Author's Note: Okay Guys, we have reached the climax of our story. It is twice as long as what I normally would write but is worth the extra effort. Please enjoy and review.

Just so you know there will be one more chapter.

Disclaimer: Please know that I do not own these characters. The world of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, BBC and, of course, Sir A.C. Doyle.

John leaned forward in his chair and worked on cleaning his gun while glaring at his roommate, whose back was still turned towards him. It had been hours since he had texted Molly and he was trying to mentally prepare for tomorrow, of which there was still no plan. Typical… During this time, he had also yet to find out what had happened between Molly and Sherlock.

'Come on, you arse… it couldn't have been so bad that you need to sulk all night. Just tell me what you did to her and we can figure out the best course of action to get her back here away from that death trap of a flat before it is time for us to leave in the morning.' John said exasperatedly to Sherlock as he put the clip back into the Browning and rubbed a little excess gun oil from the barrel of the gun.

Sherlock would never have admitted to John what had happened at the flower market. He knew he had crossed a line somewhere. He wasn't exactly sure where or what line but he was sure if he told John that he had kissed Molly in public in broad daylight whilst John was at home sleeping, he may not take it very well. He also knew he would never admit to his stomach turning at little when John had said 'what you did to her'. When did he become the bad guy in this whole situation? Hadn't Molly kissed him back? And it wasn't like he had planned this – it was all instinct. Everyone knew that's how he worked best… off of instinct and intuition. It's not his fault he had been spending so much time with John that these… feelings – he grimaced even at the thought of them – were making their way to the surface. Sherlock threw a glare over his shoulder, hmphed at John and went back to staring at the back of the sofa.

'Fine!' John grumbled as he slid the gun into his waistband 'Fine. Be that way. Such a child…always acting like a petulant three-year old. Well, you know what, I'm tired of it. I'm going out for… for some air.' He grabbed his coat and, as he slipped it on, he added 'And when I come back whether it be in an hour or in four in the morning when it is time to leave for this damned meeting of yours, you and I are going to have a little talk. And, yes, Sherlock, you will be participating this time, so be ready to talk or make up with Molly by then. Otherwise, I am marching you over there to apologize. For what? Lord only knows but I am sure, considering you are part of this equation, an apology is needed.'

John slammed the door behind him for good measure and headed down the 17 stairs and into the night. Sherlock was on his feet now and watched him go up the path and turn down the sidewalk towards his favorite pub. He saw John stop suddenly, reach into his pocket and fish out his phone. He read a text that must have been sent and looked up towards the flat. Sherlock ducked behind the curtains so not to be caught in watching him. By the time, he peeked back out the window John had gone. Sherlock lay back on the sofa and sniffed the rose. When did this all get so complicated? He wondered as he closed his eyes.

OoOOooOOoo

John took the stairs to Molly's flat two at a time. His heart was pounding… not just because of the hell he had just put some cabbie through or the run to Molly's building and up the stairs but also because of the memory of the text he had received not fifteen minutes ago.

'Come out and play, Johnny. XOXO'

It had come from Molly's phone but it was obvious that it wasn't from her. In fact, it really could only have been from one person and the thought of that person having access to Molly's phone sent chills down his spine and into his soul.

He wasn't sure why he didn't go to get Sherlock when he received the text. He had considered it just for a second but didn't want to waste the time and had ran to grab a cab. He could have texted him en route but he doubted the detective would even look at his text at this point, not after him storming out like that just then… and he had been so busy yelling at the cabbie to go faster it just never happened. So, now here he was on his own heading into who knows what.

He pulled the gun out of his waistband, thanking god that he had been so mad when he stormed out that he stuffed it into the back of his jeans when he left instead of putting it in the lock box in his dresser where he had intended to put it after cleaning it.

As he reached the landing, he could see Molly's door was hanging open. He darted to the wall next to the door's frame and peeked in to see if there was any immediate danger. He didn't see anyone in the living room and entered with his gun held high.

'Molly?' He said aloud "Molly, are you here? Are you okay?'

No answer. He checked in the kitchen, the bathroom and then headed into the bedroom.

