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And as always, thanks to Lex and Pablo for making sure I don't embarrass myself too much.

PART THIRTY-SIX

Sherlock and John had been investigating the leads on Moran for two weeks. He was close now. He could feel it.

He hadn't much time to spend with Molly while he was investigating. It was a bit of a relief that he and Molly could still maintain their relationship while he delved into cases again. He had made a mental note to text Molly to tell her that he was still alive at least once a day. She always responded back the same way:

I love you.

When he did manage to get back to Baker Street, she would rush out of 221A before he managed to get up the stairs, greeting him with happy and relieved kisses. He accepted them gratefully and- no matter what the time- they would spend the next few hours talking through everything he'd been through and what his next step was. Eventually, talk would turn to what Molly had done while he was on his cases. They would pepper their conversation with light affection. Sherlock felt there was now a balance in his life he had lacked before. His flat felt friendlier to him and he felt an eagerness to return home after investigation.

But it was not perfect yet. Molly was still sleeping on Mrs Hudson's sofa. He looked on John and Mary covetously. John had deemed Sherlock capable of handling Mary's presence in 221B and she had left her hotel, moving into the flat. Sherlock suspected John was engaging in crass displays of affection with his fiancée to pay Sherlock back for the times he'd walked in on him with Molly.

It was not the sex that Sherlock missed. Yes, he had become used to the regular release, but he could live without it- he had for thirty-five years. It was knowing that Molly would always be there, that 221B was her home as much as it was his.

At least he had managed to have Molly sleep with him when he felt the need for somnolence. It was no mean feat on his part, even if one only took in consideration Mrs Hudson and Irene's attempts to keep them chaste. Molly had admitted to employing them as a method of control, something John had charmingly termed the 'Cockblock Brigade' when trying to tease Sherlock after he confided to his best friend. He had the tendency to not arrive at the flat until late, until Mrs Hudson was sure to be asleep, but Molly would still rush to meet him, staying up from worry about his well being. He still had Irene to deal with, but he found that if he said 'please', Irene would allow them to do what they wanted, just content with the power play of Sherlock asking for permission. It irritated Sherlock to no end, but it was worth it as Molly would inevitably fall asleep on his chest on the sofa. She was still refusing his offers to go to his bedroom even for something as innocent as sleep, still citing 'temptation', even with her squad protecting her. Of course, they still awoke to Mrs Hudson thumping Sherlock.

He needed to get his mind back on the case. He could hear John calling his name behind him, but Sherlock didn't slow.

Moran was close. He knew it.

For two weeks, he'd tracked down every criminal he could on the network, gone through all of the addresses and notes on the phone he'd claimed from Moran's "secretary".

The leads had brought them to an office building in Croydon. From all outside appearances, it was an accounting firm. Investigations had revealed it to be a money launder in Moriarty's- Moran's- network.

Sherlock had told John they were going to interrogate the head of the firm. But he knew this wasn't the case. He knew he'd reached the end of the trail.

He reached the office belonging to the head of the firm. He opened the door and looked at the man sitting behind the desk.

"Sebastian Moran."

Moran smiled at Sherlock, arching a brow. "Hello Darling." He jerked his head towards the door. "Shut and lock that behind you. I don't want your little friend interrupting us."

Sherlock did as he was told, but he slipped his hand into his pocket to the gun he'd brought with him, stolen from John.

Moran was wearing a well-tailored suit. Westwood. Moriarty's preferred designer. He did not look entirely comfortable in it. He'd not worn suits like that prior to Moriarty's death. He'd gotten his hands dirty rather than pulled the strings of a hundred different puppets. He had a smattering of stubble on his jaw, a sign of the man he once was. He had a good ten years on Moriarty.

Sherlock narrowed his gaze on Moran. "Tell me, did Moriarty awaken you to your sexuality, repressed through years of military service... Or was it the reason you were drummed out?"

"We're not going to talk about Jim," Moran said calmly. Sherlock noted how his hand gripped the table. It had definitely been more than just simple sexual release from Moran's side.

Moran tilted his head, looking at the hand Sherlock had in his pocket, wrapped around the handle of his gun. "We're also not going to have you with your hand on a gun."

He raised his hand, pointing the gun in his own hand at Sherlock. "Of the two of us, who do you think is the faster shot?"

Sherlock pulled his hands out of his pockets and held them up in mock-surrender. "All right then. You know I'm not going to let you leave here, Moran. Why did you let me find you?"

Moran let out a laugh. "Like the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know the answer to that."

Sherlock's lip curled in a small smirk. "You want to make a deal."

Moran gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I am a business man."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. You're a bloodthirsty and unrepentant assassin whose lover died as a direct result of my actions." Sherlock took a step closer. "Would it help you at all if I told you Moriarty didn't care at all about you? You were just of use to him?"

Moran's eyes narrowed on Sherlock. "You could say the same thing about your girlfriend. Has she told you all the things she and Jim got up to together?"

Sherlock grit his teeth, forcing himself to look impassive, despite the swell of anger that rose in him at the idea of Molly and Moriarty together. "They didn't do anything."

