Woo hoo, got it done, *wipes forehead agressively* phew, so this one is the last one of this fic I have ready.. (If you're reading Scrummy there is a sweet follow up fic set 18 months after it ends, that I will post today or tomorrow too..)

So after this chapter I need to back to the drawing board and write more.. I have it planned out but it's a matter if stringing the words together in the right way.. Also I do not have a beta so I'm solo and re edits take a while.. I'll try my best to make it weekly updates though..

Chapter three

You broke my heart Sherlock

Molly made her way out of Barts, twining her scarf around her neck and up over her nose against the blistering cold, she hunched her shoulders and walked against the wind, she could feel Frick and Frack's eyes upon her courtesy of Mycroft and Sherlock.

Sherlock, god she missed him, he had refused to see her after he got sent away, so the last time she had seen him he was unconscious in a hospital bed, and the last time he had seen her she had slapped him repeatedly, hard.

She could only suppose that he couldn't forgive her for lashing out against his bad behaviour. For her part, she stood by it, he had needed a wake up call and no one else seemed to be capable for the task, but it hurt so badly to be cut off. Her life had become a pale imitation, a photocopy of a photocopy, a dull reflection of her life with him in it..

She knew all about the exile, - death sentence – she could read Anthea well enough to have picked up that, the pity in her eyes had been excruciating. He had decreed that she was not to come and he wouldn't take her calls and her letters were returned unopened. Mycroft had sent an impersonal protection squadafter the broadcast, she assumed at his behest, she supposed he thought he owed her at least that much, but he'd washed his hands of her.

Tears began welling up again, Come on Molly, came her fathers voice, You don't know what's going on his head love.

I know I haven't seen him, I know everyone else got a goodbye, they were all taken out there one by one, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, John and Mary, they went several times, but he didn't want me. I called him out and that was that, I guess he preferred Mousy Molly, although I wouldn't have thought so after Irene Adler and Janine Hawkins, but then, they were women in his eyes. I was an asset, a handy tool whose notions of her own importance inflated to a level beyond acceptable.

Molly spent the subway ride home and the short walk after lost in her thoughts, secure in the knowledge that the hired goons would be her eyes and ears, Is this how men feel? Not having to vary your route, no panicking about accidental eye contact, heavy footsteps echoing on the pavement behind a simple acoustic sound, not a reason for fear.

Molly sighed as she made it to her door, she stood back to allow the goons entrance while she waited outside and they did their mandatory checks. She didn't really think badly of them, she was actually grateful for their risk in protecting her, but her frustration and loneliness had to go somewhere, and - mentally at least – they were on the receiving end.

Outwardly Molly was polite and pleasant, - if a little impatient - once they were done she had big plans, slipping into her pyjamas and having a glass of wine while she had a good cry followed by a soak in the tub while she read some Jane Austen, - comfort reading at it's best.

She broke from her reverie wondering why she hadn't been ushered in, listening she realised that frantic calls were being made. Hearing Mycroft and Sherlock's names she decided it was time she found out what exactly the drama was, sucking in a breath and steeling herself, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She took a moment to let her eyes adjust, then her mouth dropped, slack with fright, her darling little flat had been trashed, utterly ripped up. The apple covered curtains were shredded, her sunny yellow couch had been ripped through and the stuffing pulled up, it was all broken and mangled.

Trembling and confused she walked with unsteady, jerky movements through to her bedroom calling softly to Toby. She paused in her bedroom door, no sign of Toby, only wall to wall blood. She sunk to the floor, calling hoarsely, "Toby, Toby," feeling a hand on her shoulder she screamed.

Heart pounding, Molly realised it was one of the agents, the shorter, rounder one, he looked like a family man, a man accustomed to gentleness, he was cradling Toby in his arms. "Miss? I've got him, it's okay miss, they're coming now, they'e on their way," he soothed, gingerly he held Toby out, careful to keep his movements slow and gentle so as not to spook.

Molly sat with Toby held tight, he seemed to crave the comfort as much as she needed to give it. She whispered sweet nothings to him, stroking his smooth fur in a soothing manner, his purr a balm for her soul. Shock rendered time obsolete, two minutes, - Hours? Days? - later a change filtered into her consciousness slowly, noise was coming from the door, a voice raised in anger, another in supplication.

Molly shrank down in on herself, digging her heels into the floor she scrabbled back, scooting along until her back hit the solid wall, her goal the corner, tucking Toby under her coat she waited, straining to hear. Eyes wide and alert, flicking over every object within reach, assessing and subsequently discarding each as a viable weapon, finally her gaze landed on a decorative letter opener that had been her grandmother's.

