

"She came in here, months ago, the night you were almost blown up." Sherlock almost asked her which time, but assumed she was referring to the night in the pool, and not wishing to interrupt her tale, stayed silent. "There were four of them, her and three men. One of them was a driver, in a proper chauffeur uniform with a hat; one was a big guy, some sort of bodyguard; and one was like a PA. She had this black veil over her head, so I didn't see her face, but she was so clearly in charge… She knew who I was, and that I knew you, and she knew about Jim and about John, and she told me to keep an eye on you because you were in danger, and then had to go because there was a development and then an hour later I found out you were both almost killed-"

Molly took a breath and Sherlock tried to process this information. A woman? He didn't know many women, and the ones he did could be ruled out almost immediately. Mrs Hudson, too innocent to come up with such a plot. Irene Adler, too vain to cover her face for the duration of the interview. Sally Donovan, too stupid to know what was going on. Who then?

Molly glanced at her bag again.

"Did she leave it behind or did she give it to you?" he asked, and she stared at him as if she had just seen a ghost. Of course, the glance was subconscious, and now she thought he was reading her mind. The minds of people who weren't him were so routine, it was hardly difficult to predict.

"Gave it to me. Well, the first one. The second one was on my car the day those kids went missing. I think she knew you were here."

Sherlock wished he really could read minds, then he might be able to get to the bottom of this a little quicker. Then again, what with the dozens of monotonous thoughts that went around their brains, he would probably lose the will to live within hours. But considering the number of hours he had left to live was quickly approaching zero, it might be worth it.

Slowly, hands shaking, Molly opened her bag, and from a zip-up pocket pulled out two identical plain white business cards, each with the same mobile number printed on them. 12 pt thickness. Average size, 89mm by 55mm. Aqueous coating. Times New Roman font. Standard in every way possible. Handwritten note on the back of one- 'Look after him, Molly'. Expensive wide nibbed fountain pen. No slant, closed loop on letter 'L'. Writer of above average intelligence but under large amounts of pressure or stress.

"She said to ring if you were ever in danger, but not to tell anyone, especially not your brother. The bodyguard took me home, drove my car."

"Bodyguard have a name?"

"Raleigh? Or Carey maybe, I'm not sure about him. He only said 'yes' and 'no' the whole drive."

"The others have names? And what did they call her? Think Molly!"

Molly frowned. "They called the woman 'ma'am'. The driver was Addison, I remember because of Anderson. And the PA guy was Morgan. I don't know if they were real names though, or if they were code names-"

Sherlock shook his head. These names meant nothing to him. There was no pattern in them, reducing the possibility of codes, as Molly suggested. It also further reduced the possibility that he knew any of these people.

Friend or foe. That was the question he had to answer. The question dictating his next move. Offered assistance. Rushed off upon hearing they were in danger, never arrived. Incited fear in Molly. Hidden identity. An associate of Moriarty? Or the person who phoned him in the pool? Above average intelligence. Hidden agenda. Actually wanting to help? Moriarty's way of finding out how much he knew? The pros and cons equalled each other out. There was only one way to know for sure.

He put one of the cards on the bench, placed his phone next to it, and slid them over to Molly. She stared at them both for a moment, before slowly raising her eyes to meet his. It was too late for him, but if this stranger could do anything at all to protect John, it had to be attempted.

"I'm going to die, Molly. Make the call."

He could see the fear in her face, but there was trust there too. She trusted his judgement.

Molly slowly and carefully dialled the number, and raised the phone to her ear.

"He-hello? It's Molly. Hooper. You said to phone if I thought Sherlock was in danger. Well… he is. He needs your help."

-TBC-