Chapter 5

Michael glanced sideways at Sherlock as he drove towards the Interstate and decided to steer towards Richmond. Sherlock had disappeared into his 'mind palace' since he'd received the text regarding the murder of O'Neill. Michael pondered it worriedly too. It was out of character for a man who had only ever killed on commission. His whole 'method of operation' seemed to have gone out the window. Diverting from a mission to extract revenge was totally out of character for him, based on all the intelligence they had on the man to date. Sherlock obviously thought the same thing.

Michael figured that Sherlock's return 'from the dead' had probably set him off, realising that he'd been had, and perhaps Moran had even assumed that Sherlock had killed Jim Moriarty on the roof of that London hospital before supposedly jumping to his death. Sherlock's triumphant return, large as life, may have triggered something in him that Sinead Moriarty had been able to suppress for a time, with her own plans to inflict maximum emotional pain on Sherlock Holmes.

'Poor Molly,' Michael thought, not for the first time; to be the focus of two murderous psychopaths in as many months. He set his jaw determinedly. He was wise enough to know that he was personally involved now, both with this case and with this gifted man in the car beside him. He'd begun to consider Sherlock Holmes a friend. The fact that both of the killers were Irish bothered him too. He took that personally, and he knew that Aoife Quinn did too.

She'd paved the way for him to be in America, through her role in the Irish Government, and also through her personal relationship with 'the British Government', otherwise known as Mycroft Holmes. The resources and power between those two was formidable and very bloody convenient. He sighed to himself. A sniper was tricky though. He'd have to be baited and trapped. It was the best way to catch him. How to do that, he'd leave to Sherlock.

Twenty minutes later and Sherlock popped his eyes open. Noting the route, he turned and grinned at Michael. Michael laughed back at him. "Quantico then?" Smiling broadly; Sherlock nodded.

"He'll figure out where she is very quickly. It will take him minimum four days, and maximum a week, to break through the security at Quantico and get to her. He's after us too now, so the safest place for us both to be is ensconced with the FBI for a couple of days, instead of holed up in some motel where we're more vulnerable. He's an expert sniper and snipers are tricky to catch, but you know that, don't you?"

Sherlock smirked at him then. "We're nearing the end game now Michael. I'll arrange with Mycroft to move Molly back to London as soon as possible. She can stay with him until Moran is stopped. His house is as secure as Fort Knox. Would you like to return to Ireland now, or see it out here?"

"Go home at this point in the game? Are you mad? Not a chance my friend!" Sherlock cleared his throat and pressed his lips together thoughtfully.

"I'd be glad to have you stay." He paused, and then soldiered on, deciding it had to be said. "You know Michael, I once told John I didn't have 'friends', that I just had one. I believe that number may have doubled now." Michael smiled, genuinely touched, because he knew that wasn't easily said.

"I can see why they call you a genius so!" and Sherlock laughed, and taking out his phone, he called Mycroft. He expected an argument, but his brother, once again, had pre-empted his decision and concurred. He told him that the Assistant Director was expecting them both, and where to pick up his next disguise and cover credentials so they'd 'blend in' and not draw too much attention to themselves, adding, "Molly can thank me later."

"About that Mycroft. Make sure she's not informed. I want to surprise her."

"Of course Sherlock." Mycroft replied, and then said "You have a plan, I know. Should I hazard a guess?" Sherlock laughed; genuinely amused.

"You already know Mycroft! Give her what she needs and put her on the plane."

"John won't be happy Sherlock, and I do have other female agents..."

"No, it has to be Mary. She's the best and I trust her. John will understand."

"If you say so." Mycroft knew to leave it at that.

"You have thirty six hours Sherlock. Give my love to Molly."

"Yes. Thank you Mycroft." His brother chuckled and hung up. Then Sherlock called John and Mary Watson.

Three hours later Molly Hooper sat down at the side of her bed and wrinkled her nose in curiosity. Sheila had just called and cancelled meeting her for their morning run. She sounded distinctly odd too, almost as if she were happy about it. Molly was disappointed though. She was quite lonely here really. Everyone was very nice but she missed her friends and her life, and Sherlock most of all. Perhaps she was too reliant on Sheila for companionship, she thought, but she was a lovely person and they got on well. She sighed sadly and leaned down to tie her lace.

"Sorry your friend cancelled, Molly. Will I do instead?" Molly's heart felt like it exploded in her chest. She gasped and swung around to see a cocky, and very sexy looking Sherlock Holmes, dressed, head to toe, in a US Navy uniform, arms crossed, and leaning a shoulder nonchalantly against the doorframe of her bedroom.

"Sherlock! Oh My God!"

She jumped to her feet, stepped up on her bed and ran straight across it, because it was the quickest route to him. Sherlock's heart raced as he watched her hurtling towards him; big dimpled smile, and her eyes dancing with joy at the sight of him, and he laughed and opened his arms out to her. Molly leapt off the bed, straight into them.

He hauled her hard against him, lifting her, and she clamped her arms and legs around him and hugged him tightly to her, burying her face into his neck and breathing him in.

