Chapter 14

Molly opens the door as quietly as she can. Her hand trembles on the knob, hoping beyond hope she can make it outside without coming across Joe or his henchmen. Her head peaks out looking left, then right. No one is in sight, thank goodness. She's pretty certain her scuffle with the big bald bastard wasn't loud enough to alert anyone, but she can't help but be skeptical. Thankfully, she's come prepared.

Molly inches out across the threshold and into the dimly lit hallway. Her steps echo gently against the walls as she creeps along in the same direction Joe led before her. Every ten feet she does a 360 degree check to make sure no one is trying to ambush her. She makes it past a bathroom without any trouble. Molly sees the doorway to the stairwell.

This is it.

She sneaks up beside it and pulls the gun up beside her cheek. The hard steel of the gun wobbles ever so slightly against the side of her face as she tries to keep calm. She takes a deep breath in and readies herself, then grips the pistol tighter. Molly knows she needs to be focused if anyone comes through the stairwell door. Leaning over, she takes a peak through the rectangular window for a few moments before pulling back against the wall. No one seems to be in the stairwell. Relief floods through her. Molly grabs the door handle and opens it up, listening for a few moments. No noise. Good.

The door is pulled open enough to slither through. She then slips in, making sure to be as quiet as she can so not to arouse suspicion. As soon as she's in the stairwell, her body begins to relax. So far, so good. Now all she needs to do is make it down the stairs and find a door that leads out of this hell-hole. She begins her descent to freedom, all the while keeping an ear out for any foreign noises. With every step, she feels more and more certain she'll be successful. She's going to make it. She's going to escape in one piece. Then she hears it. Distant muffled footsteps coming from where she came, then mildly muffled shouting.

Oh God.

Panic rears its ugly head and she bolts down the stairs as fast as she can. In her terror, she misses a step and her foot slips. Her ankle bends in the wrong direction, and a loud pop sounds as she goes down. Pain blooms in her foot and shoots up her calf as she tumbles down the last few steps landing on her bum.

There is no way that wasn't heard by her captors. She needs to get up and get out now.

She stands awkwardly and begins to hobble-run for the door on the bottom floor of the stairwell. Her ankle is throbbing, but she ignores it. Taking a quick look out, she sees no one in the hall. Molly pushes the door open and continues her pained trek toward the nearest exit. Thankfully, she begins to remember this particular hallway from when Sherlock and her came here on that cold case file he was working on. It gives her a much needed boost of confidence.

Molly is almost there.

The illuminated green exit sign on the ceiling shines like a beacon of hope.

She can do this.

She limps onward as fast as she can toward the sign and then makes the designated left out of the main hallway and into the corridor before the door that leads to her freedom. Molly hears another door open in the distance and shouting. Any minute they'll be upon her if she doesn't go through the doors.

She pushes on the bar-like opening mechanism and stumbles out into the daylight. Frantically, Molly hobbles out into the middle of the supply drop-off looking all around her for somewhere to hide.

Then she sees them. Sherlock and John. They're sprinting toward her.

Relief floods her very being. She's safe! Molly limps hurriedly toward them, panting from exhaustion and pain. As soon as she is close enough, everything catches up with her and she collapses into Sherlock's arms.

"They're right behind me," She says to them between gasps of air and clinging to Sherlock with everything she has. Molly looks up at both of them for a moment. John's face is notably filled with worry, but it's the change in Sherlock's always stoic face that makes her pause. Panic is written all over it, and for her no less.

"Right. I guess that's my cue then. Wish me luck," John says as he takes his gun out and heads toward the door Molly came through.

The amount of relief she feels is unbelievable. She made it out in one piece. Well, almost. Her ankle throbs loudly in complaint.

"Let's get you a spot to sit, shall we?" Sherlock suggests. Molly nods as he helps her toward a small retaining wall and aids her with sitting down. The panic once evident on his face is now back to its normal blankness, but his jaw is tense and there are still remnants of fear in his eyes.

"I hope John will be alright in there," Molly worries. She really wished he went in with some back up.

