"Mycroft, this is ridiculous." Sherlock practically snorted from the backseat of the blacked-out vehicle as his brother typed furiously on his laptop.

"Red team, initiate," Mycroft ignored Sherlock's jabs as the team descended into the Tower of London's front gates. The video feed linked directly to the laptop, showing a completely deserted area, the entire facility having been evacuated earlier in the day.

"Nobody is going to show up with all your dogs here, surely even you can figure that out," Sherlock sneered, trying his best to not look interested in the video on the screen.

"And certainly you can ascertain that this evening was simply a ruse to distract you or send some sort of message," Mycroft raised the phone back to his ear. "Blue team, go."

Sherlock huffed and opened the door, defiantly walking toward the entrance himself. He knew Mycroft was right, nothing was happening this evening, but if Moriarty had intended to give him a message, he was determined to receive it before his brother's entourage had a chance to screw it up. Moving behind the team of armored guards, he commandeered one of the listening devices and stuck it in his ear.

"Are you quite finished in there, Mycroft? Can I look now?"

"Sherlock, I was right. It's a message. For you."

Mycroft's tone was enough to stop Sherlock from making a snarky reply as his blood suddenly chilled. "What is it, Mycroft?"

"I think you should probably see for yourself."

Pushing his way into the room that housed the Crown Jewels, Sherlock was momentarily uncertain as to what had his brother so rattled. That was until he noticed all of the guards, weapons lowered, glancing up to the ceiling. Peering up, he couldn't help a soft gasp.

"Sherlock," Mycroft buzzed in his ear, "Miss Hooper is getting out of her car-she's coming after you."

"No, Mycroft! She can't see-"

"Sherlock? What's-"

Molly's voice cut off in a terrified shriek, her eyes catching on the sight before everyone.

Sherlock immediately ran to her side, pulling her head down to his chest to block her vision. "Don't look Molly. Don't look."

Molly's former fiancé Tom was hanging from the rafters, suspended by garish hooks through his skin, his unseeing eyes staring into the distance. Blood stained his bare chest and the front of his pants before ending in a large sign with ornate lettering. WELCOME BACK, SHERLOCK. Inside the "O" of his name was a bright yellow smiley-face.

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Sherlock delicately placed a steaming cup of tea into Molly's outstretched hand as she continued to stare blankly at the wall before her. With her other hand she grasped tighter the blanket he had placed around her shoulders after she had been deposited on the sofa in Baker Street in a daze. He hovered momentarily above her before starting back toward the kitchen, uncertain how to proceed.

"It's ok, Sherlock, I know this makes you uncomfortable," Molly said flatly, not bringing her eyes up.

"What?" he tentatively stepped back into the room.

"Crying people. Go do what you need to do, I'll be fine here," she placed both hands around her teacup and sniffed once, willing the tears to not reappear.

"Actually, Mycroft's ordered me to stay put," he said with a roll of his eyes, "but even if he hadn't I wouldn't leave you alone."

Molly looked up then, revealing her reddened eyes and several tear tracks down her cheeks. She looked hollow. "This is my fault."

Sherlock furrowed his brow as he sank next to her on the sofa, cautiously placing an arm on her back and rubbing absent-minded circles with his fingers.

"Molly-this was a sick message to me, it has nothing to do with you."

"It was Tom, Sherlock. He did it because he knows I helped you. This would have never happened if I hadn't-"

Sherlock took her tea and placed it on the coffee table. Placing one hand on each of her wrists he turned her to face him.

"Molly-for what you did for me…I can never repay you. I don't know why whoever this is chose Tom to get my attention but what I do know is that I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you, and you have never done anything to deserve the absolute shit I have put you through."

Molly's eyes widened at his unexpected cursing, the tears barely staying put on the edges of her lids.

"I lied to you," she whispered. When Sherlock didn't respond, she continued. "I was never engaged to Tom. We went out a few times. But-"

"I know," Sherlock interrupted. Molly's face froze in disbelief, silently asking him to elaborate. Sherlock sighed before releasing her hands and running his fingers through his own hair.

"When I came back and saw you in the locker room at Bart's, all your old pictures were still hanging in your locker. Some pictures were as recent as a few weeks prior. Surely if you were engaged some pictures of your fiancé too would be adorning your space. That and the fact that while you were not wearing an engagement ring that night you were, in fact, wearing a small diamond ring belonging to your mother on your right hand. The same ring that reappeared several days later on your left when I asked for your help solving crimes."

"Why didn't you say anything? Or correct everybody?" she whispered again, barely audible.

"It wasn't my place to say anything. I figured you had your reasons and I respected that."

Molly rose from the sofa wordlessly and Sherlock dropped his head to his hands, prepared for her to not speak to him for a while. Instead, he felt his head lifted enough to face Molly, who had leaned down to lay a soft kiss on his cheek. "Do you mind if I sleep in your bed again tonight? Mine feels too far away." She clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"Not at all. Get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

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"Of course I understand if you would like Miss Hooper to take a brief vacation."

"No. She's to stay here, I don't want her life interrupted by this," Sherlock had resumed his pacing of the living room long after Molly set off for bed, and Mycroft's presence was doing nothing to calm his nerves.

"Of course, I will upgrade her security then?" It wasn't really a question, but Mycroft made it seem as such to attempt some conversation from his near-frantic brother.

"If I'm not present there is to be someone on her at all times," Sherlock put his hands on his hips and stopped by the fireplace, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "Whoever this is we're dealing with is communicating on his own terms,"

"His?" Mycroft inquired.

"Balance of probability," replied Sherlock, continuing with little hesitance. "We'll have to play along, which means a bit of a break, I should think."

"Indeed. I agree. Perhaps you would like to take a bit of a holiday yourself. Christmas is just nearly two weeks away, I know Mummy and Dad would love to see you, and I-"

"I want to do something for Molly." Sherlock interrupted.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Are you about to give me another talk of 'goldfish?'"

"Molly is not a goldfish." Sherlock spat, narrowing his eyes at Mycroft.

"Undoubtedly," Mycroft softened. "What did you have in mind?"

Suddenly Sherlock's shoulders went lax and he threw himself into his chair, face in his hands. "I don't know. I have no idea. I just want to do something…nice."

Heavy silence filled the space between them until Sherlock finally looked up impatiently. "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Mycroft, a bored look giving way to that of a confused one.

"What should I do?"

"Just to be clear, you are asking me for advice?" said Mycroft, the slightest hint of a smile edging his features.

"Aren't big brothers supposed to give little brothers girl advice?" Sherlock deadpanned.

"Not really my area, Sherlock," Mycroft raised another eyebrow suggestively.

"Yes, I know that. I just…I want her to be happy."

Silence again. "Shut up." Sherlock said, standing and reclaiming his spot by the fireplace.

"I didn't say anything," The smile on Mycroft's face was dangerously close to becoming a smirk.

"You were thinking it. And the answer is no."

"Awfully lot of effort for someone you don't love."

"Mycroft, are you going to help me or not?" Sherlock turned to him, a look on his face that reminded Mycroft of the ones he used to give to get out of trouble as a child.

"Oh, all right. I have an inkling as to what Miss Hooper would like out of this coming holiday. I'll send some supplies and instructions in the coming days."

Sherlock smiled a genuine smile and turned back to the fireplace as Mycroft made his way to the door.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" Sherlock turned back to glance at him, "Try not to cock it up, will you?"