Thank you to everyone that has favourited and followed, you're all sweet hearts..

Thank you to the guest reviewer, I really do think that they show it in canon, (just enough to tease us with) like I have John say, if this was any other man..

Still nothing, I haven't suddenly acquired the rights.. Wish I had though..

Chapter two

Hi, I'm Stevie, I'm here to help

Sherlock stands deep in thought, mournful notes twist and curl around him, disappearing up into the air like tendrils of smoke. His mind is awash with scenarios, endless super highways of possibilities, travelling in all different directions, weaving in and out, through and under each other, regarding the broadcast.

Whoever was responsible for the broadcast had known Moriarty personally. Had loved Moriarty with an almost unparalleled intensity. Only Molly's love for him rivalled the depth of it, he wondered if Moriarty had done as little he himself had to deserve this kind of worshipful tribute.

This dark love was not identical Molly's though, it was a mirror image, where Molly's love was majestic and self sacrificing, this was twisted and dark, melted from the heat of the flame that is madness. But the underpinnings of it matched, there is nothing this monster wouldn't do to avenge Moriarty's death. Conversely Molly placed no limits on what she would do to save him. The dark and the light, two sides of the same coin, an intense love burning so bright care must be taken not to be consumed in its flames.

The alert sound for his email roused Sherlock from his thoughts. He nestled his Strad carefully in it's box and sat down at his lap-top. Opening his email he frowned, 102 new emails? Scanning quickly he noted they all were video attachments, a fist punched through his stomach, here we go. For once there was no thrill, no buzz at a case to unravel, a mystery to solve, there was only fear, stark and cold.

Unbuttoning his cuffs he folded his sleeves precisely with sharp movements, took a deep breath and opened the first email attachment. It was a CCTV feed of a supermarket, two women were selecting trolleys, each giving their chosen trolley a shake to free it from the line, a man picked up a basket swinging it as he strolled in through the sliding doors. Sherlock's eyes flicked back and forth, cataloging, nothing was off, just a regular day. It appeared to be peak hour based on the busyness and the number of people in various uniforms and work suits. A bomb? A gunman? He growled at the screen in frustration, 1:14 minutes in, What am I looking for?.

A familiar green coat caught his eye, honing in on it, he recognised Mrs Hudson, she grappled with a trolley for a moment, with a final practiced tug she secured it for herself and made her way in through the auto doors muttering under breath and squinting at her notebook. As she drifted round the corner and out of sight the feed faded to black, a burst of static and the view of Mrs Hudson began scrolling again from a different angle on a different camera. She was making her way down the baked goods aisle, stopping to select a loaf while smiling at the chubby gurgling baby riding past in a stroller, trailing it's fingers along anything within reach in its greed for tactile experience. He scrubbed to the end of the feed, she was paying at the till, gathering up her bags as she entreated the cashier to enjoy the rest of his day.

The threat was clear, I can see your loved ones, I can hurt your loved ones whenever I please. Mycroft would have to be called in. His lip turned up in disdain as he pulled his phone from his pocket, there was no choice, he flicked through his contacts, sighed warily and hit send.

"Ah, a phone call, dear brother, I assume this means we have news from our broadcaster? Or have you injured your thumbs?" Mycroft's tone betrayed his smug awareness of Sherlock's need for his help.

Sherlock's voice was crisp, "Mycroft I need your best I.T. specialist to assemble a team, I've received 102 emails showing the whereabouts of my people going about their daily routines, I need to know where they're being sent from!"

"Your people? I wasn't aware you had people Sherlock," Mycroft sniffed, "Have you joined a band brother dear?"

"Mycroft! As you are well aware, the list of people I care for includes Father and Mummy, send me your best man, now," he finished icily.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, "Must you be so dramatic? Anthea has already taken care of it, she picked up the other line when she saw your name, his name is Stevie and he's selecting his team as we speak."

"How do I know I can trust him Mycroft?"

"You can trust me little brother, he's worked for me since before you met John. He will be there within the hour. Don't do anything foolish in the meantime Sherlock? It's rather tiring cleaning up after your little messes."

Sherlock rejected the call and when back to scanning emails, the next showed Lestrade, he skipped past that one, opening another, justifying his decision: Lestrade is a detective for Scotland Yard, if he needs my protection, he should change jobs. The next email showed John, he skipped this one too, not even bothering to find an excuse this time, just thrumming his fingers while he opened another, finally finding what he'd been looking for.

Molly, he hadn't allowed himself to see Molly since his exile - death sentence – waiting in the prison cell, - they had called it 'a temporary arrangement' to soothe Mummy, but it was none the less a cell – he'd had so much time, he had wallowed in time, time stretched and became thin and ragged at the edges. He fell through worm holes in his mind and saw his relationship with Molly stretched out like a ribbon, unfurled carelessly with little regard to his sanity.