"Oh Sherlock!"

He reached a hand up and, tugging out her hair-tie, he tossed it away and raked his fingers through her hair, then gripping it gently, he tugged her head back and gazed at her beloved face. He scanned her features and then smiled so widely at her that his whole face crinkled handsomely, in the way she adored, and she beamed back at him, cupping him by the sides of his head.

"Hello Molly."

They grinned happily at each other and then she leaned in, and closing her eyes, she kissed him passionately. He returned her kiss and groaned into her mouth, coaxing it open, and delving into it. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest, and he just kept on kissing her hungrily; he'd missed her so damned much.

Molly reached up and grabbing the white, flat peaked navy cap off his head, she tossed it on the floor. Reaching to grip his missing curls her fingers stilled and she pulled her head back to look at him. She tilted her head to the side, scrutinising his auburn 'do' and then ran her fingers through the wavy length at the top of his head. She smirked and raised her brows in approval at him and he laughed and reclaimed her mouth, pulling her body even more tightly against him.

He kissed her until he was out of breath and then swinging her around, he sat on the bed, with her legs still straddling him, because he wanted to touch more of her. Sherlock gripped her face and tilted her backwards slightly, to look at her again. Her fingers were entwined at the back of his neck and he ran his hands along her arms, and across her shoulders, then down her back and up her sides, brushing her breasts fleetingly, and she shuddered in response.

He smirked at her, and then tantalisingly slowly, he reached the zipper of her black fitted sports top and tugged it slowly down until it opened completely. Then he ran his hands under it, retracing the journey they'd just made. Reaching her shoulders he pulled the jacket down and tugged it until it peeled down her arms and dropped to the floor. She was wearing a tight vest sports top underneath. He raised an approving eyebrow at her and she giggled at him.

"Excellent bicep development Molly," he murmured, running his hands up from her wrists to her shoulders. She leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek with her own and then whispered in his ear, a tad breathlessly,

"I told you Sherlock, I'm all toned up. You should see the rest of me.."

"Oh I fully bloody intend to Molly Hooper. Now, arms up!" and she laughed throatily and raised them swiftly, and he swept her T-shirt over her head. He gazed lustily at her, sitting on his lap, in just her black sports bra and tight running leggings and reached for her but she grinned and grabbed his hands, stalling him.

*Ah ah!, it's my turn now Sherlock Holmes, let me look at you." He groaned in protest and she grinned mischievously at him. She ran her hands along the shoulders of his dress uniform, and then opened the buttons all the way down, revealing his shirt, and she giggled and popped her eyes widely at him. "Well, there's one fantasy to tick off the list, you in uniform...," and he laughed at her boldness. She pulled his jacket off and opened his shirt, stroking her hands along his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her core tightly up against him and opening the cuffs behind her back, he shrugged his shirt off.

"My turn now Molly," he growled and flicking open her bra, he pulled it down her arms, and it joined his shirt on the bedroom floor. He ran his thumbs across both her nipples and then tilting her backwards, he bent down to claim her breasts with his mouth. Molly moaned in his arms and he could feel her heart racing as she reached to grip his head tightly to her. As he kissed and stroked her, sucking a nipple into his mouth, Molly felt a rush of emotion that almost overwhelmed her.

"Oh my God Sherlock, I've missed you so much," she whispered brokenly to him, and he pulled his head up and saw the tears pooling in her eyes. He smiled gently at her and guiding her face down, he kissed her eyelids softly, and she smiled. He held her face tenderly in his hands as she gripped his arms.

"I know my darling, I've missed you badly too. Are you alright?" She nodded tentatively, but her bottom lip trembled and she tugged at it with her teeth.

"It's just..., I just.., I mean, can you just hold me for a minute please?"

He smiled lovingly at her, and lifting her off him, he sat her on the bed and tugged her runners off her feet, toeing his own shoes off at the same time. Grabbing a throw off her bed, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the living room. He sat in her deep armchair, with her across his lap, and wrapped the throw around the two of them. Then he pulled her into his chest and she nestled against him and wrapped her arm up around his shoulder. Sherlock kissed the crown of her head and then, tucking it under his chin, he held her tightly against him for long minutes.

As he held her to him, he crooned to her comfortingly, telling her he loved her, and that this was nearly over, and she could go back to London really soon, where his family were waiting to take care of her, "your family too now Molly," and then they'd go back to Ireland for their break together, that they'd both looked forward so much to, and that they had all day and night together now, and that afterwards, they had the rest of their lives.

As he felt her settle in his arms, he felt something settle in his own heart too, as if its balance was recalibrating and restoring itself. Then Molly reached up to him and kissed him and stroked him, and the heat and passion surged between them again. Brushing her lips under his ear, she reached down and stroked him through his trousers, and then she whispered to him, "I want you Sherlock, can we go to bed now please?" He tilted her head to him and kissing her deeply again, he lifted her with him as he stood up. She straddled his hips again, the way he loved, because it was so instinctive to her, and as she kissed into his neck, he carried her back into the bedroom, leaving the throw behind them on the chair.