She hadn't thought she had screamed as loud as the neighbors told the police she had, but sitting in the back of the ambulance, waiting for the paramedic to get back to her, she agreed it was probably possible.
Naturally, he was the first one to get there.
He found her outside, clutching a kitchen knife and watching the door intently. How he knew what had happened was beyond her. She had called the police first, and then immediately run outside. However, when he got there, she didn't question it.
"Molly," he said. She didn't respond. Her eyes were kept on the door, her heart fluttering in her chest. Adrenaline had set in and she had no time for distractions.
He reached for the knife but she jerked away.
"Molly," he said, softer this time. The wail of sirens echoed from down the street, and she allowed herself to turn and watch them race down her street. Sherlock took the opportunity to slip the kitchen knife from her hand and pocket it.
Molly turned around, her face falling.
"Sherlock," she whimpered. "They killed my cat."
:::::::
She watched him as he exited her flat. His tall, slim frame stood in stark contrast to the out of shape, short bodies of the police men running in with cameras and kits to dust for prints. They wouldn't find any, she was sure of it. She watched him as he sauntered over to her, his hands in his pockets, and his face stoic as ever.
"I see they've given you the customary shock blanket," he nodded at the bright orange cloth draped around her shoulders. She nodded and pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. Sherlock sighed and sat down next to her, and then reluctantly, drew his arm around her.
Lestrade was next to exit the flat, and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply, and then looked over to the ambulance. His shoulders fell, and he began towards them, stopping in front of them and taking another drag.
"Molly," he said. "How are you holding up?"
"How the hell do you think she's holding up?" Sherlock bit back. "A mad man's just been in her house and killed her pet. I thought you were supposed to have beefed up security?"
"It's been six hours since this thing began, Sherlock," Lestrade groaned. "I haven't had time to return my ex-wife's phone calls, let alone set up new patrols and security measures. Why don't you call your brother?" he took a drag off his cigarette.
"Your ex wife hasn't called you. And will you put that out?" Sherlock gestured to the cigarette.
"Are you serious?" too shocked to ask how he knew about the ex wife lie, he gestured to his cigarette "Last week you practically tackled me to get a whiff of one of these, and now you want me to put it out?"
"It's not for me," his voice was acidic. "Stress causes headaches, and I'm sure the lingering smell of your cigarette isn't helping Molly's head,"
Lestrade dropped the cigarette under his boot. "Sorry about that, Molly."
"It's fine," she said, clutching the blanket around her. "Do you know how he got in?"
"Broken window in your bedroom," Sherlock interjected before Lestrade could answer. "Most likely crawled through looking to find you, and found the cat instead."
Molly dropped her head to her hands. "Oh god," she breathed. It was too much. This morning she was happily running tests on her blood and now she had just narrowly escaped murder.
Sherlock quickly gestured for Lestrade to exit, and bent down to Molly's ear.
"I know this is hard, but stress has been known to cause certain complications with early pregnancies. Please don't worry about what could have happened. I promise-"
"There we are! Sorry about the wait, got caught up helping the dusting team. Alright, love," the American paramedic dropped to Molly's height, looking her in the eye. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Light headedness?"
Molly shook her head quickly. The paramedic smiled. "Well that's good. Any heart conditions I should know about?"
Molly shook her head again, taking in a deep breath. The paramedic reached for her arm.
"Any other medical conditions?"
Although she would never admit it, especially not to Sherlock, Molly had always dreamed of the day she would get to tell people she was pregnant. When she was younger she imagined she would first tell her husband, then her father, as her mother had already passed, and then her friends. The next nine months would be full of telling acquaintances and strangers the happy news.
Never in her wildest dreams did Molly ever think that the second person she would get to tell would be the paramedic checking for her vital signs, in thirty degree weather, as the police investigated her cat's murder in her house.
"Pregnant," she said. The paramedic made eye contact again. "five weeks."
The paramedic gave a toothy grin.
"Well congratulations, Momma!" she looked to Sherlock. "Daddy?"
"Oh, I-" Molly began, before Sherlock cut her off.
"Sperm donor." Sherlock curtly answered. He nodded towards Molly. "Just here taking care of a friend,"
"Oh," the paramedic's voice was noticeably less excited, but she smiled regardless when she turned back to Molly. "Well, congratulations anyway. I've got three boys at home. Handful. Makes me wish I had never left New Mexico for their father sometimes," she started to take Molly's blood pressure. She had just finished when Mycroft's sleek black car came gliding up. Sherlock stood abruptly.
Mycroft made eye contact with his brother immediately, and made a B line towards him. They met in the middle, about three feet away from the ambulance.
"I leave things be for three hours and hell breaks loose," the elder Holmes sighed.
"Oh, please don't be dramatic, Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
Molly's phone buzzed from under her jacket. She fished it out of her pocket and brought it to her face.
MOLLY. IT'S MARY. STOLE JOHN'S SECRET PHONE. HE JUST TOLD ME WHAT HAPPENED. ARE YOU ALRIGHT? – MW
Moly looked up at Sherlock, who was having a low volume yet animated conversation with his brother.
I'M FINE, THANKS. ARE YOU AND JOHN OKAY? – MH
WE'RE SETTLED INTO OUR HIDEY HOLE. CAN'T DISCLOSE. PROBABLY WILL FIND YOU A HOLE TO CRAWL INTO TOO, NOW. –MW
SORRY. THAT SOUNDED PRETTY BLEAK. BLAME IT ON THE HORMONES. PREGNANCY IS AWAFUL, AVOID IT AT ALL COSTS – MW
Molly sighed and closed her phone. When she looked back up, the Holmes brothers were standing in front of her.