It had hurt, watching himself betray her time and again, guarded and cruel, selfish and careless, never noticing her under his boot heel. Oh, if he was any other man who had treated her this way, the joy he would feel hearing the crack of cartridge, feeling the pain in his hand and the corresponding blood dripping, a further dull thud resulting in a cracked cheekbone, a howl as he sent the wicked creature flying, but it was him, he had hurt her, no one else was to blame.

His punishment - her salvation - was for him to stay away, Mind-Palace-Molly was angry about it, echoing of course his deductions on how the real Molly felt his about his absence. No matter, he would do this for her, he was all too aware of his love for her now and loving her meant protecting her from her biggest danger; himself.

Molly was walking home from work, mid afternoon, she'd been on the day shift, her face was half hidden, twisted inward, struggling to control her emotions, She knows she has a detail, why does she walk rather then riding with the agents assigned to her, they can see her Ill concealed tears, they're trained bloody agents! Who does she imagine she's fooling?.

An ache spread from his stomach out through his body, his chest ratcheted tighter and tighter, each breath had to be fought for and won at a cost. His arms gaped, if he could just hold her, it'd make her feel better, she'd always felt better around him, Except when she didn't, a traitorous voice whispered.

Oh, he knew that voice, he'd had time to get used to it, that one and a great many others, a cacophony of voices ripping him apart, he'd had a taste of Moriarty's madness trapped in that room. The voices of the damned, laughing in glee as they deduced his entire his life the way he'd so callously done to others without so much as a thought for their agony.

He lost himself in the sway of her hips, the slight hitch to one side as she walked, her tiny frame almost bouncing, her silken hair streaming out behind her, sunlight lighting fires in her tresses, her woollen jumper gaudy and bright. Plain Molly Hooper, always putting others at ease, unless she wanted something, like a medical degree, or a position as a pathologist, - or him, - then she was tooth and nail, perseverance and glints of steel, it took him years to see any of that, he saw a bumbling girl with a crush, cheery and malleable. He was the bumbling boy now, and she'd grown up.

She remained hunched over with her face tilted down, it was angle that spared his gaze from her eyes, a mercy for which he was truly grateful, while at the same time his fingers were dancing on the desk top, desperation crawled through his veins. Oh, to put two fingers under her chin and tilt her face up just so, reach around with his other hand and pull her hair band loose, her hair a silken waterfall, her eyes shining for him, always for him, he conducted electricity for her in the same way John did for him with his brainwork, but how? How could someone so devoid of love conduct so much of it in such a rare and special creature?

He dreamed about kissing her, lips, shoulders, neck, trailing down the inside of her arms, past the crook of her elbow and over her wrists, feeling the goosebumps surge and feeling her sigh of contentment, kissing every square inch of her, worshipping her, he longed to hear his name spill from her lips breathlessly, while she shivered and writhed in ecstasy.

He sat watching her, mesmerised, floating in a bubble of sweetness, he could all but feel her skin sliding against his palms, soft and warm, her breath shallow.

The door bell was an intrusion, a shot ringing out, he cocked his head, tuning into the sound of Mrs Hudson opening the door and directing Stevie the I.T. Guy to go on up. His tread on the stairs was light, fit, two steps at once, tall, the knock was firm was but not overly loud, confident, handsome. Sherlock turned toward the door, "Well come on then!" He sniped impatiently.

Sherlock assessed him as he crossed the threshold, his deductions were all correct, Stevie was around his own height, late thirties, blonde wavy hair, green eyes, fit, well dressed in a casual 'these jeans cost as much as your rent' look, almost a casual, lighter coloured version of himself, a kind of distorted mirror. He extended his hand to Sherlock, "Hi Mr. Holmes, I'm Stevie, I'm here to help" Just not you.

Sherlock shook his hand and nodded, "Yes," he answered in a business like tone, he gestured to the computer, "There's one hundred and two emails so far, various CCTV feeds that have been capturing my...friend's movements." Voice clipped, detached, he stood back clasping his hands behind his back.

Stevie sat down in front of the lap-top at the screen and saw video feed of Molly pushing through the doors at the canteen in the hospital. His mouth twisted in sympathy, "Oh, poor Molly, she'd hate that, being caught on camera, she was so angry when Mycroft assigned agents to follow her, she equated it to being a kept zoo animal." He looked at Sherlock noting the way his eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth began twitching, he let his travel slowly down and was rewarded with fists clenching and unclenching. He loves her? He's always needed her but this is new, I can use this.

"You know Molly well?" His eyes were sharp, predatory.

He's going to start circling me soon, growl at me, maybe cock a leg. Oh this is good, this is a gift. When she broke it off with Tom I thought I'd lost my chance to hurt him through her, but this, this is perfection. He's not going to watch while his friends all move on, no, he's going to fall in love and be so happy, and then I'm going to kill her, all of them. And he will be me, and madness will lap at his heels until darkness claims him.

