A/N: This chapter has been edited to correct some timing issues. Thank you, mychakk!
Molly couldn't stop the gasp from escaping her lips at Captain Holmes' words. "Truly? May I?" She indicated the note, which he handed her with the same cool expression on his face.
Her brows drew together in a confused frown as she read the note from Colonel Moran. "He merely invites us to dine with him on the Sunday," she protested, her voice thick with disappointment, and unhappiness that Sherlock would play such a cruel trick on her. "He says nothing of allowing me my freedom."
Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Have you forgotten that, hypocrite that he is, the good colonel makes a habit of dining with Reverand Stamford and his family on Sundays?" He made a derisive snort. "As if refraining from blasphemy, whoring, and the attempted murder of inconvenient officers under his command on the Sabbath might be enough to grant him entry to the Kingdom of Heaven."
She had forgotten that particular fact, but was more perturbed by Sherlock's obvious mockery of not only his commanding officer (who well deserved such mockery), but also the concept of being rewarded in the afterlife - if not of the existence of the afterlife altogether!
None of which was the important part of this conversation, she reminded herself, albeit with some reluctance. How any man of such high intelligence as Sherlock Holmes regularly demonstrated could be so dismissive of God was certainly a discussion for another time.
However, her mental perturbation had at least allowed her to recognise the flaw in his reasoning. "If Colonel Moran wishes to keep pious on the Sabbath, surely he wouldn't dare to invite a, a harlot to dine with a minister and his family!"
She tried not to flush as she branded herself with the label that had, admittedly, saved her life, but could feel the heat in her cheeks that told her how completely she'd failed at that task.
Sherlock gave her a cynical smile. "Oh, I've no doubt it is Moran's intention to use our current dubious reputations as another tool in his arsenal - after all, surely one gains Heavenly points if one brings known sinners such as ourselves back into the fold." Unexpectedly, the smile turned gentle. "I know you've been avoiding the reverend and his family due to your status as a 'fallen woman', but I promise you he is a just and kindly man who holds no one's sins against them. Much to my astonishment," he added with a grin. "When first we met I had him pegged as a typical pious hypocrite. Imagine my astonishment when it turned out I was wrong!"
Molly could, indeed, imagine his astonishment - and chagrin - at such a discovery. "But -" she began, only to be interrupted before she could even complete her confused objections, let alone voice them.
"All that aside, if you'll recall our conversation of a week earlier, Molly, did I not tell you that your devotion to my health has convinced the Colonel that you are exactly who we've pretended you are? And since your nursing skills have proven to be competent enough to keep me alive when he wanted me dead, well." He shrugged. "He'll have to attempt to rid himself of me in some other manner - but not at our dinner on Sunday."
Molly sucked in a breath at those words, clasping her hands to her chest in dismay. "Sherlock, surely your own commander wouldn't wish to lose a valuable officer, no matter how much he loathes you!"
He snorted in disdain. "And yet, Miss Hooper, that is exactly what he did. He could not act directly against me, lest my family hear of his actions and have him punished accordingly. Instead, he deliberately allowed me and my men to walk into an ambush set by your fellow Colonials, hoping I would die. Failing in that, his second hope was that you would prove incompetent enough to allow my wound to fester, and he would be rid of me that way - either to death or by having me shipped back to England."
Molly shivered, hugging her arms to herself. She found it incomprehensible that even a dastard such as Colonel Moran would act so boldly against one of his own officers. Her disbelief led her to protest yet again. "You said his concerns regarding my loyalties have been allayed. Are you certain he has such a foul ulterior motive for allowing me to leave?"
The look he shot her was full of contempt. "Don't be naïve," he snapped. "I have already stated that is exactly why he will allow you to return to Braxton and your loving Aunt Martha's arms. But it hardly matters; whether or not he has truly accepted our deception is beside the point. He will claim that as the reason at dinner, when you - acting very surprised and pleased! - thank him for allowing you to return home."
"But-" Molly started to protest, but Sherlock continued on, unheeding.
"John is too useful - the only competent surgeon within a hundred miles or more - for him to find some way to act against, even if he was not still under the impression that we remain at daggers drawn. But you…" His expression was unreadable as he paused to examine her, his cold gaze sweeping her from head to toe in a manner that made her flush. "You are an ally he can safely dismiss."
Her response to these words was immediate; her back straightened, her arms fell to her sides, and her chin lifted. "Then I must stay."
Sherlock's brows rose at her assertion, then lowered in a frown. "No," he said flatly, as if that was to be the last word on the matter.
If he truly believed that, then he had no true inkling of her character, even after all this time together. She gazed down at him, her expression as stubborn as his own, arms akimbo. "Yes."
She gasped as he moved lightning-quick, reaching out to grasp her by the wrists and yank her down so that she half-sprawled across his lap. "You will leave," he growled. "Or you will face the consequences should Moran decide to dispose of you in some other manner."