She stretched her leg out carefully and scuffed at it with her foot, finally gaining some purchase she drew her foot back slowly, cursing when it caught on the carpet, she froze realising that there was silence outside her bedroom, her leg remained stretched out, foot hovering, lowering her foot slowly and silently she waited.

A dark shadow appeared in the door way, she whimpered aloud as the shape took form, revealing itself to be a man, a very tall man, "Molly," her name little more than a breath, an anguished breath.

My mind is clearly playing tricks on me, that sounds like Sherlock, well, how he would sound if he was terrified. The figure was advancing toward her, she winced and turned her head, a sob involuntarily falling from her throat, a pitiful sound.

Sherlock crouched in front of her, Belstaff pooling around him, "Molly, it's me, you're safe now, no one going to hurt you." His gaze took her in, drank her in, checking for wounds or any signs of physical harm, but also just revealing in her nearness. Her stripey scarf clashing with her jumper and her baggy plain khaki pants just so Molly that he couldn't help a sigh and a smile at the sight.

Molly's brow was furrowed in confusion, "Sherlock? Did I fall asleep?" Her time becoming desperate, "You can't be here, you don't want me any more, you think I let you down, you think I wasn't on your side!" Tears are falling freely now, great racking sobs shuddering through her chest.

Sherlock's head dropped in shame, "Oh Molly, no, no, I never thought that, not for one minute, I was trying to protect you from me." Sherlock's eyes were dewy, guilt onward at him, he always made her feel bad.

Molly scrambled up from the floor still holding Toby tight against her chest, "No! You don't get to leave me behind to protect me, you broke my heart Sherlock." Launching herself at him she grasped his coat with the hand not holding Toby and he stumbled backwards. His legs hit the bed so he sat down and pulled Molly up onto his lap.

Mycroft appeared in the door, eyebrows raised at the two of them, Sherlock shook his head, a clear warning for him to leave it alone.

"We'll need a safe house for her Mycroft, double her protection and an agent in the safe house twenty four hours a day, a female agent, no longer than six hour shifts, fatigue and budget cuts will not be the reason anything happens to Molly." Mycroft nodded, his face a rare show of pity and care for Molly, the woman his brother clearly loved, the woman his whole family owed Sherlock's life to.

Sherlock rocked Molly back and forth, rubbing her back, leaning his head on the top of hers he inhaled, a sweet innocent fruity fragrance, lemony and sunny. She felt like home, her little body fit against his like a puzzle piece, he allowed himself to comfort her while her heart rate slowed and sobs grew further apart.

Molly felt her eyes began to droop, between her exhaustion and his solid warmth she was so comfortable, he smelled like her childhood, the feeling of his hand rubbing circles on her back made her feel cherished. She nuzzled against his chest sighing contentedly. Finally home, she drifted into a dreamless deep sleep.

Sherlock felt Molly growing still, "Molly?" He whispered softly, she'd gone to sleep. Pride bloomed in his belly, when Mycroft appeared in the doorway again he noted the fierce look on Sherlock's face, so determined to protect her, so clueless as to how.

Mycroft's voice was gentle, "It's done, brother mine, Stevie will take over the arrangements soon but for now Anthea has set Miss Hooper up."

"Stevie?" His face incredulous, and sour, "What the hell has he got to do with anything?"

Mycroft smiled, "Ah, well, he's going to be taking over Anthea's position for her maternity leave."

Mycroft's manner told Sherlock everything he needed to know about the identity of the father, he seemed almost jaunty. "Mummy will be pleased, when are we to expect wedding bells?"

"Stevie is setting up a dinner for Valentine's Day for my proposal, I took to heart what you told me little brother, being different is not always a bad thing, she loves me, though I don't understand why, much in the same way Miss Hooper loves you. Perhaps it may be best to take another look at your own advice, hmm? No need for safe houses if you would just take her home to Baker Street with you where she belongs."

Sherlock's face hardened, "I know what I'm doing Mycroft, I don't need you to parrot my own words back to me, it's a very different situation I find myself in."

Mycroft's mouth was turned down, his eyes dewy, "Oh little brother, pushing her away will not keep her safe, she's safe now, with you, look at her right now, curled up in your lap like a child and tell me that you can't see that."

Molly comes to slowly in confusion, the first thing to hit her is the smell, disinfectant, and window cleaner, she opens her eyes and looks around, white, a sea of white, walls, ceilings, no pictures, no signs of life. She looks down, brown blankets, single bed, green carpet, Where the hell am I? Scanning her memories it came tumbling back, the blood, Sherlock. "Sherlock? Are you here?"

