Chapter Fourteen:

A few hours earlier:

Sherlock stood pondering in the web room. He looked at the wall, seeing the many photographs and artifacts that linked Him to Moriarty. Moriarty to Molly. Molly back to him. He saw the memory of the first time he had met "Jim from IT". He had pointed out his sexual orientation to Molly. It had been cruel. Why had he been cruel about it. Surely he hadn't meant it. But he did, in a way. He hadn't wanted to hurt HER, but wanted her opinion of this Jim to lessen, essentially ridding her of the inevitable problem. He had picked up on the fact that Jim was in fact, hitting on him. It had indeed been obvious to him. Sherlock then looked at another thing on the wall.

The tube of lipstick. It reminded him of the first time he had seen her wear the shade. It was in the morgue. He had of course commented on it. Apparently he had been cruel once again, when she removed the lipstick. He had called her mouth small. Speaking from the later knowledge of experience, he could definitely say it was small in the least. The shade of ruby red had also brought up the memory of Christmas. The night he discovered her feelings for him. Sherlock winced to himself. Again, why was he always so cruel to Molly? She had nothing but pure adoration for him, and he had constantly pushed her to one side, to watch from the sidelines. He shook his head and turned his attentions to connections between Moriarty and himself.

Many connections. Focus on the important moments. He had tied up his best friend with Semtex and had trained rifles on him. That had been at the pool where Carl Powers had died. He had accused Sherlock of having a heart. Even a semblance of one.

Sherlock and John sat in Molly's room. John looked over at Sherlock, who sat with a very miffed look on his face. His hands steeped under his chin. Clearly ignoring whatever was not what he deemed important. John cleared his throat several times before finally catching Sherlock's attention.

"What is it?" Came the clipped response. John simply rolled his eyes.

"You know what, Sherlock. What are we going to do about, Moriarty?" He sighed frustratedly. "You know he did this to her to get to you." He continued. Sherlock's head snapped over to John.

"Once again stating the blatantly obvious, John. I KNOW this. But the question is, why is he using her to get to me?" Sherlock looked genuinely puzzled by the matter at hand.

"Really? You're really asking- Sherlock, you...you CARE ABOUT HER!" John responded, a little louder than he'd intended. He looked to Molly, who rustled slightly in her sleep, before mumbling a few words under her tired breath. John readjusted his volume.

"Caring is not an advantage, John." Sherlock stated. John had had enough. He stood up, marched over to where Sherlock was seated, and crouched down to his ear level. His voice was just above a whisper, but it carried all the force of a battle cry.

"So, you mean to tell me that you trusted Molly with the most important secret of your life. You relied on her to help you carry out the plan to save your life. When you returned, you not only thanked her, but I walked in to find you practically bending her backwards over a metal slab snogging the daylights out of her. You've not slept in over a week, and you've not left this room in five days! If you don't care, then why in the BLOODY HELL are you here?" He finished, his eyes following Sherlock's to Molly's sleeping face. It was a few minutes before Sherlock responded.

"John, I never said I didn't care. I merely said it wasn't an advantage. If you'll notice, my caring for her has followed suit of my caring for anyone. I care for Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you. I had to fake my own death to ensure your safety. And Moriarty didn't even touch you." John looked into his friend's eyes, seeing them filled with worry. Sadness. Sherlock continued.

"What will I have to do to protect her, John? I think it's safe to say at this point, that I will most likely have to give up my life for Molly's safety. What if that's not enough? What good will sacrificing myself do if I cannot then be here to protect her from whatever dangers lie past that sacrifice?" Then Sherlock did something strangely...human. His body slouched forward in his chair, his hands propped on his knees as he slumped his head into them. He sighed deeply. Tiredly. He had a passing thought fly through his head.

'Sentiment.'

That's when it clicked. His head snapped up suddenly, and he quickly stood to his feet. John looked up to him, clearly confused. Sherlock strode across the room, retrieving his coat and scarf, before looking at Molly and then to John.

"Look after her for me, while I'm gone." He said, back in his usual, monotone voice. John had stood to go after him, and then looked at Molly. He sighed and sat in the chair at the side of her bed. He pulled out his phone and sent Sherlock a simple text.

'Where are you going?'

-John-

'Just popping out. Be back shortly.'

-SH-

Sherlock hailed a cab once outside of the white walls of St. Bart's. He whipped out his phone again, and sent another text. To a different contact.

'The pool. One Hour.'

-SH-

He sat in the cab, twirling his phone in his hand, until it lit up. He stopped, and looked at the response.

'Can't wait, love.'

-M-

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Woohoohoo. Can I just say that this chapter had even me super on edge...it just kinda played out in my head and my fingers did the following. Lol. Hope you all liked it. It was a lot of fun writing this one.