'Molly, are you in here?' He asked as he pushed open the door. His heart dropped at the sight. Her normally tidy room – okay, he had seen it once, but it had been tidy then – seemed torn to shreds. The covers and sheets were torn from the bed, the knick-knacks that once sat on her dresser were thrown across the carpet, and there was a part of the frame that had cracked as if someone had pulled on it too hard. But the part that stopped his heart and tore it from his chest was the small drops of blood on the carpet next to the doorway.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. To his amazement, Sherlock picked up.

'Sherlock, it's Molly.'

'I know.'

'No... no, you don't, Sherlock. She's be abducted…by Moriarty'

'I'll be there in ten.'

John ended the call and then texted Lestrade. He was going to need as much help as he could get at this point.

As he waited, he looked around the flat. Just then, he noticed on the table, a fresh bouquet of roses… black roses. He walked over the table and saw tucked under the vase a folded piece of paper addressed to him. He unfolded it, read it and rushed out the door.

OoOOooOOoo

John rushed to the alley way – that same alley way from that night that seemed so far way now – he remembered coming up on Sherlock crouching over Molly in the most protective way he had ever seen the detective be towards anyone besides himself and Mrs. Hudson. Oh, how his life had changed since then. He shook the memories away as he pulled the gun from his waistband for the second time that night as he approached the dead end. There behind the dumpster, he saw them. Two bare feet, sticking out just as Molly's had so many nights before. John's heart dropped.

'Molly?' he whispered… more like hoarsely screamed panickedly. He ran to the dumpster and glanced down realizing very quickly it wasn't Molly at all, but a man - their suspect – Joe.

John nudged the man's foot but he didn't wake or move, so the doctor moved closer to check for his pulse. He knelt down next to Joe and reached his fingers to his neck – no pulse. John sighed and his eyes swept over the body. He could see the blood now that had seeped from the back of Joe's head in the dim glimmer of the street light. Just then John heard the creak of a shoe behind him. He whipped he head around to see who it was only to see the glint of the butt of a gun arching toward him and then everything went black.

OoOOooOOoo

John woke with a start. His eyes shot around assessing the situation and soon he realized he was in dome deep shite. Still in the alley, his left arm was cuffed to the dumpster and was stretched above him. His shoulder screamed in pain from having held this position for too long but John knew he couldn't struggle against the cuffs in fear of injuring his hand – his dominant hand – any further. His ankles started to feel wet and he looked down and could see Joe's blood had started to seep into the cuffs of his jeans.

He flinched as he heard footsteps coming towards him and looked up to see Jim Moriarty towering above him with a smirk on his face.

'Finally – Geez, Johnny Boy, you sure slept for a long time. I guess I shouldn't hit you quite that hard next time, hmm?' he sing-songed ' So sorry about the handcuffs but wouldn't want you to get away now would we? Besides, I can tell you must like a little rough anyway, so cuffs can't be a new thing.'

'What is all of this, Moriarty? Where's Molly? Let her go.'

'Tsk-Tsk, John. Patience is a virtue.'

'Patience my ass! Tell me where you have her!'

'Pet, you really are in no position to be sooo demanding… now are you? Might I remind you who is chained to a dumpster and who has the gun… actually make that two guns. Such a nice gun, you have here, John. Browning – army issue. I must say. Are you sure you should be running around the streets of London with this?'

John glared at Moriarty as he caressed his gun. If he could get free of these cuffs at this second, he would leap on the man and pull him apart not just for taking Molly but also for even thinking about touching his gun.

'Ahh – John. I see we have something in common then. We both don't like to have our things touched. You can see what I do when someone touches my things…' he said as he gestured to the body. He then tilted his head and the gun at John, contemplating him for a second and then said 'and I believe that you and Sherlock are next on my list. But first, I think it is reunion time. Oh, Sherlock, why don't you come out now? I could hear your shoes squeak all the way from here… and we have so much to talk about before I kill your pet and then you.'

Sherlock strode down the alley. 'There' Moriarty said pointing the gun towards a spot next to John ' Stand over there.' Sherlock looked to John and went to stand next to him.