She sat up listening for his footsteps. Light, quick footsteps bounded in, "Molly, are you okay? Anthea told me what happened."

"Stevie, hi, is Sherlock here?"

His face fell, grimacing, he answered, "He had to go take care of some things, there's a been a few developments with the broadcast? He didn't want to leave you, I was here when he brought you, I was here when he came in carrying you, he looked so tender, I thought you said your love was unrequited?" He smiled at her, trying to make her feel better about being abandoned in her sleep.

"You're mistaken Stevie, he doesn't love me, he just feels responsible." Molly looked down at her hands clasped in her lap,she felt like a fool, she'd told him that he'd broken her heart leaving her like that, then she'd fallen asleep in his lap – she had no idea why he'd let her, - and then he'd dumped her here as soon as he had a chance and bolted again.

"Hmm, you were asleep Molly, you didn't see his face, remember when we talked about how it feels to love someone who just refuses to see you that way, especially when they do see others in that light? If my friend," his voice broke a little, sitting next to Molly he pulled her in for a one armed hug, "If he'd ever, even once looked at me like that before he died I would have never left him alone until he admitted he loved me. That man loves you Molly, you just have to force him to grow up and admit it."

Molly leaned into her friend, "Oh Stevie, I wish that were true, but he's always seen me as a little girl." She sighed and let her head fall against his shoulder.

"Well that I can help with, what's the point in having a gay BFF if you're not going to use him hmm? Let's bring that consulting detective to his knees, hair, make up, wardrobe, we'll have him eating out of your hand in no time. Ooh, I know let's aim for a Valentine's date!"

"Stevie, I don't know, it's not as easy as all that, he's not like other men." Molly slumped back a little wiggling out of her friend's grasp, face slack.

"Sweetheart, I'm a man, he's a man, I know what will get a man's attention, especially a man in love, we just need to force his hand a little. I got Mycroft and Anthea together after all, I'm setting up the proposal for Valentine's Day…" He trailed off sucking his cheeks in and holding out his hands splayed to inspect his finger nails nonchalantly.

"What?! Mycroft and Anthea, you did it? You actually did it?" Molly's face was lit with pure delight, sunlight radiated from her features. "Oh Stevie! Well done!"

Stevie lowered his voice and leaned in, "Can you keep a secret Molly?" He waggled his eyebrows waiting for her response.

Molly's head whipped to face him, "Yes! Course I can! Spill!" She drummed her fists on his knees in anticipation.

"Anthea's pregnant." He delivered the news with a flourish, his coup de gras.

Molly put her hands over her mouth and let out a squeal. "You told her you would have them together by Valentine's Day last year! I can't believe you did It!"

"Oh yea of little faith, if I can get the Iceman to propose you better believe I'll have the detective in the funny hat eating out of the palm of your hand sweetie."

Molly was looking a little better after the good news, Stevie offered to get her some soup and toast which she accepted, he'd stocked the cupboards when he came here himself, he knew all her favourite comfort foods, he told her he'd be back tomorrow with some DVDS but for now she'd just have to make do with a copy of Pride and Prejudice he'd picked up..

Molly hugged him with tears in her eyes, "I don't know where I'd be without you Stevie, thank you." Stevie waved her off, "No, I mean it, you're a great friend Stevie." Theyhugged and Stevie pulled the door closed calling out goodnight as he did so.

Stevie closed the door on Molly's room and checked the agent was in place, No point in dropping the facade at any time, you never know who might be watching, besides it wouldn't do for anything to happen to sweet little Molly now, not before the detective had tasted his happiness. Oh yes you consulting prick, you're going to be so happy with Molly, she's lovely, she'll make you so happy and when she dies with the rest of them you'll be that much more broken.

Once in a while he would begin to almost feel sorry for sweet little Molly, she was innocent in all of this, and she was lovely, but then he'd remember that Jamie – who couldn't love him, would never love him – had fallen in love with her, and his heart would snap shut like a steel trap again.

He took his phone out and texted Mary I think it's about time we got these two idiots where they they belong? Don't you? I have a plan for Valentine's Day, you and the hubby want to play Cupid with me?

Mary's reply was instantaneous, Stevie, I'm already with you, you're in charge of wardrobe, John and I will convince him to take her out as a friend, after all whoever is responsible for the broadcast is out there somewhere and with Molly's taste in men, God knows she'd be just the type to accept a date. ;)

Ah, you devilish woman, if I was a straight man John would have a fight on his hands for your honour Mary ;) Operation Valentine's Day is go, he's not going to know what's hit him.

What do you guys think? Have the Holmes boys met their match? This guy has the patience of a saint, he is also a genius and he's completely 1000% insane...