"Easier for you to believe that, isn't it?"

Sherlock took in a deep breath as he continued to glare at Moran. "Why did you want to see me?"

"You've already guessed."

"I don't guess," Sherlock replied tersely.

Moran smiled, setting his gun down. "All right. You already know I wanted to make a deal. You see, things are a little bit sticky with you on my trail. People are starting to worry."

"And you have no idea how to run things as competently as Moriarty," Sherlock replied.

Moran stepped out from behind his table. He steepled his fingers. "Words hurt, Sherlock. I'm doing the best I can at a new job. And I can't let the peons think I'm entirely preoccupied with you. I have to move on."

Sherlock arched a brow. "Then how about we just get this over with."

Moran shook his head. "No, I don't think we will. I have to move on. You probably have a lot of other cases that are interesting you... I'm just suggesting a temporary ceasefire while we both refocus our attentions."

Sherlock laughed, shaking his head. "And just why would I do that?"

Moran tilted his head. "Because as soon as you walked into the building, security started trailing you. And I'm sure they've caught up to Doctor Watson by now."

Sherlock swallowed hard. "John can take care of himself."

Dimly, behind him, he could hear someone pounding on the door. John had arrived finally.

Moran smirked. "What about Doctor Hooper? You know, she does look fetching today. Wearing a very nice purple shirt. Yours, I believe. Does she just do it for fashion or to drive you mad? Because it doesn't take a genius to figure out you're desperate from sexual repression."

Sherlock felt something deep and primal inside of hm. An urge to lunge across the room, wrap his hands around Moran's throat and choke the life out of him.

"I wouldn't suggest that," Moran said with a harsh rasp. "I've seen that look in men's eyes before, Sherlock. I know when a man wants to kill. If I don't walk out of here after this is over, at least one of your precious Doctors will be dead."

"Moriarty already tried to ransom my allies," Sherlock hissed. "It didn't work."

Moran bobbed his head in agreement. "Right. So this time, I'm proposing something much simpler. You back off." He stepped towards Sherlock. "You know, Jim didn't like to get his hands dirty. Let other people handle it for him. That's why he had me. I have no problem sending you parts of John Watson. I have no problem making your bit of trim wish she were dead before I finally put a bullet in her brain. But I'm resisting. To quote a great philosopher: The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I have people to think about. So just stay away from my network and you can keep your friends in one piece."

Moran locked onto Sherlock's gaze. "You know, you didn't have to find me. I did this as a courtesy. I thought we should do this in person. Face-to-face like. Let you know just how serious I am. Jim always did like to keep things nice and proper. "

Without another word, Sherlock turned and unlocked the door. He didn't need to say anything more. Moran knew what his answer was.

He opened the, stepping out in the corridor. He reached out and grabbed John before he threw himself at the now open door once again. There was a frantic expression on his face. "Sherlock? What the hell is going on? What were you thinking?"

Sherlock let go of John and just strode down the corridor.

"Sherlock?" John asked, shaking his head. "What the hell is going on?"

Sherlock continued towards the lifts, John chasing after him. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock was lying on the sofa, his finger steepled beneath his chin. One of his sleeves was rolled up. He could felt the pleasant tingling of the nicotine coming in contact with his skin. He was wearing three patches as he went over his encounter with Moran in his head, making note of every thing the assassin did and filing it away.

He heard the door open and the sound of light footsteps. Not John. He walked heavier. He didn't flinch- didn't even open his eyes- knowing exactly who had just come into the flat.

He felt the gentle weight against the sofa as Molly straddled his hips. He still had not moved.

"Give me your arm, Sherlock," Molly demanded.

Sherlock let out a sigh. "I'm thinking."

"I know that perfectly well," Molly replied. Her soft, slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. "And you're doing it in the most unhealthy way possible."

Sherlock finally opened his eyes, looking up at his lover. He tried to choke down the protective instincts that gripped him as he looked at her. She must have taken her hair down when she entered the flat, as the sandy brown locks were framing her face as she leaned in. "I do have to disagree. This is in fact the third unhealthiest way. I'm avoiding the second by using the patches. The first-"

"-you won't even think about the first," Molly cut him off. She pulled his hand to her, pressing kisses to Sherlock's callused fingertips and palm. She took hold of one of the nicotine patches, peeling it off Sherlock's skin and dropping it onto the coffee table. She proceeded to the next one, leaving Sherlock with only one patch left.

"It is a three-patch problem," Sherlock insisted.

Molly reached up and ran a hand through Sherlock's hair and he let out a soft groan at the feel of the delicate fingers carding through his tresses. "I'll make up for the other two patches."

Sherlock traced a finger over Molly's cheek before outlining the edge of her lips. She let out a small mewl and captured the digit in her mouth. Sherlock groaned softly, his body recalling the feel of Molly's mouth on other extremities. He pressed his hips upwards against her, causing her to release his finger with a small squeal. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock slipped his hand behind her neck, pulling her down towards him and taking her mouth. "Perhaps you would be a better way of clearing my head..."

