Chapter 2: A Close Call
They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. She finally gave a sigh and turned to him.
"So, are you going to tell me what this lead is?"
He finished his text and looked over at her.
"There has been another body found in an old abandoned building in east London."
"Another one?" She asked shaking her head in disbelief. "So this makes his body count a total of 8."
"Nine!" He muttered as he looked back down at his phone.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What would possess someone to kill nine people?"
"We are heading over there now. Lestrade will meet us there."
He looked back down at his phone and she simply went to looking back out the window. She had felt uneasy about this case. Something hit a little too close for home for her. His victims were all in their mid-thirties, petite and accomplished career women. She felt that she herself fell in this category. She was at that point thankful Greg had helped her pick out a gun and how to shoot it. She felt a little easier at night once she was behind her closed doors.
Once they arrived at the scene, Lastrade met them at the edge of the crime scene which had just been blocked off with police tape. Both Molly and Sherlock went under the tape and both had a look around as Lestrade spoke.
"Kelly Quincy, 35 and had just made partner at her law firm. No boyfriends and no known enemies. She was last seen two days ago when she had left to meet a client for a court date. She never made it to the meeting."
Molly reached in her bag and pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on. Her eyes were focused on the victim. Sherlock eyed her and gave a slight smile looking at her and then down at the gloves. "That's my Molly, always prepared." Bloody hell, where had that come from? She is not my Molly!
"Lestrade, have your men fully checked the area?" Greg turned around and eyed him curiously.
"We've checked around, but being a crime scene we figured the guy was long gone."
"Maybe not." Look, a small pool of blood." Sherlock pointed it out to Lestrade.
"It's not the victims, she's been dead at least 12 hours would be my guess. I will be able to tell more once I have her on a slab at the morgue." Molly said looking over at the pool of blood.
"Lestrade this blood is fresh, he's been injured somehow. With this amount of blood, he probably didn't go far; he wouldn't have the strength to make it too far on his own."
"Oi! " Greg called out to his men. "Our man may be still around here. Fan out and start looking."
Molly watched as Greg and Sherlock followed the trail of blood further down on the other side of the warehouse. She took out her pencil and notebook and began to make notes regarding the body. Suddenly there was a hand in front of her face and she let out a sharp scream. The hand clamped down on her face and she was jerked up violently. Her heart immediately went into to overdrive. She saw Greg and Sherlock rushing back towards her.
"I wouldn't if I was you!" The man said and it was then Molly became very aware of something very sharp against her throat.
"Look Mate, there are police officers everywhere. There is no way you will make it out of here alive if you hurt her." Lestrade said trying to calm the cornered killer.
"Oh, I have no doubt I won't leave here alive, but she smells so good and what's one more on my belt? I can make it an even 10 and go out with a bang. Pity I won't be able to enjoy this one like I did the others."
Only in the life of Sherlock Holmes would she have a wedding dress fitting and two hours later be held at knife point by a crazed serial killer. She focused on Sherlock and he tried to re-assure her with his eyes. Both he and Lestrade took turns trying to talk the crazy man out of doing anything rash with her. At one point he jerked her arm out and let the knife fall down her chest and over to her outstretched arm. Slowly he pulled the knife across her shaking arm and smiled as the blood ran down her elbow. She couldn't stop the tears. She looked at Sherlock and for the first time in her life she saw fear pass over his face. She closed her eyes and felt the hot tears running down her face as she felt the knife move back to its original location across her throat. It isn't true that your whole life flashes before your eyes when you feel you are about to die. What flashed before her eyes were regrets. Regret for saying yes to Robert and for never having the courage to tell Sherlock how she really felt. She felt the knife press further into her neck and then there was a loud pop, the sound of metal hitting the ground, a thud and then arms were enfolding her. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. She was shaking uncontrollably.
"Molly, it's ok, I've got you." She opened her eyes and saw Sherlock's face above hers and she let out a heart wrenching sob. She buried her face into his chest and sobbed. Her legs gave way and she felt two strong arms pick her up and carry her away from the body of the mad man that had just been taken down by a police snipers bullet. In the distance she could hear Greg speaking to someone.
