Chapter Seven.

Sherlock felt tense, nervous, for perhaps the first time in his life. Moriarty. The name made him choke with...what? Fear? Perhaps. It disgusted him certainly. That someone could so carelessly hurt another human being simply to gain attention was unthinkable to him and yet he admired the man's nerve. The day was cold and the night turned even colder as Sherlock made his way to Bart's, why this hospital always seemed to be at the centre of all his dramas, he couldn't understand. As he approached the austere building, his heart skipped a beat, and not simply because of his impending meeting. He saw her briefly in the window and he closed his eyes to rid himself of the image. Climbing the stairs to the roof, his mind flitted back and forth between the night he had made love to her and what he was about to do. He pushed open the door and strode purposefully through to be greeted by a sinister giggle.
"Was she good?" Moriarty drawled out the last word and sneered as he approached.
"Better than any woman you've ever taken I'm sure."
Moriarty laughed,
"I've never taken anything that didn't truly want to be taken."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow,
"Is that so?"
Moriarty giggled again,
"Do you like my location?" He turned away from Sherlock and swung his arms wide, gesturing across the city, " You can see all the lights of London, twinkling like little bugs - just waiting to be squished."
Sherlock said nothing, it was clear the man was insane, he just wasn't sure how insane.
"Why am I here?" Sherlock was getting bored with this charade. Moriarty turned and scowled.
"I wanted your attention, so I broke your toy."
"You had my attention before Mo...before anyone else was involved."
Moriarty laughed and threw his head back,
"Yes, but I needed you to take me seriously. My business is my business, I don't appreciate busy bodies and I don't take kindly to interfering. This is a warning Sherlock, I'll break more than your bitch if you bother me again."
Sherlock smiled,
"Will you?" He turned and walked back to the door.
"Is that it?" Moriarty shouted, his voice an almost unnatural pitch, "Is that all I get? I practically kill the woman you love and that's it?"
Sherlock turned,
"Who said I loved her?"
"You're Sherlock Holmes! Nothing you do is without meaning."
Sherlock laughed gently,
"I am a man."
"Then you can be killed."
Sherlock walked over to him and stood within inches of his face, in a voice that defied opposition, he looked straight into this madman's eyes and said,
"So can you."
Before Moriarty could reply, Sherlock was gone.

Sherlock shook with anger as he fled into the night, he wanted to kill this man for what he had done to Molly but he knew that would not solve his problem, that Moriarty was only one of a hundred in his organisation and this needed more rational thought and less emotion, but he was emotional and he needed an outlet. Molly. The ward was quiet but he found a way in, Molly had been moved to a private room, she was, after all, staff. He tried the handle and slipped in easily, Molly was asleep. She had come out of the coma and was slowly beginning to heal, her breathing was regular and steady and Sherlock immediately felt calmer. He walked over to her and placed a hand on her cheek. He smiled. She was beautiful. Her eyelids fluttered and she opened them. She smiled when she saw him.
"I knew you'd come." Her voice was hoarse, as if she hadn't used it in a long time. Sherlock bent and kissed her cheek.
"I'm sorry."
She closed her eyes as he kissed her and opened them again.
"I know. I love you Sherlock."
The intensity in her eyes was frightening and Sherlock could do nothing. He bent again and gently brushed his lips across hers.
"I know." He squeezed her hand gently, "Go back to sleep, you're safe now, I'll make sure of it."
Molly nodded and closed her eyes, within seconds she was asleep. Sherlock removed his coat and sat next to the bed, his eyes never left her as she slept and in the morning, as the sun rose, he was gone.