Molly responded to his kiss, fingers gripping at the fabric of his shirt. "I did..." She gasped. "Mean stroking your hair."

Sherlock nipped at Molly's lower lip playfully. "But you straddled my lap and performed wanton and suggestive acts on my fingers."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. He had no real desire to take things further. His mind was preoccupied with Moran. He pulled Molly down onto him. She allowed him to position her, her slender frame moulding against his. Her head nestled neatly beneath his chin. Just having her against him helped.

He let out a small, contented sigh. How could he ever have believed this was a bad idea? That Molly would be detrimental to his life? Deep inside his head, something told him that the fact he let Moran walk away because he threatened Molly was detrimental. It seemed something of his old logical self still remained in his mind. He talked himself out of it handily. Such stoic gestures only worked in bad movies.

Sherlock's hand slid over her long, soft hair, smoothing down the locks. He was compelled to ask her to come back home, but he knew what the answer would be. He didn't want to get into a row about it.

"Mrs Hudson is seeing her 'gentleman caller' from Chiswick again," Sherlock commented idly, curling a lock of Molly's hair around his index finger. "You didn't want to be alone in her flat."

"She is," Molly replied. She tilted her head and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's throat. "But that's not why I'm here. I just wanted to see you."

"I found Sebastian Moran," Sherlock murmured. He'd considered keeping the information from Molly. He knew it would worry her to know exactly what had happened, maybe make her ashamed that he'd gone along with the deal. But he needed to share his burden. "We had a nice little chat."

Molly lifted her head up. "Oh my God, Sherlock... Is he... Did he get arrested?"

Sherlock shook his head. "He's made a contingency plan if I attempted anything against him." He guided Molly back down to her spot against his chest.

"He threatened me and John, didn't he? If something happened to him?"

Sherlock felt a swell of pride that his lover was able to deduce Moran's plan so quickly. "Yes. It did work well when Moriarty threatened those around me. Shows how little imagination Moran has."

Molly sighed softly and Sherlock's could feel her warm breath against his skin. "Isn't Moran planning to kill me regardless?"

Sherlock's arms slipped around Molly and he gripped her a bit tighter than he intended, causing her to squeak. "He... Suggested he would be very creative about it."

Molly pressed closer to him and closed her eyes tightly. "Sherlock."

"The fact that he's making deals means he's not as certain in his position of Moriarty," Sherlock assured her, pressing a kiss to her hairline. "He still doesn't have the control he wants. Like Moriarty before him, he needs to get me off his tail. I need to be subtler in my pursuit of him." He sighed against her. "Maybe it would have been better if I hadn't revealed myself to still be alive so quickly. Worked on dismantling the network while still dead."

Molly nuzzled her nose against Sherlock's neck. "That never would have worked on the long term."

Sherlock sighed softly as he felt Molly's breath against his throat. He carded his fingers through her hair again. "I'm going to ask Mycroft to up the protection on you. Do you mind?"

Molly let out a small laugh against Sherlock. "Would you care if I did?"

"Fair point." Sherlock knew she was scared. There was nothing he could say to reassure her. "I just need you to be safe."

Molly pulled herself up and smiled down at Sherlock. "I feel safe with you, Sherlock. As crazy as that sounds and as much as my brothers may hate it..."

Sherlock brushed a thumb over Molly's cheek. "So they finally called you about the newspaper article."

Molly nodded. "Sheldon. I had to lie and say that of course we never broke up and that the newspaper just liked to make things up about you if they were having a slow news day."

Sherlock let out a weak chuckle. "Very naughty, Doctor Hooper."

Molly's lower lip jutted out in thought. "So what are you going to do now, Sherlock? That you have to back off Moran?"

Sherlock sighed. "I'm not sure. I suppose I'll take Miss Hunter's case. Taking up other cases more seriously will show Moran I've backed off him. After a while, I'll start to investigate him again. For now, I'll settle for Irene. Her infiltration remains unknown to him."

Molly leaned in and kissed Sherlock on the nose. "And what are you going to do right now?"

Sherlock ran his hands over Molly's hips. "I was going to sit here and make a plan for dealing with Moran." Sherlock lifted Molly up and shifted their positions so she sat on the couch. He put his head into her lap before handing her the remote. "You watch whatever crap television you'd like while I think."

Molly ran a hand through Sherlock's hair. "You're going to be able to think we me around watching telly?"

Sherlock nodded. "Hm. I can block out the noise. I want you here while I think, but I don't want you to be bored."

Molly leaned over awkwardly to kiss Sherlock's forehead before beginning to stroke his hair gently.

"Of course," Sherlock sighed. "If I am unable to come up with any course of action, I might give up on the endeavour for now and simply snog you."

Molly gave Sherlock a slight nudge. "Or else you'll just end up watching with me."

"I highly doubt that will happen."

Three hours later, Sherlock was curled around Molly, scowling at the television. "What kind of crime scene investigators are these people? Even Anderson would do a better job than this! Is Miami really so bereft of forensic scientists? And why is he wearing sunglasses at night?"