"Dr. Hooper," Mycroft breathed. "How are you feeling?"
"Why is everyone asking her that?" Sherlock interjected. "She's got a shock blanket on, of course she's not feeling well,"
Molly ignored him and turned her attention to Mycroft.
"I'm fine, thank you," she said. "Just a little shook up."
"Well that is certainly understandable," Mycroft straightened up, and turned to his brother. "I had hoped we would have more time to relocate you, but considering certain events, I see that we'll have to move ahead,"
Molly's face fell. While it would be insane to argue to stay at her flat, she hadn't fully comprehended that it wouldn't be safe to stay there any longer. She turned to look at her building.
"We hadn't planned on having to house anyone else besides the Watsons, so our resources are much more limited in this regard," Molly turned her attention back. "At the moment we only have one place to offer your for safe keeping,"
"Where?" Sherlock spat out.
Mycroft's face flickered for only a moment, but Molly knew what it meant. It meant that he wasn't going to like his answer.
"Hong Kong," Mycroft answered.
"Hong Kong?! Are you mad?"
"It is the only place-"
"Moriarty has an entire Chinese criminal ring at his disposal. There's a bloody revolution going on-"
"Well what do you want me to do, Sherlock?" Mycroft snapped. "I can't very well inconvenience the entire government to hide away all of your friends." He said the word 'friends' like it meant 'porn collection'.
"Hong Kong is not suitable. Find another place,"
"There is no other place-"
"Find one,"
"Excuse me," Molly interjected, the two men turning towards her. "Do I get a say in this?"
"Dr. Hooper," Mycroft said, in a measured, even tone. "I wish the circumstances were different,"
"The make them different. You have the entire government in your smart phone. If you need more space for the Maps feature, perhaps delete one of those weight loss apps and find Dr. Hooper a place to live that is appropriate for her condition-"
"What condition?!"
Sherlock paused, almost dumbstruck. Molly froze.
"Sherlock…"she breathed.
"You don't know?" Sherlock baited, with a hint of a smile.
"Know-" Mycroft looked to Molly, then to her midsection. Almost instantly, he turned back to Sherlock.
"Oh what did you do?!"
"I thought you'd be tickled," Sherlock said. "After all that 'what do you know about sex' business I thought procreation would be welcome proof-"
"Stop." Mycroft put his hand up. He took a deep breath in and then looked back at his brother. "No one must know."
"Naturally."
"That being said, this is now your problem."
"Excuse me?"
"Like you said, Hong Kong is not a suitable location for Dr. Hooper. Now with you personal," he looked down at Molly, who was starting to feel like a piece of meat. "investment in the doctor, you'll find a place for her. Perhaps in John's old room?" Mycroft pulled out his phone.
"Are you mad? If her condition is found out, the target on her back will only get bigger. Attacking Baker Street will be less of a possibility and more of a guarantee if it meant killing two birds with one stone,"
"More like covering all of our bases," Mycroft flipped put his phone back in his pocket. "The security at your flat will now cover both you and Dr. Hooper, saving us the resources to go after the main concern. I've texted Mrs. Hudson, and she-" his phone beeped "has accepted. I would move tonight, before the reporters get wind of this." He turned to go back to his car, but then thought of something else to say.
"Besides," Mycroft leaned into Sherlock. "Mother would kill me if I sent her long awaited grandchild out of the country."
:::::::::
For the second time that day, Molly found herself trudging up the stairs of 221 Baker Street. Sherlock had volunteered to carry her bags, noticeably lighter now that she no longer needed to bring a cat carrier. Sherlock bumped the door to Johns old room open, and placed Molly's things on the floor. Molly followed in, sweeping the room.
It was big enough; the bed was a full and was already made up, thanks to Mrs. Hudson. There wasn't a window, which was probably for the best. Sherlock flipped on the lamp that stood atop the dresser, and turned to look at her.
"I'll be up early in the morning. I'll try to clean the kitchen up tonight so you can make breakfast in the morning. The bathroom is downstairs, towels should be stocked," he sighed, and looked around the room.
"Sherlock," Molly said, and he turned to her, with raised eyebrows. "Why did you tell Mycroft?"
"I was surprised he didn't already know. He's the 'smart one', after all." Sherlock rolled his eyes. When Molly didn't smile back, he coughed and looked back at her. "Security, especially if it concerns that of his unborn niece or nephew, will be much tighter now, keeping both of you safe. It doesn't matter that I won't be involved in the child's life, he'll want to make sure it's safe. As do I." He added the last part quickly, as if Molly didn't' already believe he cared about the baby's well being. "I also couldn't resist alluding to sex. Forgive me. I do love watching him squirm."
Molly nodded, and looked to the bed. It looked lumpy. She imagined that John had taken his good mattress when he had moved out, and this was the one that was left over from an earlier tenant. She reminded herself that she would have to see about getting her mattress the next day.
"You'll be safe here, Molly," Sherlock said. She turned back up to him, and saw his face. It looked…sweet. Like the day they had solved crimes together, all those months ago. "I promise."
Molly nodded, and smiled back at him. "Thank you," she said, wiped her eyes. "I think, I think I'll lay down now."
"Of course," Sherlock smiled down at her. He made to move towards the door, but paused and leaned down to place a quick kiss on Molly's cheek.
"I'm sorry about Toby,"
"Thank you," Molly said. Another tear slipped out. He reached up and wiped it away before walking to the door. He paused before closing it.
"Goodnight, Molly Hooper."