"Get an ambulance here fast. I want Molly checked out right now! Oh and tell Gibson that was one hell of a shot!"
"Molly," she felt his body move and she was now sitting in his lap. "Molly, it's ok. It's over. He will never hurt you again. I will never let anyone hurt you again!" She felt his arms tighten around her and she could have sworn he kissed the top of her head. She was just beginning to calm some when the paramedics arrived. Reluctantly she let go of Sherlock and made her way over to the ambulance to be checked out.
"How is she?" Greg said coming up to Sherlock.
"She's in shock. Once they check her out I'm going to take her home." Sherlock said.
"Hey mate, you ok? You look white as a ghost." Greg asked placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Yes, Greg, I'm alright. Excuse me." He stood and walked over to where Molly was sitting on the back of an ambulance.
"Hi," she said weakly.
"Molly, I'm sorry." He said sitting down next to her.
"Sherlock, it's not your fault."
"Hmm." He said reaching out and entwining his hand with hers. For the next two hours they sat there and said nothing else to one another. She only spoke when Greg came to get her statement. Once she was up to it, Sherlock wrapped his coat around her and helped her into the back of a car Mycroft had been graciously enough to send when he had heard what had happened via a text from Greg.
They drove off in the direction of her flat. There was an odd quiet between them. Her mind was racing and she kept thinking how close she came to leaving this world. She had to speak her mind. Today had taught her that life is never a guarantee and it can be gone before you know it. She cleared her throat and looked over at Sherlock.
"Sherlock," she said just above a whisper.
"Hmm?" He glanced at her and then looked back out the window.
"I need to tell you something. Please don't think I require anything from you or that I expect anything in return. I just need to clear the air and speak what's on my mind and in my heart."
She took a deep breath and began, "Sherlock, I…I love you. I know love is a concept that you do not believe in or agree with, but the fact remains that I'm in love with you. I have been for years." At this point he had turned back to face her and his beautiful eyes were fixed on her. For a moment she let herself get lost in those eyes and tried to read any kind of emotion he might have, but alas there was no sign of emotion.
"As I said I don't expect anything to come of it and I don't want to hurt the trust and friendship we have built, but after today I realized I couldn't proceed with my life until I had told you how I felt." Her eyes left his and she watched the passing scenes outside her window.
"Driver, change of plans, head to 221 Baker Street." She turned to look at him, but he was looking straight ahead at the driver.
The remainder of the drive was spent in complete silence. A few mins past and she felt him reach out and take her hand. He thread his fingers through hers, but still didn't look at her or speak. She was shocked and her heart raced with hopefulness.
When they arrived at Baker Street they silently made their way upstairs. She dropped her coat, gloves and bag in John's old seat and walked to the fire. She stood there watching the embers of red and orange and listened to the crackling sound of the fire. Why was she here? What was going through that brilliant mind of his? After a moment she turned to pose those two questions to him, but stopped and her breath caught. He was staring at her with dark eyes and there was no mistake that what she saw was desire. He stood there jaw like granite and his fists clinched at his sides. She could see there was a battle going on in that beautiful mind of his. She wasn't used to this Sherlock, she didn't know what to say or do. She tore her eyes away from him and turned back towards the fire again.
"Sherlock, I…I" she stopped at the sound of a loud growl coming from behind her. She spun around to see him rip his coat off, toss it on top of hers and stride over to her. Within seconds she was in his arms and his mouth was possessing her. She didn't move and was to in shock to respond. Sensing her reluctance he pulled back and looked into her eyes.
"Molly," he said as a whispered plea. The strangled sound of his voice did her in. She put her arms around his neck and he pressed her closer.
"My Molly," he whispered again and then his lips were consuming hers again. Each passing moment his kisses became harder and more insistent. She finally let out a moan and gave up her 7 year fight.