Sherlock gave a shout of anger and hurled his phone across the living room of 221b. It landed on his chair, the screen still showing Molly's tear-stained, sleeping face. Sherlock reluctantly went to pick it up, and scrolled to the second text Moriarty had sent. A video. The thumbnail was Molly's face again, crumpled in fear and sadness, her fist clenched so tight in the thin white sheet that covered her that her knuckles were white. Sherlock took a deep breath. Then he pressed play.

At first, Molly simply lay there, unmoving, as though she was dead. Sherlock could see a fresh cut on her cheek, and a low growl built in his throat. Moriarty did that, he hurt Molly. He would pay. A quiet whimper drew his attention away from thoughts of revenge, and back to the Molly on the screen, biting her lip and whimpering as she slept. Her eyes screwed up and she began jerking about, as if she was fighting some monster unseen to Sherlock. Her scared voice picked up its volume, and she began to mumble. Sherlock forced himself to concentrate on her words. They could help him find her.

"Sher- Sherlock please. I can't see. Help me Sherlock, please, help me. Moriarty, no. No, no, no, please don't- don't touch me, get away! Sherlock, please help! He's going to- he's hurting me! Please!"

Sherlock's stomach tightened as he listened to Molly's fearful mumbles. Please, he thought please let what she's saying be part of her dream. Please don't let Moriarty have touched her. Please. The video ended, and Sherlock itched for a cigarette. He went to his room, intending to pull the pack he kept hidden from behind his headboard and light one up, but he stopped himself in the doorway to his bedroom. Molly wouldn't want him to smoke. Clenching his jaw, he walked back out into the living room.

This is my fault. If I hadn't asked her to help me, he wouldn't have taken her. She would be safe. My fault, for asking her. My fault for getting her involved. My fault. My fault. My fault… he thought to himself as he made up his mind of what he would do next. His phone beeped with a text from Danni, and confirmed his plan.

"I know where you are now, Moriarty. I will find you. So help me, if you touch her, I will kill you." He said aloud, though no one was there to hear him. He whisked out of the flat, grabbing his Belstaff coat and the scarf Molly had given him for Christmas as he went.

…

When I woke up, the bed beside me was cold and empty, and I breathed a shaky sigh of relief. I had been shaken with nightmares during the night, and Moriarty had simply traced the circles on my wrist again until I had fallen back into fitful sleep. I sat up in the luxurious bed, and glanced around the room. With a jolt of hope, I noticed his phone left on the bedside table. I grabbed it and immediately dialled Sherlock's number, the ringing as I waited almost unbearable as I longed for his voice. He picked up the phone, but stone cold silence met my hearing. Then I realized. This was Moriarty's phone, he was expecting Moriarty. I let out a shaky laugh that sounded like a scared gasp, and Sherlock realized who had called him.

"Molly?" Relief flooded through me as his voice filled my ears. I gave a sob of thankfulness, and Sherlock's voice tensed.

"Molly, are you okay?" he asked, and I told myself the concern in his voice was for himself, wondering if he had lost a helpful acquaintance.

"Sher- Sherlock." I stammered, too shaken by the situation to speak clearly.

"I'm here, Molly." I closed my eyes and listened to his beautiful baritone as it washed over me in a calming wave.

"Sherlock, he's-" I began, but was cut off.

"Did he hurt you? Is he there? Is this him making you call me, Molly? Molly?" he questioned, and I took another nervous glance around the room. Still empty.

"He's not here, he left his phone, I just… I needed to…" I took a shallow, uneven breath and let everything I needed to tell him tumble out of my mouth.

"Oh Sherlock, I miss you, and I'm sorry I got you involved in all this. I shouldn't have called you, I don't want you to endanger yourself by trying to find me, I just… I just wanted to hear your voice." I mumbled, then added, "Since it's probably the last chance I'll have to talk to you." In a bad attempt at humour to lighten the conversation. Sherlock sighed into his phone, and the sound put a splinter in my heart.

"Molly, listen to me. Don't tell me you're sorry, and don't tell me not to find you. You didn't get me involved in this, because if it wasn't for me you wouldn't be with him now, and you wouldn't be in danger. You know I will do everything I can to find you and bring you home safe- Molly, are you crying?" He asked, cutting himself off.

I sniffled, trying to stop the flow of wetness down my cheeks. My tears had spilled over as he spoke, and at his promise to save me, I had let out a small, hopeless sob. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and took a deep breath before answering.

"Sorry, Sherlock. I know, crying won't help. Please, don't get hurt trying to find me, I wouldn't forgive myself for it. I'm- I'm scared. I can't get away, even if I wasn't locked in all the time, and he keeps insisting I do stuff and it's scaring me. I know I said not to come for me, but… please help me, Sherlock, I need you." I mumbled into the mouthpiece, sniffing occasionally.

"Molly, I swear, I'll find you. Don't-" Sherlock was still talking, reassuring me, but I had let the phone slip from my grasp. A light cough from the doorway behind me had me spinning round to see Moriarty stood in the doorway. His face was grim, and the black glint was back in his eyes. I scrambled to pick up the phone again, to tell Sherlock I loved him before Moriarty took away my contact with him, but Moriarty was faster, and grabbed my broken ankle from where I had stretched it out on the bed, yanking it towards him and making me scream in pain. He walked around the bed and picked up the phone, frowning at me as he put it to his ear.

"If you so much as touch her, I will find you, and I will-" I heard Sherlock threaten, until Moriarty broke in and cut him off.

"You'll what, kill me? Now, now Sherlock, killing me will do nothing for your little pathologist here, now will it? Speaking of which, Molly has been rather naughty, haven't you, Moll? I told you I would be nice if you behaved. I suppose the time for being nice has ended now, hasn't it? Pity. I was beginning to enjoy watching you. Well Sherlock, its been fun, but I have some punishments to give out, and Molly's not going to lock herself up, is she? Bye-bye!" he called over Sherlock as he shouted for my release. Them he dropped the phone, grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me to standing, forcing me to walk on my bad leg as he dragged me out to the elevator and pressed the button for the basement level.