"Molly Hooper?"

Molly looked up from her seat at the pharmacy.

"Your prescription is ready."

She checked her watch. Oh, she was cutting this close, in fact there was a good chance she was already too late with this particular method as it was less effective the more time that passed. Her next step was a different, less proven set of pills that could stretch the window to five days or insertion of an IUD. She shuddered. She would never do the IUD thing. During one post-mortem she'd done, she discovered an IUD next to the woman's liver. It had punctured the uterine wall and migrated its way to its new home where it cozied up to the gall bladder. A rare occurrence, sure, but not one Molly ever wanted to risk for herself.

Molly paid for her prescriptions and headed out of the pharmacy. While she was at it, she had renewed her regular birth control. She didn't know if she would have need of it again but she'd been so stupid with Sherlock. If she was ever going to get involved with someone again in the future, she should be prepared and that probably meant staying on the pill full time from now on.

Her eyes burned with tears as she hurried towards St. Bart's. She was so fucking forlorn about that but also pissed off as well. She didn't want anyone else. She wanted Sherlock but he was . . . she didn't know what he was! She had thought she did but John's revelation had thrown everything she knew about him into question.

He had murdered a man, John had said, in cold blood. That absolutely broke her heart because he had always been righteous in her mind, a man who sought justice, not vengeance. Her steps faltered along the concrete. She swayed and wobbled over to a nearby retaining wall where she had to sit down. She doubled aver and just started bawling.

How could she be so wrong about him? Images looped through her mind like an old-fashioned reel of 8 mm film. He was lovely, intelligent, and so very loyal to all of them. What had happened? Who had failed him along the way? She searched her thoughts but nothing fit.

Nothing fit. It made her crazy. Sherlock wasn't always an open book to her but there were times when he'd left a window to his soul cracked a bit and she'd seen right through to the heart of him. What she'd seen had been incandescent, so bright in fact it was always hard to look at closely for more than a few seconds. She didn't want to believe him capable of the kind of callousness John had described.

She lifted her head from her hands.

". . . if he ever traps you in his web, Molly, you won't have the luxury of perspective."

Perspective. That's what she needed. She needed to be away from him, even if she would rather carve out her spleen with a rusty spoon. She just didn't know how to go about it. Where could she escape where he would not find her? She needed someone who knew how to deal with the Holmes. She needed Anthea.

She fished her phone from her bag and thumbed through her contact list. When she found Anthea's number, she quickly composed a message and sent it off.

I need respite from a certain consulting detective. Is that something you could do? -M

Molly stared down at her phone for several seconds. She was about to put it back in her pocket when it jingled with a reply.

Yes. I've never met a Holmes I can't fool, at least temporarily. When would you like your reprieve? -A

Tonight. I have something to do first though. Can it be arranged by five pm? –M

And I thought you were going to challenge me! I could have you instated as minor monarchy by five. –A

A mini-break is sufficient, thank-you. –M

Alright. Consider it done. One last question, do you prefer an ambient outside temperature north or south of 72 degrees F? –A

Definitely North. –M

Excellent. Instructions to follow. –A

Molly rose shakily to her feet. She pulled her bag up on her shoulder and started planting one foot in front of the other. She took a few breaths and willed herself into business mode. Mary awaited her at St. Bart's. She needed to do right by her friend and which meant putting her own concerns on the back burner.

Molly stared anxiously down at the black body bag containing her friend. These bags always opened from the top down and she knew the first thing she'd see was Mary's face - but it wouldn't be her face. It would be the face of death. To Molly, it always looked a bit like putty molded over a frame. Perhaps that's why some referred to it as the mask of death. She rubbed her fingers and thumbs together to massage out the tremors that had unsteadied her normally reliable hands. It was now or never.

She averted her eyes as she grasped the zip and quickly opened the bag all the way to the end. Thus, she saw Mary's toes first. Several of which appeared to have been broken at some point in her brief life. It was this discovery and resulting curiosity that finally spurred Molly into her emotionless analyst mode.