Molly, who had been struggling to free herself from his harsh and unwelcome grip, went utterly still at those words. Eyes wide, she stammered, "You, you don't mean-"
"That he would have you killed?" He practically spat the words at her, eyes darkening with his ire - a fact she couldn't help but notice, so close were their faces. Close enough to share their quickened breaths - or to kiss, should they take it in their heads to do so. "Yes, Molly, I believe most sincerely that Moran would not hesitate to have Sergeant Moriarty dispose of you as if you were nothing but an inconvenient mouse." His lips thinned. "Believe me, that particular cat would take great pleasure in ensuring your death was as painful and prolonged as possible."
"I, I could pretend that I have fallen out with you, as Doctor Watson has," she said through stiff lips, her eyes never leaving his, her heart pounding, pounding, pounding in her chest. "I could move in with him, take on the role of his mistress instead…"
Sherlock let out a bark of sardonic laughter as he finally released his tight grip on her arms, practically shoving her away as he sank back into his chair. Molly scrambled to her feet, hands automatically smoothing her disarrayed skirts - twice in one day, some small part of her noted, he'd put her clothing askew twice in one day for two very different reasons - but her gaze remained fixed on his face as he continued to speak.
"And how long, Miss Hooper, do you think it would be before the good Colonel decided to take you into his own bed?"
"John would never allow that to happen," she protested, but didn't need to see Sherlock's contemptuous expression to recognize how feeble an argument that was. "He, he could-"
"Could what?" he interrupted her, his blue eyes as cold as his voice. "Challenge Moran to a duel over your honour? He's a crack shot but I can assure you, Moriarty would gladly take him out before it came to that, no matter how valuable John's medical services may be."
Molly shivered as he continued, his voice laced with lethal contempt. "Or are you suggesting he might threaten to withhold those services? No one would take such a threat seriously, not even a fool like Moran. John may have a temper, but he is far too honourable a man to bargain with the lives of our soldiers, even to save you from the proverbial fate worse than death, and you know it."
She did know it, curse him, and damned herself for being foolish enough to believe she might win this argument.
He must have read her reluctant realisation in her face, and ruthlessly pressed his advantage. "Should you start to doubt my assessment of his options and decide to approach him with this little...proposition of yours, I can promise you it will end in one of two ways: John will either be dead, or he will find himself in the stockade alongside your Captain Lestrade and his men."
Molly felt the blood rushing from her face at his words. "Are you saying...Captain Lestrade is one of the prisoners?"
Sherlock nodded, his eyes hooded as he studied her closely. "Yes, and a very pretty ambush it was indeed. If I didn't know any better, I'd suspect him of colluding with Moran in this matter, but from what I've heard, the captain is a man of true honour - and, like most people who've ever had dealings with our dear commander, would much rather have the Colonel's head on a pike than assist him in any way."
Molly barely heard his last words. Her mouth had gone dry at the thought that one of her dearest friends and fellow patriots might have been responsible for the horrible wound from which Sherlock was still healing. To think, that she because of Gregory, she might have lost the man she lo…
She stopped that thought before it could finish itself, flushing at her wayward thoughts. Yes, she felt an attraction to the honourable if prickly British officer, but surely that was all it was! How could her heart possibly betray her like this? No, it was but a passing fancy, brought on by a combination of gratitude and proximity.
That was all she could ever allow it to be...especially since she now found herself in a position to betray the trust of the man who had saved her life.
Because whether Moran truly intended for her to be allowed to be returned home, she could not take advantage of that offer. Not when she had a duty - nay, a moral obligation! - to free her friend from imprisonment, that her country not lose so valuable a commander to a reptile like Colonel Sebastian Moran. As an officer he was entitled to certain considerations even as a prisoner of war, but she doubted whether he would be extended any such courtesies. She needed to see him, to make certain of his safety, find a way to free him.
While her thoughts whirled, Sherlock spoke again. "No, Molly, becoming John's 'mistress' is not an option. Nor is remaining here. When Moran tells you you may go, that is exactly what you shall do."
She looked down her nose at him as he'd done to her so many times in the past. "No," was all she said, before turning smartly on her heel and heading for the bedroom door. However, she couldn't resist the urge to pause on the threshold and add, "If you'll excuse me, I must be sure to add you to my nightly prayers if either of us are to be in a fit state of grace to dine with Reverend Stamford on Sunday." She tsked and shook her head. "Quite the tall order, being that it is only two days hence!"
She turned to close the door behind her, only to find an enraged Sherlock Holmes shouldering his way into the room. She let out a gasp and stumbled back a step, only to be stopped as he took her by the shoulders and shook her. Not hard enough to rattle her teeth, but not gently.
"You, madame, are the most infuriating woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet," he snarled.
She stared defiantly up at him, not bothering to attempt to free herself from his grasp. "And you, sir, are the most arrogant, obstinate, uncouth-"
He growled something she could not quite make out, shaking his head as if in denial of some unspoken thought. She opened her mouth to continue berating him, only to let out another gasp as he released her shoulders, took her head in his hands, and pressed a feverish kiss to her lips.