John picked up the ringing phone, yawning. Watching crappy TV shows with Mrs Hudson was boring as hell but still better than listening to Sherlock's rant about being bored.

"Yes?"

"John, is it you?"

John got up from the sofa, walking to the kitchen.

"What's wrong, Molly?" he asked, worried.

"I was trying to call Sherlock but he didn't pick it up…"

Molly's voice was considerably distressed and shaky.

"I need you to come to my flat. I have some troubles here," she whispered.

"Please, John, come right now!"

"Don't look so worried," Sherlock remarked on their way. "Her hair dyeing probably went wrong, that's all…"

"She was frightened, Sherlock," John said. "I could hear it in her voice."

"That still doesn't mean immense danger…" Sherlock said, imitating John's upset voice. The cab stopped and they got out, looking up at the building. There was light in Molly's windows. John was speeding up with a rather laid-back Sherlock following him. He knocked on the door several times before the door opened. And it wasn't Molly's face, but an ugly skinny man's instead.

"That the pizza already?"

"Who are you?" John said, perplexed.

"I'm Leo," he said. He had a high-pitched voice that sounded pretty creepy.

"What are you doing here? Where's Molly?"

"You know the bitch?" Leo asked, curious. John narrowed his eyes.

"Out of my way," he said, pushing him aside and walking in. He went through the flat, alarmed when he couldn't find any sign of Molly at all.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, she's not there!"

"Of course she's there."

Sherlock appeared behind him. There was nothing from his previous carelessness. His eyes were cold and hard and his expression a mixture of anger and – most probably – worries. He walked unerringly into the bedroom and to a door of the walk-in wardrobe.

"You can come out now, Molly," he said. There was a moment of silence.

"Hi, Sherlock," she said quietly and the door opened, revealing Molly's pale face. She didn't even look them in the eyes, looking somewhere on the floor.

"You been hiding all time, bitch?" Leo said, swaying his way to the bedroom.

"Shut up!" John said angrily; ready to beat the shit out of that bastard.

"How did you call her?" Sherlock asked, his voice dangerous. Leo tried to focus.

"I called her bitch, you stupid idiot."

"I apologize, Molly," Sherlock said. "For ruining your bedside table."

In the following second Sherlock punched Leo so hard he fell on the bedside table, breaking it.

"Now get out!" Sherlock shouted furiously and kicked him before Leo somehow picked himself up. All three of them watched him stumble out and when he was gone, John locked the door and returned to the bedroom. Sherlock was standing above Molly, who was sitting on her bed.

"Did he hurt you? Are you all right?" he asked in an urgent tone, crouching in front of her and observing her closely.

"I'm fine," she whispered, still lowering her eyes. Sherlock was visibly relieved.

"Who the hell was that?" John asked.

"I met him in a pub and I thought he was nice so I…"

"Wait," John said, widening his eyes slightly. "You invited him?"

Molly nodded and her chin started trembling.

"Haven't you seen him?" Sherlock asked, bewildered. "An obvious psychopathic junkie."

"He wasn't!" Molly said quickly. "He was funny, he… he… was joking, he said I was pretty, he…"

Molly was almost choking and she fell silent, her eyes getting wet.

"I'm so stupid," she said, covering her face. "And it's so embarrassing… I don't understand why it always ends on the same note… I just can't help it; this is who I am… I'm sorry for calling you, I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Molly, I –"

"It's alright, Molly," Sherlock said in a soft voice. She looked up, her face puffed and red and glimmering with tears, her eyes wide open. Even John was surprised by the change. Sherlock reached out and touched her cheek gently. He chuckled afterwards.

"I'm sorry, you just look… well, you look funny."

"What?" she said, cracking a smile too. Sherlock squeezed her shoulder supportively.

"Right Molly, where's some booze?" John asked and returned with a bottle of whisky.

"Whisky?" Sherlock said. Molly gave him a look.

"A gift from a colleague. As you already know."

"Of course I do," Sherlock said, gesturing to John.

"Pour it, John."

John frowned.

"I'm not your servant, remember? I'm your friend. Or assistant."

"Yes, so you can assist me with boozing, am I right?" Sherlock said, smiling at Molly while he was handing her the glass.

"Cheers, Molly," Sherlock said, looking her in the eyes. "Because we are who we are. It's as simple as that. John, I think we're going to get a bit drunk tonight here, with our dear Molly. Hope she doesn't mind."

Molly looked like the happiest person in the world at the moment and she only managed to give in an indistinct sound of excitement.

"I think that means she doesn't," John said with a smile, pouring himself a glass as well.