Hey, well it's been a busy old week this week. I was away at the weekend with friends. We went to the seaside, gossiped, drank wine and generally had a great time and then it was back home, and Monday was spent watching the Queen's funeral. It's hard to believe she's gone and that we now have a King…we live in tumultuous times!

Meanwhile, Molly is having a bit of a moment herself isn't she…shall we see if she can hold it together and rescue her man.

Chapter 18

For a split second both women just stared at each other in shock. It was Sherlock trying to say her name that spurred Molly into action.

'What the hell…Sherlock?' She dropped her bag to the floor, and hurried to stop the older woman from hurting him,

Marie snarled at her and lifted the knife, pointing it at Molly instead as she made her way to meet her.

Molly's thought processes seemed to go into overdrive. She knew absolutely that she couldn't take Marie in any kind of hand-to-hand combat. The other woman might be older, but she was taller and seemed very fit for her age. Molly also couldn't risk being injured, she had to help Sherlock, that meant she needed some kind of weapon.

In the time it took Marie to circle the bed and meet her Molly picked up the almost empty wine bottle, giving no thought to the wine falling onto the carpet, staining it an ominous, blood red colour.

'You useless bitch, you were supposed to go out. Couldn't you follow even one simple instruction? Now I'll have to explain your death as well as his. Maybe, he killed you in a fit of rage and then killed himself. I'm sure that'll work.'

The two women were at something of a standoff. Marie with the knife, Molly with the bottle, neither wanting to make the first move.

'Mmmoooolllleeee…'

Marie partially turned her head at the distraction and Molly knew absolutely that this was likely to be her only chance and she took it. She swung the bottle as hard as she could, hitting the radius bone in Marie's arm at its thinnest point, hoping beyond hope that it would break.

The sharp cracking noise the bottle made as it hit bone was sickening. The older woman immediately cried out in shock and pain, instinctively dropping the knife as she reached to clutch at her damaged arm.

Somehow, the wine bottle hadn't broken, and so Molly swung it a second time, this time hitting Marie on the side of her temple, bringing her to her knees, howling in agony. Molly felt a rage pouring out of her that she'd never felt before. This woman…this absolute bitch, had been intending to kill Sherlock…

She's had never, ever felt so angry, a murderous haze almost taking her over. Lifting the bottle a third time, ready to smash it over Marie's skull, she felt as if she could hit her until her brains covered the floor.

Before she could land another blow though she heard a thud and a cry, and she realised that Sherlock had fallen from the bed. It was just enough to bring her back to herself.

She dropped the bottle in shock and stepped back, surveying what she'd done. Marie had blood oozing from a wound on the side of her head and she was crying as she hunched over, trying to protect her arm.

Molly's heart was thudding in her chest, blood thundering in her ears, but she still didn't feel safe.

A quick glance around the room had her noticing Sherlock's dressing gown slung over the bottom of the bed and she reached for it, pulling out the belt tie. Then she bent over Marie, roughly pulling her damaged arm behind her back, ignoring her cries. A moment later she had both of the woman's arms tied behind her back as the older woman sobbed in pain. A quick feel of the arm told Molly that it was probably fractured rather than broken but she felt no sympathy for her…none.

As soon as the other woman was secure Molly scrabbled in her handbag for her phone, then she ran around the bed towards Sherlock. She found him lying winded on the floor.

'Moll…'

'It's OK Sherlock…you're OK.'

Just at that moment the phone connected.

'Ambulance…oh and police. Havers Hotel, suite 201…hurry please.'

Molly answered their questions as best she could all the while watching Sherlock, her free hand against the pulse in his neck, making sure his heartbeat was strong. She had no idea what Marie might have drugged him with, let alone how.

As soon as she was able to end the call, she made her way back around the bed and confronted her, threatening to twist her injured arm if she didn't tell her what she'd used.

Thankfully, it was only a run of the mill prescription sedative. Glorified sleeping tablets that she'd used to make sure her victims did not fight back to any extent. The only reason Sherlock was still awake and moving was no doubt his past history with drug abuse, giving him a higher tolerance level. Once he had realised that he and Molly were safe though he'd allowed himself to give into its effects and when Molly checked on him once more, she found him sleeping. She pulled a pillow off the bed and used it to make his head more comfortable; then she sat watching him, stroking his cheek until she heard the sound of people out in the corridor.

The next couple of hours was a whirl of activity. First, in ensuring that Sherlock was treated on the scene rather than carted off to hospital; she knew absolutely that that would be the last thing he would want. Then secondly, in answering Detective Robinson's endless questions about what she'd done, why she'd done it, and everything she had learnt.

Finally, they had let Molly go albeit with a promise from her that she, and Sherlock, would go to the station later to sign formal statements. Once it was all done and the last person had left their suite, Molly crawled onto the bed feeling a wave of both relief and exhaustion wash over her.

