The next few weeks passed in a haze of grief and fear. Sleep eluded Molly, much as it did the rest of the household. The elder Holmes son had sent three more men who were standing guard at the weakest points along the estate border. Sherlock was barely seen, flitting in and out of rooms like a phantom and looking at everyone with a suspicious eye. Molly had not spoken to him since the day Tom died and she desperately missed him, his calming presence that would have soothed her worries.

It was the early hours of the morning that found Molly unable to sleep once again. She paced her room, chewing her lip, and listening however irrationally for the sound of someone sneaking about the house.

Restless, she leaned against the window and watched the moonlit trees sway in the wind. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shrugged deeper into her dressing gown. The chill of autumn was swiftly turning into the frigidness of winter.

Suddenly, she saw a shadow shift near the stables. Her heart skipped a beat and she pushed off the wall to press her face close to the glass.

Nothing. Maybe she had imagined it.

No, there! By the stable door, a person… a man, was ducking inside. Molly bolted across the room and out the door. Her feet flew towards the opposite wing of the house and she did not slow down until she stood outside Sherlock's door. Rapping firmly, she bounced on her feet impatiently.

When he didn't answer, she pounded harder. Oh, hurry up. He'll get away!

'Confound it all, Sherlock Holmes,' she hissed, banging louder. 'Get up!'

Realising he wasn't there, she bit her lip, trying to decide what to do. With a whine of defeat, she took off once more, going down the stairs before sliding out into the cold night. Her bare feet skimmed the grass as she stole across the lawn. She slowed when she got close and kept out of sight, hugging the side of the building as she made her way to the slightly open door.

A single light flickered inside as she hesitantly peered around the door.

His back to her, a man was crouched on the floor directly on the spot where Tom had been killed. His black coat brushed the ground and he wore a top hat. Molly furrowed her brow, wondering what he was doing. Some instinctive part of her screamed at her to go back and find someone else, anyone else, but by then he might leave. And she wouldn't know who it was.

He set something down on the ground. Something solid and made of glass, based on the slight clinking sound. Molly waited for him to move slightly so she could see what was inside. And when he did stand up and move aside, she desperately wished she hadn't.

A human heart.

Horrified, Molly sucked in a breath, her stomach churning at the sight of it displayed so horrifically. The man froze at the sound, his head slowly turning in her direction. Molly's eyes widened and she pulled back quickly, her heart racing and her chest rising and falling rapidly.

She listened closely for any sound of his approach, her back pressed against the stable wall. When several minutes passed, she slowly turned around and peered back inside.

She bit back a cry when she came face to face with the man and stumbled back. His face was blank as he stared at her, his black, soulless eyes boring into hers and setting her heart into a frenzy of fear. She gasped when a cold hand shot out and clenched around her throat, pulling her close. 'You were just supposed to distract him.' His warm breath brushed her cheek and she shuddered. 'You weren't supposed to see that,' he whispered in an eerily calm voice. 'I'd hate to have to cut such a… delicate throat.'

Molly shivered as he released his grip only to trail his fingers along her jawline. She swallowed the bile that rose and closed her eyes, turning away from his touch. 'You're the one who is threatening Lord Westminster. You killed Tom,' she accused breathlessly. 'Why?'

He smiled, the gleefulness of it prompting Molly to take a step back. The carefree Irish lilt belied the darkness of his words as he leaned down toward her and whispered in her ear, 'I enjoy it.'

Molly gasped as her eyes widened in horror. She turned to flee, to call for help, but found herself caught in an iron hold and being pulled into the man's chest and his mouth pressed to hers. She struggled against him, terror blinding her and bile rising in her throat as her cries for help were muffled against his mouth. Why, oh why, had she not called for help when she could? Mycroft's men stood guard somewhere close by, if only she could get away to them!

The man seemed to enjoy her attempts to break free and she felt his tongue slide disgustingly against her lips. She pushed against his chest and tried to turn her head away, but his other hand gripped the back of her head firmly and held her tight against him.

Suddenly, he shoved her away. She stumbled back, gasping, and clutched at her chest. The man winked salaciously and said, 'Until the next time, my dear.' In an instant, he was striding away, swallowed into night.

'Halt!' The sound of running men came from behind her as Mycroft's men raced from their posts. They skirted around her after the man, but the sinking feeling in Molly's stomach told her they would be too late.

She nearly collapsed to the ground, struggling to catch her breath and calm the churning of her stomach. But before she could, her arm was suddenly caught in an iron grip. She gasped as she was jerked around and came face-to-face with a thunderous Sherlock.

'Sherlock!'

'Miss Hooper,' he sneered, his eyes raking over her rumpled appearance in disgust. He held his horse's reins in his other hand.

Her eyes widened and she unconsciously looked to where the man had disappeared then back to Sherlock, her heart sinking at the accusation in his eyes. 'No, no that wasn't-'

Her words were cut off as he scoffed. He let go of the reins and pushed his horse into the building, pausing when he caught sight of the jar on the floor. His face paled in the dim lantern light and he clenched his jaw, slamming the door shut.

'Sherlock, please listen…' She cried out in pain as he tightened his hold on her arm and began dragging her back to the house.

'I am not interested in the pitiful excuses of an accomplice to murder and a harlot.'

Her heart shattered at the disgust in his eyes.

Several of Mycroft's men, panting, intercepted them. The leader stepped forward. 'We lost him, he backtracked toward the estate and disappeared.'

Sherlock's face turned thunderous. 'I'll have Mycroft deal with your ineptness. For now, Grunts Two and Three, keep searching with the others.' He waved a hand between the other two operatives. 'He's here somewhere. Grunt One, with me.'

He glared down at Molly, his grip tightening around her arm. 'We've got an accomplice to interrogate.'