23

John glanced sideways at his friend sitting next to him. Sherlock had been a bundle of nerves ever since they had left Sherrinford. And it was understandable. After Mycroft's text informing Sherlock he himself was flying to Cork and that he had placed a highly trained tactical team at the disposal of Lestrade and the local police, there had been no further updates. And an hour had passed, that is forty-five minutes from Janine's and Winston's deadline had elapsed.

And Sherlock for the entirety of the trip had done nothing but look, alternately, out the window and his screen's phone. Not to mention the nerve-wracking tapping his fingertips on his knee or chewing his lips. John wanted to put a hand on his arm to show him his support and say words that might comfort him, but he knew him well enough to know that all he needed was to take action.

"Here we are, Mr Holmes!" the pilot announced through their headphones in a loud and clear voice as he pointed with his finger to a specific spot on the ground where they could distinguish a parked jeep and a woman with long brown hair, typing on a phone and leaning carelessly against one of the door.

As the craft glided gently towards the ground, they saw the woman take a few steps towards the landing point and stop at a safe distance. The helicopter's blades were still spinning fast and her hair fluttered untidily around her face as the hems of her trench coat rose and fell.

John noticed Sherlock's gaze sharpen as he looked at the woman. It was obvious from the way he moved his eyes along her body, dwelling on her crystal blue eyes and hands, and then on her shoulders and the way she tried to push her hair back, that Sherlock was deducing her.

"Something's wrong" he said tightening his lips. John asked no question. Deducing people was what made Sherlock what he was, the best detective in the world. Of course as a human being he too happened to be mistaken but John doubted this was the case.

Mycroft's PA, Anthea, whose real name was Andrea, as John had recently discovered, was usually unflappable, spoke the bare essentials and was always focused on her phone. And the fact that now she was looking at them openly and her face was heavy, it also made John think there was some problem in rescuing Molly.

Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself and turned up the collar as they reach his brother right-hand woman. Anthea looked Sherlock straight in the eye, "She's alive" she said removing any doubt or fear Sherlock had come up with himself. "But? There is a but, right?"

"We haven't been able to get into the room Molly is in yet" she said with a regretful sigh. Sherlock opened his palm, gesturing to the car keys Anthea held in her hands "Update me" he said as he climbed aboard and waited for her and John to take their seats.

"We entered the cottage disabling the cameras monitoring the outside perimeter and surprised them inside a sort of control room. There was a firefight" explained Mycroft's PA in summary form, "They shot at the equipment. Stapleton was shot dead and Janine fled. We could not stop the flow of water nor access the room where Molly is. Its electronic lock is connected to an explosive device which is inside the room itself".

Sherlock took his gaze off the road for a second to look at her in the rear-view mirror, "Your brother called some bomb guys, but time is not playing in our favour. The water level is rising relentlessly" she said and John noticed Sherlock's hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"We're monitoring Molly through a CCTV camera but we can't talk to her…the sound system is KO after the shots" the woman added biting her lip, "So Molly doesn't know we found her?" John asked shifting his body on the seat to turn and look her directly in the face. She took a deep breath as she looked in the rear-view mirror where she met Sherlock's gaze once again "I'm sorry, but no. The room is soundproofed. I doubt she noticed the noises outside".

"And what is the highly trained team brought my brother doing to free her?" Sherlock asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "They're opening a passage…through a sealed window". For the first time in hours, John saw a small light come on in his friend's eyes, a sparkle of hope.

Once they reached the cottage, Sherlock literally jumped out of the jeep shedding his coat and jacket along the short distance that separated him from where Mycroft and his minions were tearing up the material that kept the window sealed. A certain amount of water had already flowed out.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mycroft asked stepping between him and the cottage. Sherlock passed him without saying a word pushing him aside with a slight shoulder, walking briskly and confidently, stopping only a short distance from the window as he pushed his shoes and socks off his feet.

John saw him making his way between two soldiers who were scrambling to widen the window hole, and lean forward towards the inside of the room. He saw him turn to him, his face pale and deeply concerned, "Call an ambulance, John" was all he said before stepping smoothly and effortlessly over the frame.

Sherlock let himself slip into the water. Although he had expected it to be cold, he couldn't help but hold back his breath for a moment. Just a brief moment because he couldn't afford to waste a single second adjusting to its temperature. Molly was underwater. Motionless, unconscious, maybe dead…

Keeping his eyes fixed on the spot where he saw the overturned chair and Molly's body still held to it, Sherlock began to move in that direction, shifting the water brushing his waist and calling her name. As soon as he was close, he held his breath and dived underwater until his hand got hold of the chair's legs and lifted it back straight.

Resurfacing, Molly's head dangled to one side and he gasped seeing her lifeless face, "Molly, Molly…please…come on!" he called out supporting her head with both his hands as his lips rested on her forehead, "Don't you dare leave me, not now…Molly, please…please answer me!".

He was conscious his voice sounded desperate and that his emotions, his feelings were spreading unbridled before everyone's eyes. But he didn't care about anything or anyone but Molly. He hastened to take his Swiss army knife from his trouser pocket and dived one more time to cut the leather straps that tied Molly's wrists and ankles.

