For the next two months, life at 221B Baker Street remained fairly routine. Whenever Molly went to work, Sherlock did his own research and crime solving, unless she came home in time to help him. Sometimes he'd go with her to conduct experiments in the lab. She'd lost all nervousness around him, not minding the close quarters or the feeling of his eyes on her. She was stealing glances too.
And then there were the rare times when neither had anywhere to be. Sherlock went three weeks without touching cigarettes before realizing it; Molly being there was enough to distract him from the boredom between cases. He even looked forward to the evenings when the cold wind howled outside and all there was to do was stay in, put a fire on the grate, and curl up on the sofa.
"My dear Molly, I fear you may have domesticated me," Sherlock said on one such night, a touch of remorse in his voice.
"Impossible. You're still as wild as you ever were." Molly giggled as his lips worked at her earlobe.
Suddenly, Sherlock's phone started ringing. He grumbled about interruptions and reached for it. 'Mycroft' was flashing on the screen.
"You might as well answer it," Molly said.
"I'm sure it can wait till tomorrow morning." Sherlock put the mobile down and went to kiss her neck, but she pulled away.
"He's your brother, Sherlock. Answer it."
Sherlock sighed and hit the answer button. "I'm very busy with important…business right now, Mycroft. What could you possibly want?"
There was a moment of silence as Sherlock listened to what Mycroft had to say. His expression slowly grew grim, and his body tensed.
"Understood. No, I can handle this. Yes, I am aware of the danger. He'll expect me to do that. Thank you for letting me know, Mycroft." Sherlock abruptly hung up and jumped to his feet.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Molly asked.
"We're leaving as soon as possible. Gather the necessities; we may be gone for a while," Sherlock replied.
"What? Why?"
"Victor Bliss escaped from prison, and he's out for revenge. According to Mycroft, he has a criminal network in the U.K. that is far more intricate than we anticipated." Sherlock hauled two rucksacks out of the coat closet and began throwing their belongings in them.
"And Mycroft wanted us to go to him for refuge, didn't he?"
"Of course he did. But that's exactly what he'd be expecting. We can't go to John and Mary either."
Molly got up and began to help. "So we're just going to run away? That's not your style."
"This is different." Sherlock slid a bundle of folded pound notes into his rucksack. "Mycroft is utilizing his access to the powers that be in an effort to recapture Bliss, but in the meantime, we need to make ourselves scarce."
"Where are we going?"
"I'm not sure yet. A night spent here and there at random to throw him off our scent, at least at first."
"Sherlock, you wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for me." Molly put a hand on his arm. "I'm not worried about Victor."
"I know." Sherlock stopped for a moment and locked eyes with her, and Molly suddenly realized that he was afraid. Not for his own life; he'd never cared much for its preservation, at least when it conflicted with his work. He was afraid of what might happen to her.
Molly stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him. "Alright. Let's go."
It was the middle of the night, and the October air was nippy, already promising a bitter winter. Molly pulled her pea coat closer as she and Sherlock descended the fire escape behind their flat. Regardless of the situation, she couldn't help feeling a sense of excitement as they tried not to make a sound. It was like they were going on another secret case, and the stakes were as high as ever.
Sherlock surveyed the street when they got to the end of the alley. Baker Street had never been quieter, but that didn't mean there wasn't someone lurking in the shadows. "We'll go through the alleys," he whispered. Molly followed him into the maze that wound behind flats, shops, and restaurants, dodging a dumpster here and there.
Without warning, there was a loud bang, and something whizzed past Molly's head. Sherlock cursed and grabbed her hand, tearing off in a different direction. Bullets ricocheted off the brick and wood around them, and Sherlock had to keep altering their course to avoid them.
At one point they reached a dimly-lit street lined with cars. Sherlock tried every car door until he found one that was unlocked. He all but tossed Molly into the passenger seat and then reached under the steering wheel, fiddling with a bundle of wires. One of the rear passenger windows shattered.
"Stay down!" Sherlock shouted.
Molly shimmied down in the seat. "They knew you'd take the back way."
"Probably had men stationed at the front and the back, for good measure. I'd venture to say that they did their research." There was a spark, and the Volvo roared to life. Sherlock shifted into drive and floored the gas pedal. They shot off down the street and around the corner, losing the lefthand mirror to a bullet before they were out of range. Fortunately the tires stayed intact.
Molly's heart was pounding. She felt dizzy all of a sudden, and sick to her stomach. It looked like the beef stew they'd had for supper wasn't sitting well with all this action. They were racing down the dark London streets, and it was fortunate that they didn't pass any patrol cars. Soon they were traveling through the suburbs.
"We'll have to get rid of this car soon. They'll be looking for it," Sherlock said. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Just a little carsick," Molly said. "Are we going to carjack again? We don't need the police after us too."
"I sent a text to Mycroft before we left. He has a car waiting for us two miles from here. I'd planned to get there via night bus, but that unexpected development with the gunmen is putting us ahead of schedule." Sherlock drove down a dirt track, and the Volvo bounced over the ruts despite his dramatic decrease in the speed. Molly was surprised by the care he was taking, but then again, they did have extra time.
The road dead-ended at an old dilapidated barn. There was nothing around for miles except rolling hills, trees, and sleepy farmhouses. Sherlock pulled around the back of the barn and killed the engine. They got out and sat down on a broken piece of farm equipment, waiting for the car from Mycroft to show up.
"How are you feeling now?" Sherlock asked, putting his arm around Molly to ward off the cold.
"Better," Molly replied. The nausea had passed for the most part, but now she just wanted to go to sleep. Her eyelids were starting to droop.
Headlights appeared on the road, heading towards them. Sherlock stood up to meet the vehicle, turning up his collar against the wind. As it got closer, they saw that it was two vehicles, a black Bentley and a rusted Land Rover at least fifteen years old. The driver of the Land Rover got out and walked over.
"A bit conspicuous, bringing your Bentley," Sherlock said.
"We weren't followed, if that's what you're worried about. Honestly, I still stand by what I said about coming under my protection," Mycroft said.
"Gunmen were lying in wait for us outside our flat, Mycroft. We took the back alleys and were still shot at. Whoever Victor hired to kill us knows what they're doing," Sherlock said. "I know how to disappear; I've done it before."
"It's a bit easier when everyone thinks you're dead. And this time you have Molly with you."
"I can handle this. The best way you can help is making sure Victor and his cohorts are thrown into prison. Molly and I will be fine."
Mycroft sighed. "Always the stubborn one. But you're a big boy now, so I suppose I can't stop you. The Land Rover may not look like much, but it's in peak mechanical condition. And the windows are bullet resistant." Mycroft handed Sherlock the key.
"It will do." Sherlock began to walk away.
"Oh, and Sherlock…"
Sherlock turned, and Mycroft handed him a Glock G19. "Don't do anything stupid. You're responsible for her life now."
"Believe me, I'm the last person who needs reminding," Sherlock said, sliding the pistol into his inside coat pocket. "Come along, Molly." He opened the passenger door of the Land Rover for her.
"Take care, Mycroft," Molly said.
"You as well, sister-in-law," Mycroft said, tipping an imaginary hat.
Molly smiled and got into the car. Sherlock shut the door, nodded in his brother's direction to convey his thanks, and got into the driver's seat. The Land Rover puttered off down the road seconds later.
Mycroft got into the backseat of his Bentley. "Never thought I'd have a sister-in-law through him. I quite enjoy it," He said to his assistant, who was busy typing on her phone and seemed completely unfazed by the situation. "Let's just hope I still have one when this nasty business is over and done with."