Straight away, it was evident that a proper postmortem hadn't been done. Mary's body appeared untouched. Molly checked the notes provided from the previous examination.

"Valve leakage detected while patient still alive in ER. Ultrasound on heart revealed mild deformity of pulmonary valve. Subsequent blood work indicates slightly deficient levels of potassium. Cause of death – cardiac arrest due to arrhythmia in conjunction with undiagnosed heart defect."

Molly frowned. While that diagnoses could certainly be correct, those few bits of information were hardly conclusive. Ultrasounds were notoriously unreliable as diagnostic tools for this kind of thing. Mary's heart beat could have been irregular for many reasons and the only proper way to confirm a defect was to examine the heart.

When she finished her exterior examination of Mary, she realized how little she knew about her friend. Mary's past injuries appeared to include puncture wounds from having been stabbed, two different instances where she had been shot, a saucer sized burn beneath her left shoulder blade, a broken collarbone, surgery to repair probable torn tendons in her right knee and innumerable less serious cuts and abrasions. She had same kind of injuries Molly had seen on prisoners of war, not a nurse.

". . . If you ever need anyone knocked off, let me know!"

Molly thought Mary had just been making a rather morbid joke at her baby shower. Maybe she had been serious. Molly shook her head. Was no one in her life who they seemed to be?

Next, Molly began her internal examination. Once she had opened Mary's chest cavity and started her examination of her heart, she knew something was very wrong. There was a tell-tale darkening to part of the muscle on the left side of Mary's heart. She hadn't died from an arrhythmia or murmur, she'd had a massive heart attack.

"So?"

Molly's fingers paused over her keyboard. One syllable uttered in a rolling baritone voice and she was undone. She lowered her hands to her lap. When she looked up, her dark angel stood about ten feet away with all the swirling energy of a black hole. She felt irresistibly sucked in. Had it only been this morning since she'd seen Sherlock? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Blood clot," she whispered. "A massive blood clot had formed in her leg. A piece of it broke off and travelled to her heart. She died from a colossal coronary event. I'm awaiting blood work to rule a few things out but it appears as if it's a complication due to . . ."

Her words trailed off. Sherlock walked towards where she was seated with furrowed brows. His hand was curled into a fist at his side.

"Order a screen for Cyklokapron."

Molly's mind raced. "You mean, erm, t-tranexamic acid?"

It was a drug normally administered to prevent bleeding during surgeries or to people who might otherwise have bleeding disorders. Given the right conditions, it could form life threatening blood clots.

Sherlock nodded grimly. "Mycroft's team found traces of it in a powdery substance on the floor of John and Mary's flat. It's possible Mary was being dosed without her knowledge."

Molly touched her hand to her forehead. "But . . . that's diabolical and not even a guaranteed method to kill someone. Do you think Sherrinford found some way to slip this to her over an extended period? Sherlock, it's a one in a million shot that it would work . . ."

"He would do it, Molly, just to see if it worked. Somehow, he must have figured out she had the risk factors and timed it just right. I need to find out how he did it."

A ragged breath left Molly's body. "Dominoes. He said he could nudge dominoes but I didn't believe him. It's sick. It's sick, Sherlock, to dissect a person's life like that and torture them in that way. Is he going to kill us all in such a manner? Find our hidden flaws and exploit them? My mother died of uterine cancer. Is he going to find a way to set that off in my body?"

Sherlock went very pale. "I won't let him hurt you."

Molly threw her hands up and finally got to her feet. "How? How are you going to stop him? Kill him? Are you going to shoot him in the head when he least suspects it?"

Sherlock looked as if he had just been struck in the face. He blinked a couple of times and stepped backwards. He sounded suffocated when he spoke.

"What did John tell you?"

She stared at him for several moments trying to gauge his reaction. He was definitely surprised, guilty, and preparing . . . preparing to run away it looked like.

"He told me you murdered Charles Magnussen. Is that true?"

Sherlock cursed and cast his glance down and away. His eyes scanned back and forth quickly as if he were having an argument with himself.