Moriarty turned to the door behind him, opened it and pulled a whimpering Molly out by her hair. John gasped at the sight of her and he could even hear what seemed to be a sharp intake from Sherlock. Molly stood there shivering in a man's white button down and little else. Blood had seeped through the shirt and it clung to her body showing what could only have been cuts all over her chest, abdomen and along her arms. John could only assume they were along her back as well. He also saw blood dripping down the inside of her leg – damn it – damn it all. He moved his gaze to Molly's and saw fear – stark white untamed fear of the man whose grip on her tightened as if he was holding up a fish he had caught.

'I see you are enjoying my handy work, John. Every cut you see was the slut's own fault. She knew I would cut her every time she yelled for either of you. And oh did she yell… But I found a way to shut her up...'

He stared wildly between the two men as he grabbed her and slid his hand down her side and along the curve of her hip grabbing her there so hard, little red moons spread from under her shirt. She cried out at the pain.

'You know when I was little, I had a brother who loved to steal my toys. I hated when he stole my toys because he would always break them and why should he get all the fun with MY toy anyway? So I found that the only way to stop him from taking my things was to break them myself. Because no matter what I would rather have a very broken toy then ever allow my brother to have fun with or enjoy something that was MINE. So do you see what I have done here, boys? Hmm? It appears I've broken my toy.' He said as he threw Molly forward to the ground. 'Because she has been a naughty whore – now hasn't she? And to think I had yet to play with her – but it seems she had plenty of time to play with so many others.'

Molly whimpered and tried to crawl away. 'Oh no you don't!' Jim roared as he kicked her down. Then he bent over and grabbed her shoulder pulling her up next to him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and splayed his hand along her lower abdomen possessively. Tears streamed down her face and she sobbed as he pressed against her.

'Shut it! The men are talking.'

Molly whimpered and bit her lips together trying not to sob aloud but John and Sherlock could see the sobs still rack her now silent body.

'So help me God…! Let her go!' John screamed

'Oh, Johnny Boy' he chuckled 'Would you really be so quick to her rescue if you knew what she and your best friend were up to this afternoon? Hmm?'

John shot Sherlock a quizzical glance and looked back to the woman he … well… he loved. 'I don't care. Leave her be.'

'You don't care? You don't CARE?! She can flirt and kiss and SHAG whomever she wants then and still crawl home to you? Not me. I don't play like that. No one touches my things – NO ONE!'

John gasped and looked at Sherlock. He refused to look John in the eye. He stood there like a statue almost as though he was in shock but even though John wasn't facing him, he knew Sherlock would find a way out of this and was working on it now. No matter what, John knew what he needed to do – stall.

'I don't believe you. She was raped … by YOUR men. She isn't a whore. She is a … she's a victim.'

'Oh, trust me, Johnny, Your best friend and your whore were spotted today at New Convent Market. Couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other… or their mouths. Really, Sherlock? Might I need to start calling you something other than the Virgin thanks to our little Molly Hooper?'

'Nooo!' Molly cried.

'What dear? Was I not supposed to tell? Oopsy.' Jim popped an 'I'm so sorry' face.

'I didn't… We didn't, John. We just kissed.' Molly sobbed.

'It's okay, Molly. It's okay…' John said trying to placate her from across the way.

'Hmm…' Jim tilted his head again at this exchange and narrowed his eyes. He pulled his hand to her hair again and pulled Molly's face towards his and then pushed it away roughly. 'Interesting. It seems John doesn't mind taking scraps from the table. So like a pet. So, tell me, Johnny. What do you think of our Molly, here? Even after all of this… even after I broke her – do you still want her?'

John stared at this mad man with a gun and answered 'Yes – I love her.'

'And, you, Sherlock, how do you feel about this … this normal?'

'She's my girl – always has been. Even before you.'

'And, Molly, who do you choose? Hmm? Both these men have bore their souls just now to you and you have betrayed them both. But you must have a favorite… So who will it be the Virgin or the Pet?' He pointed the gun to each man as he said his "name".

Molly looked between the two men. She knew whoever she choose would likely be shot. She didn't want… she couldn't live with.. she didn't know how to even begin to choose.

'Hmm?' He asked her as he ran the gun down he cheek. 'I know which one I would pick.'

'I can't!' She sobbed. 'I can't choose. I want... I need them both.'

'That's awfully selfish of you. You have to share with the rest of us. Though a three-way… awfully kinky ... especially for you.' He thrust his hips towards hers 'But who would be on top?'

'Leave her be!' John yelled.