Seeing Sherlock in such imminent danger had been one of the most terrifying moments of her life. She had had no idea that she would have the wherewithal to attack another person, to almost break their arm, and then threaten them with more pain for information. But it seemed that when Sherlock was the one at risk, she did have it in her. She wasn't sure that was necessarily a good thing, but she was too tired to worry about it now.

Instead, she lay her head on Sherlock's chest, hearing the reassuringly steady thump thump of his heart, and she let it lull her off into sleep.

It was probably late afternoon when she awoke. Sherlock had been trying to gently move her so that he could sit up.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.'

Molly rubbed her eyes. 'It's OK. How are you feeling?'

'Groggy.' He reached over to the bedside cabinet to take up a glass of water that had been left by the paramedics.

'What do you remember?'

She watched as he finished the glass, then he put it back and lay down again facing her, his head resting on his arm.

'Most of it…I think. Did you break her arm?'

Molly felt herself blushing and she looked away, wondering what he'd be thinking at her being so violent.

'Fractured, but yes, I just…it was instinct. I shouldn't have…'

'Why shouldn't you? I would have done exactly the same if she'd been hurting you. I'm just angry with myself that I didn't piece it all together sooner. Of course, it was Marie.'

'But how? Why?'

'The key to it all was the name and the history of the hotel. Anne told us but we didn't hear it.'

Molly frowned, sitting up a little. 'I don't understand.'

'She told us that the Havers Hotel had been in the same family, and that was Marie's family, not her husbands. When they married, he took her name, rather than the other way around. But the hotel had been in financial difficulties, and it was his money that saved it and he owned it.'

'Oh, but how does Harlow fit in? Was he sleeping with Marie?'

'No, it was Michael. He was the one having the affair with Harlow, and from the sounds of it it was getting serious. I rather suspect that he planned to leave with Harlow, and I think we'll no doubt find that he planned to sell the hotel.'

Molly was starting to see what had happened and felt a bubble of excitement as the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Was this how Sherlock felt? Why he did what he did? 'Oh…but Marie loves this hotel!'

Sherlock grinned. 'Exactly! Marie couldn't allow that. She didn't love her husband anymore, if she ever did, but she did love the hotel and all the Havers history that was attached to it. So, she killed Harlow.'

Molly frowned. 'But why Harlow? Why not kill her husband?'

Sherlock gave a kind of half-shrug. 'In killing a husband, the wife would always be the prime suspect, and vice versa. Plus, Harlow would have told the police about the affair and their plans. No, it was easier and less suspicious for her to kill Harlow first, and then her husband…deflect attention away from her more.'

'I should have picked up on the name quicker though. I saw the swimming trophy made out to M Havers and made the lazy connection that it was the husbands. Of course, it was Marie's, that's how she was able to swim around the cove to kill Harlow. She must have drugged him before he left, no doubt thinking he was going to meet Michael. It must have been "their place".'

He shifted slightly on the bed, before continuing. 'She then killed her husband, to complete the murder, suicide scenario and to secure the future of the hotel. Then she came for me because I was getting too close to the truth. She must have overheard us at breakfast, and she drugged my coffee. I should have picked up on the taste, but the lack of sugar threw me off.'

Molly shook her head. 'Surely she can't have believed she'd get away with it a third time?'

Sherlock huffed. 'Serial killers, they always get too cocky. They get away with it once, twice, and they think they're invincible. And maybe she would have killed me, if not gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for you Molly.'

His eyes seemed to search her face and she saw his gaze soften as he leaned in for a brief but very sweet kiss.

'My amazing, beautiful Molly.'

As he leant towards her once more, Molly's hands reached for him. Suddenly needing to feel how solid and alive he was. She felt a shiver rock through her body at the thought of how close she had come to losing him, and she pulled him closer.

He must have realised her emotional state because he broke off the kiss and hugged her to him. 'It's OK, I'm alive, we're safe.'

She let out a stifled sob and buried her head in the crook of his neck. 'I can't lose you, not now. Promise me.'

She felt him shake his head and she squeezed her eyes closed.

'I can't, you know I can't promise you that. Not after Mary…not after Eurus and Moriarty. But I promise to always try to come back to you unhurt…that I can promise.'

She wanted to ask him how he truly felt about her, to clarify their relationship once and for all, but she was interrupted by his phone.

They both seemed to hesitate for a second, but then he sighed, and Molly let him go, knowing he needed to answer it. It was very quickly apparent who it was.

'Sherlock…well of course I'm awake now, you're talking to me aren't you…'

Molly couldn't help but chuckle at just how aggrieved he sounded.

'Of course, she'd say that, but she's lying…no…listen…for god's sake don't do anything else until I get there…do I need to call Lestrade again to get in on this interview?'

Molly almost felt sorry for DI Robinson, but she swung her legs off the bed knowing she needed to get ready to go to the police station. She still needed to give her own statement, and it looked like Sherlock still had some explaining to do. No rest for the wicked.

Next chapter will be the final chapter, time to bring this story to an end (but hopefully a satisfying one). I hope you enjoyed Molly's rescue of Sherlock. Let me know xx