221B BAKER STREET
Eventually Molly pulled herself together. Sherlock had made his position very clear and she feared what he would do if he found her still here when he returned. An angry alpha male was dangerous enough. Add cybernetic enhancements and anything was possible, as had already been shown with the second-generation cyborgs.
She got to her feet and headed for the door. She paused, turned back and picked up a pad and pen from the table, quickly writing a note before placing it behind the skull on the mantelpiece.
Only then did she leave the flat.
THE STREETS OF LONDON
Molly was several blocks away from Baker St. when she realised that she hadn't taken her suppressant that morning.
She reached for her bag…
"No, no, no," she moaned. She'd been so distraught due to the morning's events that she'd forgotten to take her bag with her.
When she'd been given the suppressants she'd been told that to be effective they 'had' to be taken every morning.
What set alphas, betas and omegas apart was their status biology. Simply put, the pheromones they released told others their orientation (alpha, beta or omega) and also if they were in heat or bonded.
The suppressants changed Molly's status biology from omega to beta. But to miss taking even one suppressant meant that her beta status would quickly fade. Not only that her bodies omega pheromones would go into overdrive, making her scent far stronger than usual.
So she might as well be lit up like a Christmas tree with a big flashing light with an arrow pointing at her that read OMEGA HERE – COME AND GET HER!
"Well, well, well what do we scent here?"
Startled Molly whipped around and her eyes widened with fear. She was in trouble, big, big, big trouble.
Standing behind her were three cyborgs.
Molly ran.
221B BAKER STREET
He knew before he entered his flat that she was no longer there.
Why would she be?
He'd told her to go.
It didn't help that Sherlock had known even as he'd allowed those damming words out of his mouth that they weren't true.
He'd been angry, confused and scared, remembering what had been done to him. So he'd lashed out at the only person available – Molly.
Walking the familiar streets of London had helped clear his mind, leaving him better able to review the unsettling images from his nightmare.
By the time he'd reached the smouldering remains that had been New Scotland Yard, he'd realised what a terrible mess he'd made of the whole situation. In his mind he could still see Molly, confused and distressed as she tried desperately to get him to listen to her.
But he'd refused.
He'd rushed back to Baker St. in the hope that she would still be there.
'But why would she stay for a man who had been so cruel to her?'
As he gazed around the empty flat he spotted something placed behind the skull on the mantelpiece. Walking over he saw it was a note. It read:
Sherlock
I know I should have told you what I'd suspected had been done to you. But I didn't know how. Please forgive me.
Molly
Sherlock Holmes, the man who'd always derided any form of sentiment allowed the emotions that were part of his cyborg programming free rein.
As tears flowed freely down his cheeks and an aching pain centred in the region of the heart he always claimed he didn't possess, his analytical mind registered 'So this is what remorse feels like.'
Moving away from the fireplace Sherlock spotted Molly's bag.
He bolted out the door. He had to get to his Molly fast.
DOWN A DEAD END
If Molly believed her day couldn't get any worse, she was quickly proved wrong.
Being small and slight she'd managed to keep ahead of her pursuers. But in her panic she'd taken a wrong turn that saw her go down a dead end.
Turning round she saw the cyborgs walking three abreast towards her.
She was trapped, and the cyborgs knew it.
"What d'ya say boys?" the leader of the group asked his companions. "Ready to have some fun."
It didn't take Sherlock long to track Molly, her sweet and alluring omega scent filled his nostrils, calling to him.
When he heard her scream, his blood ran cold.
And when he saw the three brutes and what they were doing to his little omega, he saw red.
They had Molly pinned up against a wall, her clothes in tatters on the ground at their feet.
As soon as they had hold of her she had fought them tooth and nail literally. She'd kicked, punched, scratched, bitten and spat.
Her ferocity had initially taken them by surprise. As a result she'd managed to get a few good punches to their groins before they'd finally overpowered her.
But she kept on fighting. It was either that or give up and give in, and she refused to do either.
Quite where her fighting spirit had come from she wasn't sure. As an omega she was therefore submissive by nature. She could only assume it was a consequence of taking the suppressants. And for that she could only be grateful.
But once the cyborgs had the upper hand they immediately tore her clothes from her body, turned her to face the wall before slamming her up against it.
One held her in place one her left, the other on her right, while the third stripped off his clothes and prepared to enter her.
With her mind unwilling, her body refused to prepare itself for intercourse. This was a mating she did not want.
Molly knew it was going to hurt, and being as tense as she was knew that it would increase the likelihood that she would sustain internal injuries.
She wished with all her heart that Sherlock would come and rescue her. But she knew it was a forlorn hope, he despised her.
So she closed her eyes as she waited for the inevitable and prayed that it would be over soon. Then she could crawl away and find somewhere that she could curl up in a tight little ball and hope that death found her quickly.
Without warning she was released and her legs buckled under her with relief.
They were bigger than him, yes. And even with his cybernetic enhancements each on their own was stronger than him, let alone three against one.
But while they acted out of anger, hatred and a need to destroy, Sherlock was reacting to something far more powerful.
Because Sherlock Holmes had discovered that he did indeed have a heart, and it beat solely for one petite little omega with big brown eyes.
As the third cyborg hit the ground, Sherlock pointed to Molly and snarled. "She's my omega. Mine!"
He then turned and strode purposefully towards her.
Molly didn't hesitate she got to her feet and launched herself into Sherlock's waiting arms.