'Oh – did I hit a nerve, Johnny Boy? Don't you worry your pretty little head. The odds are still in your favor that she'll pick you. Everyone knows Sherlock will grow bored with her the next time a case comes up anyway. Isn't that right, Sherly?' He brought his cheek up next to hers and shifted his eyes to look at her from the corners 'Pathetic – isn't she? So… so ... normal…' he snarled – pulling her hair again and repositioning the gun under her chin. 'Choose!'

She gasped at the pain and sobbed 'Just leave them be, Jim. Just take me and leave them be.'

'Oh, Molly. Haven't you been listening? I marked you and I broke you. Why do I need YOU anymore? Did you really think I kept those toys after I broke them? Please - I just threw them away like I have been planning to do to you but this… this is so much more fun. This is a game. And when you have a game, you have a winner and a loser. If these men want to scramble over my broken toys – well…I just might let one of them win… Now CHOOSE!'

'Sherlock! I chose Sherlock.' She sobbed

'Wow – Molly – So changeable. I thought for sure the good doctor would have been your choice.' Moriarty raised the Browning pointing it towards John 'Oh well. Say Good Night, John-Boy.'

John stared at the gun and started to rise from where he sat holding out his right hand 'No – Please God, No...' He moaned

Just then Molly jostled Moriarty's arm and Sherlock turned and pushed John, making Jim's true aim miss its original target - John's heart - and landing in his chest instead. John slumped back against the dumpster and slid down, blood seeping from his chest and down the side of the metal behind him.

"Nooo! John! Noooo!' Molly screamed.

'John?!' Sherlock shouted stooping down next to the doctor.

Just then shouts echoed down the alley 'Put your hands up, Moriarty!' Lestrade yelled as he ran forwards, Donovan and the rest of his team trailing behind him.

'I believe this is my cue. Be seeing you… soon.' Moriarty said as he dropped the gun, pushed Molly to the ground and exited through the door directly behind him.

Lestrade waved his team to follow the criminal and he, Donovan and Molly all ran forward to an unconscious John, whose hand was being wrenched free from the cuff by Sherlock.

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. Lestrade was startled by the pure devastation in the young man's face. 'Ambulance?!'

'It's on it's way, Sherlock. 5 minutes behind us at most.'

'I need it quicker! We need it now!'

'I know…' Lestrade whispered, grasping Sherlock's shoulder 'I know.'

Molly's medical training kicked in immediately as she reached for his neck – fearfully of what she would find. Just then she felt it – as subtle as butterfly's wing - his pulse.

'Oh my God… Oh my God, he's alive. He's alive…but just barely. Quick, Sherlock, help me lay him down.'

They moved John to lie flat on the ground and she crouched over him and put both her hands down over the bullet hole trying to apply pressure.

'Here.' Sherlock said handing her his scarf. She put it to the wound and again pressed down. Sherlock crouched over John, brushing fringe away from his face and saw as she swayed a little at the effort. 'Molly, here - let me.' He said, scooting behind her.

'No…' She sobbed 'Noo… this is all my fault.'

'Molly, You are hurt. Please let me help.'

'I can't… Sherlock… I can't… let him… He saved me so many times and what did I do? I got him… I chose you and got him shot.'

'You chose me because you thought Moriarty would shot me. I knew that. John knew that. We all knew that. Now, please let me.'

Just then, two paramedics ran forward with a gurney. Lestrade rose and accessed them quickly of the situation. They crouched down to John and Molly sat back on her heels and leaned against Sherlock. He put his arms around her shoulders holding her to him and she turned in his embrace unable to watch as the paramedics as they worked. Sobs shook her body and Sherlock held her in silence as he watched his friend being lifted on to the gurney and carted to the ambulance.

'Come on.' He whispered brushing back her hair. 'Come on, Molly. We can't let him ride to the hospital alone.'

She looked up to his eyes. Those crystalline eyes that had bore into her soul so many times – so filled with sadness at this moment. She nodded, shock seemingly blanketing over her, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once she was standing, she swayed and fainted into to Sherlock's arms. He held her against him for a second as he realized how in shambles his little family was at this very second. He closed his eyes refocusing on the situation at hand and then scooped her into his arms and followed the gurney to the ambulance.