"Have no fear, Molly. He'll be fine. He called Lestrade on the way here. They will be here any minute," Sherlock says as she watches him give her a once over, concern flitting over his face when his eyes stop at her foot. "We've got to take care of that. Do you mind?"

Molly nods, allowing Sherlock to squat down and gently inspect her injury. He moves her ankle delicately this way and that and she hisses in pain. Sherlock looks up at her, eyebrows furrowing disquietly. "Sorry. Just trying assess how bad the injury is before I wrap it. It doesn't appear to be broken—just a bad sprain."

He gently pulls off her shoe and tugs his scarf from around his neck. Sherlock then begins to wrap Molly's foot with extra care; the fabric sliding between his long fingers expertly. She sighs. The pressure from the scarf instantly makes her foot feel a lot less swollen and tender. He tucks the end in a fold and stands up.

Sherlock's head whips round at the sound of gunshots ricocheting through the air. His jaw clenches in anxiety, poised to turn and run to help his friend. Molly knows she can't stop him from entering the building, but she can try to keep him safe. She raises the gun still clasped in her hand. "Take it. You'll need it if you're going to go after him." Sherlock looks at the gun and back to Molly for a moment, a multitude of emotions flashing over his visage. He looks almost torn between going to help John and staying with her. She makes the decision for him. "Go, Sherlock. John needs you, and like you said, any moment Lestrade will be here. I'll be fine until then." With that, he nods and takes the gun from her hand, their fingers touching as it passes between them. She feels her heart stutter at the touch.

"Molly?" Sherlock says after the gun is safely in his hand. The sound of sirens begin to wine in the distance.

Molly looks up at him. "Yeah, Sherlock?"

His eyes appear glass-like, as if unshed tears are resting there. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Me too," she whispers, giving him a tight-lipped smile before he turns and runs off in John's direction.

Molly is not quite sure how she feels about all this. Her ex, the man who swears up and down that emotion is a weakness has just openly allowed his emotions to get the best of him. He had been more expressive since Eurus, but nothing like this. Granted, she was kidnapped and that in itself could spark all sorts of feelings for most people. But he isn't most people. He's Sherlock and this is something entirely new. The thought brings her back to what Joe said during her meal with him.

...Of course your past has everything to do with your current predicament. I have it

on good authority that when you're sold, Sherlock will come running—regardless

of what happened between you two. It appears that even after two years apart, he

still has a soft spot for you...

Oh no. He couldn't still have feelings for her, could he? There was no way! He had been the one to end it, and rather spectacularly at that. Who in their right mind would end a relationship without warning and overdose a few days later? This was Sherlock though. Perhaps he couldn't cope with how he had treated her? Their relationship had more than its fair share of ups and downs... but it wasn't the worst she'd ever experienced. What if Sherlock felt that he wasn't good enough for her? What if the reason he broke up with her was because he wanted her to find someone better? Oh Sherlock...

A hand comes to rest on Molly's shoulder and she jumps about three feet. "Oh God!" She shouts as her hand comes to clench at her chest.

"So Sorry Molly," Lestrade says. "didn't mean to scare you."

Molly's relief is evident on her face. "I thought you were one of Joe's thugs come to take me!"

"Thankfully not. We're in the midst of apprehending him and his accomplices now. There's an ambulance here ready to check you over and take you to the nearest hospital. Would you like a hand?"

"Yes, thank you," Molly smiles at Greg as he helps her up and slowly walks over with her. Her foot still throbs, but with Sherlock's scarf wrapped around it, it has lessened significantly. Her heart strings pull at the thought of him helping her.

"Hey Greg?" Molly asks as she's being helped up into the ambulance by two paramedics. "If you see Sherlock, can you tell him 'thank you?'"

Lestrade nods. "Yeah, I can do that. Take care of yourself Molly."

She gives him a smile and nods.

The doors close on their conversation, and the paramedics assess her as they drive to the nearest hospital. They check her vitals and ask her a few questions, but mostly they talk to themselves which is alright by her. If anything, it gives her some much needed time to think.