This is a prompt fill for the wonderful SammyKatz. Thank you so much for entrusting me with this idea, dear. I really enjoyed writing it! Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorited this story. Your support keeps me writing! A special thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I love hearing your thoughts! (*hint hint*)
On a side note, Sherlolly won Hypable's BattleShips competition, meaning they are Ship of the Year!
Without further ado, enjoy!
An eerie silence saturated the room, the only sounds the heavy breathing of the Holmes brothers and the swish of the door as it shut behind them.
Evidence of a struggle was scattered chaotically around the room, illuminated by the blinding white light of the fluorescent bulbs. Broken test tubes littered the tiled floor, whatever chemicals they had held quickly dissipating in every direction. A jar that had contained a human heart was smashed to bits, the organ now just a mushy mess in the corner. It seemed as though someone had thrown it across the room to fend off an attacker. A solitary IV pole laid, bent and forgotten, along one wall (How on earth had that gotten there?!), and a discarded hospital gown sat in a pile nearby.
Slowly walking further into the room, Sherlock observed a large puddle of dark red liquid just on the other side of the first lab bench.
Panic gripped Sherlock's heart, claws digging in so deep Sherlock feared it would forever be embedded there. At that moment, he swore that if anything had happened to Molly Hooper, the bastards who hurt her would suffer far worse than a bullet to the temple. No, a swift death would be far too merciful for anyone who put their hands on his pathologist.
A gentle hand pressed into Sherlock's shoulder reminded him that he was not alone, and Sherlock pushed down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He needed to focus, to find Molly before…. No! It wouldn't do to think like that.
"Brother, I…." Mycroft's voice broke through the quiet, echoing throughout the room. Sherlock's hand reached up to cover Mycroft's for a moment, before he took a deep breath and pulled away from his brother.
"From the damage, it would appear that a total of three men snuck into the morgue, approximately fifteen minutes ago. Two of the men rolled the third in on a stretcher, disguised as a hospital patient, hence the gown and IV. They found Molly alone, but she put up quite a fight. I need to acquire a copy of the video cameras and search–"
"Sherlock!" His rambling was cut off as his brother stepped in front of him once more, hands gripping his shoulders almost painfully. "We'll find her." Sherlock nodded and moved around Mycroft, taking care not to disturb any evidence. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and began taking note of his surroundings.
It was not until he was nearly to the opposite wall, heading for Molly's office, that he noticed the hand lying beyond the far lab bench. Closing his eyes and bracing himself for the worst, he quickly strode over.
To his shock, however, the hand was not attached to the broken body of Dr. Molly Hooper, but instead to a big brute of a man, black tee shirt straining against his excessive muscles. Blood oozed from a wound on his head. Sherlock sighed in relief and was about to move closer when a faint sound, coming from within the office, caught his attention.
His ears perked up, and, judging by Mycroft's expression, he had heard it too. Not ten seconds later, the noise sounded again, a faint exhale of breath.
Locking eyes with Mycroft, Sherlock put this finger on his lip and carefully tip-toed towards the wooden door. Ever so quietly, he picked the lock and twisted the knob.
In an instant, he was being accosted by a tiny body wielding a metal tray as a weapon, ponytail swaying back and forth as she swung the tray up to strike again. Sherlock held his hands up to protect himself, desperately trying to grab the item away from a frantic Molly Hooper.
"Molly," he said, gently, but her eyes showed no recognition as she continued her assault. He would have been impressed if he wasn't preoccupied with defending himself. "Molly!" he tried again, louder this time. "It's me, Sherlock! You're safe!"
Sherlock saw the exact moment that realization struck, as she slowly lowered the tray. Her lower lip trembled as his eyes roved over her, assessing her condition. She was frightened, yes, but also calm and determined, survival instincts kicking in. A trickle of blood ran from a cut in her lip, dripping down her chin and leaving a trail of red in its wake. Her lab coat was torn at the shoulder, her ponytail falling out, and her cheek looked as though it would be bruised for a few days. Other than these relatively minor injuries, however, she appeared to be completely fine. Physically, at least.
The second his gaze met hers, however, all the fear and anxiety he had been pushing down came crashing to the forefront of his mind. Unconsciously, he drew her into his arms. The clanging sound of metal hitting tile went unnoticed as his right hand cupped the back of her neck, pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder. His free arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her body as close to his as possible. Her hands gripped at the back of his shirt as she wept in relief.
Sherlock buried his nose in her hair, finding comfort in the familiar scent of the strawberry-scented shampoo she favored. He took a deep breath, confirming to himself as much as her that she was alive and safe. Sherlock closed his eyes, and barely registered the door to the lab opening and closing as Mycroft quietly left, giving them privacy for their reconciliation.
He wasn't sure how long they stood there (it could have been two minutes, or two hours, for all he knew), but eventually they parted, although Sherlock kept his arms enclosed around the petite woman, afraid to let her go.
"Are you all right, Molly?" he asked, careful to keep his tone soft.
"Y-yes, Sherlock. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I incapacitated one of the men with my self-defense training. I managed to wound the other two and then locked myself in my office. I heard them leave, deciding their colleague could fend for himself. But then I heard voices coming from the lab, and I thought you were one of them, and–"
He cut off her nervous explanation by placing his pointer finger against her lips. His hand moved to cup her cheek, thumb wiping away a stray tear. "You have nothing to apologize for, Molly. I would gladly take a thousand beatings if it ensured your safety. I saw the enormous amount of blood in the lab and I… I feared the worst. I thought I had lost you. I have never been more terrified in my life."
"Oh!" she squeaked out. A small smile lit up Molly's face. She rose up on the tips of her toes and pressed a lightning-fast kiss to his cheek. In fact, it was over so quickly, the blush on her face was the only indication that he hadn't imagined it. "Thank you, Sherlock," she said shyly, finally removing herself from his embrace.
"For what? I haven't done anything. You didn't need me to come to your rescue, after all, it seems. You single-handedly took on three of Moriarty's henchmen and won. Very impressive, Dr. Hooper." He smirked as her blush deepened. Perhaps she hasn't moved on as much as I believed. Warmth filled him at the thought.
"W-well, I-I…." she stuttered. Molly cleared her throat. "What I mean is, thank you for coming. I know things have been tense between us ever since the drug incident, and then you using that poor girl for a case…." Molly scrunched her eyebrows and shook her head. Still angry about that, then. "But, I knew you would. Come for me, I mean."
"Of course, Molly. You matter, more than you realize. More than I realized for many years." She nodded, and he stared into her eyes, filled with so much hope, trust, and some other, unnamed emotion (Love, a voice in his mind whispered) that he was left reeling. Not the right time, he reminded himself. He took a moment to compose himself and hurriedly changed the subject. This entire situation was becoming uncomfortably sentimental.
"Now, on to other matters, Molly. Moriarty has finally learnt of your importance to me. Unfortunately, you will not be overlooked this time."
He cursed himself as the horror returned to her face. "S-so, what are we going to do?"
"We are going to destroy him for good, this time, Molly, but that is trivial at the moment. Your safety is first priority." They gazed at each other silently for a moment, and his next sentence prompted a gasp from the startled pathologist.
"How do you feel about the violin?"
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