Stevie smiled at him, "Well, every girl over the age of thirty needs a gay friend, or a cat, right? Well now she's got both." He laughs self deprecatingly, eyes bright, not missing the almost imperceptible sigh of relief from his nemesis. "It's not my place to say, but she talks about you, she misses you, she think's you're angry with her after the, uh," he pauses, tilting his head to show discomfort, "in the lab?" He lets his lips flatten and his eyes slide in a gesture that displays he is the messenger, no threat at all.

Sherlock ostensibly ignores this and turns the lap-top toward him, "Where are your team?"

"No need for them to traipse through here causing inconvenience to you, your brother has made me aware of the value you place on privacy, so my team are set up in a hotel room, I can send them all the emails from here, they will have the same access, I myself will only need to be for an hour or so, I will set up an email address in your account to forward the emails to us and I'll check if your computer has a key strike program," – while I install my own – and make sure there are no Trojan horses coming in with the emails, and check there is no video surveillance being triggered, I'll also install government issue Malware software.." He bent over typing away furiously, mumbling to himself.

"Tea?" Sherlock asked stiffly, hoping to milk him for information on Molly while he was here.

"Tea? Ah, yeah, ok, chamomile?" Stevie's face was hopeful, a boyish grin he hoped was wide and disarming.

Sherlock's face scrunched in disgust for a micro second before he schooled his features into a friendly smile, "Mrs Hudson may do.. Mrs Hudson, TEA!"

Stevie's eyes swivelled to Sherlock, no wonder Jamie had thought him his twin. He gave him a wide eyed look to convey his fright at such a sudden loud sound, he was careful to not lay it too thick however, he was aware that his brief stint in the army was as visible to the consulting detective as the nose on his face, as was – most likely – the drug use that had led to his dishonourable discharge.

Mrs. Hudson's foot steps were light and bird like on the stairs, "Tea? Sherlock, what about for you too young man? Cake too? Or biscuits?" Sherlock's mouth quirked up at the corner, Mrs. Hudson had always been sucker for a pretty boy.

Stevie turned to her, offering a smile that would do a fair job of out dazzling the sun, "Chamomile?" He pouted a little, "Or am I asking for too much? Probably keeping one of your boyfriends waiting while we speak?" He dropped her a wink and she giggled and flapped her arms in mock protest.

Sherlock stood watching, disgusted, Is he fawning over my pathologist like this? This is unacceptable. Is he sleeping with her? Plenty of gay men sleep with women on occasion, it's not unheard of, and Molly is rather special, I want her and I'm hardly known for it. He could be bi? Hmm.

Mrs. Hudson was heading down the stairs in high spirits, skipping like a school girl under the weight of Stevie's eyes, Stevie turned back to Sherlock. Sherlock channeled his 'Janine personality,' relaxed gait, soft eyes, fluid movements, "So, how did you meet Molly?"

"When you were, erm, away, she came to see Mycroft, she started to have lunch once weekly with Anthea, it was good for both of them, women don't take to Anthea, and Molly struggles because her job puts people off." Stevie's eyes flicked from the lap-top to Sherlock to initiate eye contact as he chatted.

"Where do you fit into that?" Sherlock's smile was so brittle he felt it might crack, his mind offered him a smorgasbord of images of Stevie, - What kind of a name is Stevie anyway? Sounds like a child's nickname, - defiling Molly, tearing his name from her lips, he shuddered, a light cough masked the shudder and he gestured for him to go on.

"Oh, well, I had to see Anthea about clearing a new recruit, Molly invited me to lunch. She's so lovely, and cute as a button, although her clothes are atrocious! We had a lot in common," Such as unrequited love for a consulting genius, "So we arranged to have lunch again, she's really very special, I hate to see her alone, I've been encouraging her to date." Stevie turned back to his work humming, leaving the detective to let that idea roll around in his head.

Thereafter silence followed between the two men, with the exception of Mrs. Hudson buzzing around with the tea things. Sherlock was reviewing his options in his head and questioning his decision to stay away from Molly, if staying away put her in more danger than he would need to reassess his plan. Between the footage and having Blondie here encouraging her to date. He desperately needed to access his mind palace but could not until he was alone, he settled for yelling at Mycroft via text demanding answers as to why this Stevie character had been allowed to hang around Molly.

Stevie finished installing his programs and forwarding the emails, - diligently getting the work done, he had no need to forward them at all, seeing as he was responsible for them, but he remained vigilant, this was no ordinary man, this was the monster who had broken his Jamie.- He would need to reunite the detective with Molly, and in order to do so he would need to create a catalyst, ideas flowed through his mind, violent, painful fantasies. He settled on a straight forward easily achieved plan that could be arranged for when sweet Molly finished her shift this evening.

I know you're wanting to see Sherlock and Molly together, that will happen in the next chapter. I am about to format it now (around my two year old's demands and I will post it as soon as it's ready, which will be today, hopeful very soon.