Molly felt her eyes mist. "Sherlock, tell me it isn't true."

"I can't. Molly, there are things you don't know . . ."

Wendy, a short, stocky lab technician from upstairs bustled into the lab then. Sherlock clamped his mouth shut and turned away.

"Hey, Dr. Hooper, I have those results you wanted rushed . . . oh!" Wendy stopped when she saw Sherlock. "Oh, hi there. Sorry, 'm I interrupting something?"

Molly took the paperwork from Wendy's hand. "It's fine. Thank-you for these. Do you have enough blood sample left to run one more test for me?"

Wendy nodded. Molly scribbled a new requisition and handed it to her.

"Tranexamic acid? Oh, um, that might take me a bit. I'm not certain how to test for it. Don't worry though, I'll sort it out."

"Thanks, Wendy. Let me know as soon as possible."

After the lab technician left again. Sherlock stalked up to Molly. His hands gripped her shoulders.

"Molly . . . I cannot dispute John's account. I'm sorry. I have no other explanation for you."

Her eyes searched his. He was still hiding something. The film of it made the truth hard to discern but Molly could see enough.

"So, you are not going to dispute being called a cold-blooded murderer?"

He flinched. "Are those John's words?"

"Yes."

"Then it's true."

She could tell he was devastated by her revelation. She could almost hear his heart fracture like a glacier coming apart.

"Liar," she whispered.

His chin started wagging in disagreement. "Molly!"

"Liar," she said louder. "I don't believe it. Whatever you are, Sherlock Holmes, I will never believe you to be inhuman, no matter how hard you try to sell it to me."

His fingers bit into her shoulders. "You should, Molly. You will never be safe as long as you believe that."

"Safety is overrated."

His eyes flashed at her and next thing she knew, he'd scooped her up over his shoulder. He marched them through the lab to the back office where he kicked the door closed behind them and flipped the lock. He put her down briefly to drop the shades on both the office door and the outside window. Then he swooped down on her with a searing kiss.

The laws of physics broke down then. She felt weightless, like she was soaring as his lips moved desperately over hers. He shoved her lab coat off her shoulders and loosened the ties of her scrub bottoms. Then he pushed her knickers part way down with his hand and the rest of the way with his foot before gripping her naked bum, hiking her up and pinning her against the wall. They were shrouded in his jacket. Molly was lost in the franticness of it all. She dropped her head to the side as his lips travelled along her neck.

"You undo me, Molly. I-I am undone," he whispered brokenly against her flesh.

He reached between them and unfastened his trousers. With a quick shuffle, they dropped to his ankles. His thumb massaged her clit and dipped down to check her dampness. She gasped and gripped his shirt as the rough penetration of his digit caused electric ripples to pulse out from her center. His mouth claimed hers again, hot and needy. Then, he guided his blunt head into her with his hand. He let go of himself once he was part way in, clasped her bare arse and drove himself deep into her body. She was jerked hard against the wall as he impaled her with a grunt.

His hips bucked against hers again and he made another guttural sound like a beast enjoying a meal. Then, he started rocking against her, pounding her into the wall. The friction was unbearable, delicious - addictive. She spread her legs wide allowing him to penetrate her even deeper. Over and over, he thrust into her almost punishingly but she lapped it up. Soon, she felt a familiar tightening of her loins. Her legs stiffened.

"Oh, Christ, Sherlock, I'm going to come."

"Yes." He thrust.

"Yes." He thrust again.

Sherlock's hand covered her mouth just as she screamed her release. He plunged into her one last time and shuddered. His body twitched against hers as he came. Spent, he removed his hand and his hold relaxed. He let her touch her feet back down to the floor. She bit her lip as his ejaculate ran down her leg.

She'd run out of excuses. She was downright reckless. She'd had sex with him three times without properly considering the consequences and good Lord, she really didn't care. She'd do it a thousand more times if given the opportunity. That's why she needed to get the hell away from him for both their sakes.