Shit Shot

Bloody hell is it cold!

Molly was shivering. Not only because of the earlier conversation but also because of the fact that this house barely held in any heat. There was a fire going, but it still had yet to warm their bedroom.

Sherlock was sitting in one of the chairs nearby the fireplace, the light of the flickering flames dancing upon his cheekbones. His fingers were steepled beneath his chin, his eyes were closed. Molly was sifting through her suitcase, looking for her pyjamas.

"When this is all over and done with you are taking me somewhere warm and tropical Sherlock Holmes!"

"Mmmm. All right."

She straightened quickly, surprised to have gotten a response from him. His eyes were still closed. I'll make certain to hold you to that! She went and changed in the bathroom and brushed her teeth. When she walked out back into the bedroom, Sherlock was stretched out on the bed leaning against the headboard with his laptop perched on his legs. He had also changed into his pyjamas.

Climbing up on to the bed, it was rather high for her, she fluffed up her pillow and grabbed the novel she had placed earlier on the nightstand. She quickly covered herself with the sheet and blanket; Sherlock was laying on top of them. Letting out a satisfied sigh, she was already beginning to feel warmer; she curled herself in to him before opening up her book. He shifted his arm suddenly, moving it so that it was around her shoulders her head coming to rest near his rib cage. She hid her smile behind her book as he continued to tap away at his laptop with his other hand. He brought up the CCTV footage, watching it closely.

"He's telling me something. These places are important, but why?"

Molly lifted her eyes from her book, ignoring the footage and instead looking up at Sherlock. He looked annoyed, frustrated.

"Why Scotland?"

His gaze shifted to her, "What?"

"Why Scotland? Why are we here? Why didn't we just go to a Safe House somewhere in London?"

He huffed, "Mycroft. He wants to lure Brook out of London. Apparently keeping the Commonwealth safe is important." He shrugged as he finished saying this.

Molly rolled her eyes, "And what about the rest of England?"

"Mmmm … I suppose them as well."

Letting out a soft sigh she returned to her book and he to tapping away at his laptop. A half hour passed and Molly's eyes were starting to droop closed. She sat up, putting the book back on the night stand; Sherlock's arm having fallen down to her waist from her movements. She moved to get off the bed.

"Where are you going?"

She turned and looked and him, "Just to the loo. I'll be right back."

"Do. Your presence helps me think."

Smiling slightly she hurried off to the bathroom wondering to herself, why did it have to be that Moriarty and Brook were what brought us together?

Returning to the bed she curled herself back into Sherlock, grateful for the warmth of him. He put his arm about her again. Just as she is about to drift off his voice awakened her. She should probably be annoyed by this fact, but she isn't.

"Molly, have you ever shot a fire arm?"

"Uhhhmmmm … no."

"Hmm … I'll have to teach you then. If you insist on staying by my side then you need to know how to defend yourself. We'll start tomorrow. Go to sleep now, I'll wake you in the morning."

"All right."

The sound of shots fired echoed around them. Not a single bullet had hit the desired target.

"Just say it Sherlock. I am a complete and utter shit shot."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I think I would use a better choice of words than that. Honestly Molly."

"It's no use. I'm horrible at this. I'm much more accustomed to working with something far more slight in my hands, like a scalpel."

They are surrounded by a cloud of fog, the target now no longer visible. The fog shifted, filled with shadows that caused Molly to shiver.

I swear this place is haunted!

"Have you ever thrown a knife?"

Molly looked at Sherlock, "No. I used to play darts when I was in uni though. I was quite good."

Sherlock walked over to the table where a variety of weapons are laid out. He picked up a knife that is sleek and small, easy to conceal, "Come here." He beckoned to her. Taking her hand in his he placed the knife carefully against her palm, "Hold it like this, treat it as if you are holding a dart." The fog shifted again, giving them a clear view of the target. She can feel the warmth of his body as he pressed himself into the back of her, "Now throw." His voice is low, directly against her ear.

She threw the knife, it hitting the bull's eye directly.

"I think we've found your weapon of choice."

For the next hour Sherlock worked with her, showing her a variety of moves to fight with. She's hesitant at first, afraid she'll hurt him, but he tells her that she needn't be worried. She is a doctor, she'll be able to stitch him up fine, if need be.

Perhaps I'm not the only one who shouldn't joke.

As they walked back into the house John motioned to them, "Mycroft has found something." They hurried into the dining room. Up on the projector screen is an image. Spray painted onto the walls of an old factory building are the words, "I'm ready tO come oUt and play."

Sherlock stared at it, taking it all in, "I O U. The same message again. Where is this?"

The same pinched look appeared on Mycroft's face, "I don't know. Yet. He sent it on the same server that he released the video on."

Sherlock let out a growl of annoyance. John stood with his hands in his pockets not entirely sure of what to say or do. Molly felt the same way. Sherlock approached the screen analyzing every section of the image.

"There must be something more here. There has to be. He wants us to find him. I am sure of it. He won't hide for much longer. Hiding is boring. He'll make his move soon."