Sherlock patted her cheek in a despairing attempt to get her to regain consciousness. She was so pale and cold, her pulse was still there…but faint and weak. She was giving up. And a dull, powerful pain shook Sherlock's body. He had the clear perception his heart was being ripped from his chest and his mind, his muscles, his whole damn body was being torn apart by a sharp blade.

With a groan of anger and grief he rested his head in the crook of her neck, "Molly…it's me! Please…I love you…don't die, please…just don't die!" he whispered sobbing, his tears mingling with water on his distraught face.

"Molly" he whispered once again, his voice broken with emotion, pulling slightly away to see if there was any sign of recovery on her face. He cradled her head, skimming his thumbs over her cheekbones and lips, "Molly, please…I'm nothing without you. I'm begging you…please, come back to me!".

Out of the blue Molly's body spasmed in his arms. Her eyes snapped open as if she had suddenly awakened from a nightmare and she took in a hissing breath. She began to cough convulsively looking around bewildered, as if she didn't remember where she was.

Sherlock's heart seemed to burst into his chest as he cupped her jaw first whispering her name then saying it out aloud, "I'm here, Molly. You're safe now". At the sound of his voice her coughing slowly subsided, and Molly blinked several time as her vision cleared and she managed to focus on Sherlock's face.

Meanwhile he seemed mad with joy. He kept repeating her name as if it were the refrain of a song and couldn't stop touching her face, kissing her forehead and cheeks, taking her hands in his trying to warm them up, "Sh…Sherlock, you're here…" she said with a brief smile of relief, speaking hardly, "Of course I am! I'll always come for you…never ever doubt it!".

Sherlock brushed a few strands of wet hair from her face with both hands, cupping her jaw and resting his forehead on hers, "I love you, Molly Hooper" he whispered, breath caught in his throat. She let out a sigh of contentment as she wrapped her arms around his neck tentatively curling around him, "Take me away from here" she asked in a rough voice as her body was shaken by further coughs.

Sherlock was more than happy to oblige her and so he bent down slipping his arms under her trembling legs and lifted her up in bridal style. As Molly rested her head on his shoulder and Sherlock reached down to press his lips against hers in a chaste but tender kiss, they heard John clearing his throat and warning them the ambulance had just arrived.

Without further hesitation, Sherlock waded to the window holding Molly as close to his body as he could, his primary protective instinct, hitherto nestled deep within his guts, revealing itself with all its power. However he was cognizant, now more than ever, that for Molly being in a romantic relationship with him meant always living on the edge, always being on her toes.

Sherlock's conviction having her close meant he could protect her better had melted like snow in the sun. So was this really the life he wanted for her? Maybe he should have been the same selfish as ever and let her go.

It didn't matter how strong his desire was to never separate from her again because she made him a better man, because she made him feel things and want things he never thought he could feel or want from himself.

"Do not dare to make decisions that affect me without talking to me, Sherlock Holmes!" Molly's voice pulled him out of his musings and he looked down at her in confusion, "You muttered that maybe it was better if you were selfish and let me live a life different from yours, more…peaceful" she unfolded as she settled her right hand on his chest and clutched to his shirt.

"Don't let me remind you that a few years ago I had a fiancé with whom I was leading a quiet life…we would go to the pub or walk his dog, spend holidays with his family and…I can go on if you want", Sherlock couldn't help but curl his lips in a small smile "No please, have mercy on me".

Molly matched his smile, "In a word? Boring!" she admitted and pushed away from him just enough she could lift her face and lock their eyes together, "I think I'm more of a sociopath type" she whispered in a low voice giving him a wink and getting an eye roll from him in response, "You're stuck with me, Sherlock Holmes, so get over it!".

Her hand pulled at his shirt so he leant down to her. And he watched her watching his lips, then his eyes, then his lips again. Sherlock let out a soft groan in anticipation of the sensation of her tongue in his mouth and oblivious to the presence of John, Mycroft, Lestrade and a dozen men including cops and soldiers waiting for them to come out, he let himself be carried away by the moment.

They kissed. A long passionate kiss that was only interrupted by Mycroft's throat clearing "Forgive the inconvenience, brother mine. You'll have plenty of time later for all these displays of affection…perhaps in private. We still have work to do".

Molly looked questioningly at Sherlock who bit his lip as his face became serious again. "Sherlock?" her implied question remained pending as John helped her to get through the window frame. As soon as her bare feet touched the damp turf, Mycroft was beside her and, with a delicacy never seen before, wrapped her in Sherlock's Belstaff. She silently thanked him with a nod and withstood John's attempt to led her to the ambulance.

As soon as Sherlock was outside, she reached out to him "Where are Winston and Janine? Did you get them?" she asked without mincing words. Sherlock put his arm around her shoulders while with his free hand he tightened his Belstaff around her small body, "Winston is dead. Janine is on the run…but now you don't have to worry about that. All you have to do is go to the hospital and be checked out" he said quietly as two paramedics approached them.

"I suggest you go with her, brother mine, in case…" Mycroft interjected leaving the sentence in the middle, sure that Sherlock although less smart than him, understood the implications. But also Molly understood the implications although she was considered, by parameters of the eldest of the Holmes brothers, a mere goldfish "She could come for me and complete her revenge".