Sherlock shoved open the door and soon climbed up, pistol in hand as he saw the sight before him. Straightening up, he walked towards the madman holding Molly with a knife to her throat. The sight of it caused a flair of rage to flood through his chest and he felt like lunging at him the very second he saw him. He knew he couldn't, however. Not with Molly that close. Even if he shot him, she could still be damaged.

His eyes softened for only half a second when he saw the state she was in; minor but indeed painful injuries, and he noted that Moriarty was about the same. The latter, however, only succeeded in him being impressed with her. She'd managed to defend herself up to this point. Had she not turned around [Position; signs of former struggle on Moriarty's part from her arms, she'd dealt a blow long enough to run, he'd caught her and ensured to trap her arms.] she more than likely would have been able to back up long enough to force him back once again.

However, given the unexpected and definitely alarming situation, she'd done a rather fantastic job.

Moriarty's eyes lit up. "Oh, your- or, John's, really- P226R! I missed this. Brings back such wonderful memories, doesn't it?" Sherlock's face didn't flinch. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the blade and kept his gun aimed at the criminal's head.

"This situation's a bit different, wouldn't you think?" He certainly believed so; the switch from bombs to knives seemed a bit significant. Sherlock asked, his eyes flickering to Moriarty for a moment. "You've downgraded."

"Ouch," Moriarty grimaced, eyes moving to the top of Molly's head. "Told you, luv."

Realizing his mistake, Sherlock didn't allow a change in demeanor but narrowed his eyes. "You know what I meant."

"Oh, no, it's fine, really," Moriarty assured. "Molly knows she's not as important. She knows she's not important; we've already had that discussion."

His jaw flexed, and Molly could see something that she determined as anger. Was that directed at her or at what Moriarty was saying? Something about what he'd just told her made this seem a bit too real. She felt confused, like she'd taken a good hit to the head and was unaware of what was going on. In a way, she supposed she was. None of the context was that of which she understood. At first, she'd been inclined not to believe what Moriarty had said; he was only a psychopath; he messed with people as a living. She knew that, and yet, she still found herself with the seeds planted in her head, and she wasn't all too sure they were wrong. Actually, she was second guessing almost everything that had happened since Sherlock had her start living at 221B.

Something hit her in that moment. That didn't matter. It didn't matter whether she was important to Sherlock or Moriarty, she was important to her. Yes, she felt hurt and very frightened, but she didn't want her life to be in the hands of a madman and a man who pitied her. She felt more frustration at this point than she felt fear, and whether it was adrenaline or not, she spoke quietly through gritted teeth. "Then release me."

Her words took both men by surprise, Sherlock's eyes darting down to her face and Moriarty gasping out. "Molly Hooper? Standing up for herself? My, my, we have some development in this one's character since I've last seen her!" He sneered down at her. "I don't have an intention of doing any such thing, pet. I would if I thought it wouldn't benefit Sherlock to do so." Molly scowled, anger visibly building in her. She would do anything to protect Sherlock; she loved him. Unfortunately at times, but she did. However, she wasn't a plaything. Her being injured wouldn't protect him and it definitely wouldn't protect her. It was nonsense. This entire game was nonsense. "I wasn't asking you to."

Sherlock's eyes widened a bit. He was enthralled with her sharp tongue towards him, but with a knife involved, it didn't seem the time. He opened his mouth to speak but it snapped shut when Moriarty switched the blade around, the sharp curve pressing against her throat. "Daddy's had quite enough of you today, little mouse!" Molly blinked and a soft grunt left her throat. She shut her eyes tightly, her bravery dissolving all too quickly as she felt the sharp metal all too close to the hollow of her throat.

Moriarty's hand clenched around the handle of the dagger for a moment before he relaxed it, and his face relaxed again, exhaling slowly though he kept the blade in the same location. Molly's breathing became rugged and she was suddenly very, very aware that she could have her throat slit in about two seconds if she wasn't very careful.

Even in a wave of panic, Sherlock kept absolutely silent, his eyes trained on Moriarty as the man went from complete anger to relaxed amusement. "It is always funny. When you types think you can pull it off. Ordinary. Not meant for dealing with criminals, nor could you truly do anything when put up against one." He chuckled. "But then again, who am I to bother with the ordinary?" His eyes flitted between Molly and Sherlock. "It seems as though I've made a minor miscalculation, Sherlock."

He kept his movements careful, unaware of the criminal's intentions. Quite frankly, the only thing he really could think of was how uncomfortably close to Molly's skin was a sharp object. Every second of it made him want to lunge more and more at him and tear him apart with his bare hands. Molly was off limits. Nobody was allowed to hurt her. But, of course, Moriarty never really did understand personal matters. "Oh?"

"Yes," Moriarty sighed, and flattened the blade against her neck again, causing her to relax just a fraction. "She's still just a bit too ordinary for me to properly gain anything yet." He tutted. "I believe I've rushed into something, Mr. Holmes." He looked up at the detective and sneered. "You've still got some growing up to do."

With that, Moriarty removed the knife from her throat and released his arm from her front, too quickly for her to stabilize herself on her own two legs. Feeling herself trembling, she just opted to sit down, curling up into herself and taking a long breath as Moriarty stepped towards Sherlock, tapping the hilt of the knife playfully to his shoulder. Sherlock only glared back, having no interest in banter. He wanted to get to Molly; he needed to make sure she wasn't hurt too badly.

Moriarty smirked. "I'll be leaving now, sexy. But don't you fret. I'll see you when a bit more is obvious to you." Turning in Molly's direction, he winked and made his exit through the door, and Molly shivered as she heard it slam behind them. Her first fear was that he'd only hide in the flat, but the faint whistling she heard from him stepping outside was apparent just a minute later.

Sherlock watched him get into the large black car that pulled up and waited until he rode away to conceal his weapon and direct his attention to her. "Are you alright?" he asked, striding towards her and crouching in front of her.

Despite how instantly gentle he seemed to be to her, Molly thought only of the small statements Moriarty had given her. Maybe it was his intention, but she couldn't get them out of her head. Staring at him for a moment, she said nothing and dropped her eyes to the ground. The air between them was tense and Sherlock didn't know why. He did know that he did not like it.

"Molly?" he tried instead, reaching out a hand and touching her shoulder delicately. She flinched slightly at the touch and he drew his hand away. Her eyes had glassed over a significant amount, and though his first reaction was believing it was fear, this looked different. She looked hurt. "Molly, what is it?" His voice grew thicker with concern. She had nearly no reaction to him, and briefly he wondered if Moriarty had managed to harm her somehow without him seeing it.

She knew she had to say something, and she wanted to. But she couldn't think of what to say first and her throat was closing up in a way that made it difficult for her to talk. Now that she wasn't in danger, or at least, relatively speaking, she wasn't, she didn't feel courageous or empowered. She felt vulnerable. And, as she knew too well, that was not a good thing to be in front of Sherlock Holmes.

Perhaps that was why, as she tried to make her mouth work and convey something, anything to the detective without sounding like a weakling, she didn't notice that the detective had scooped her up into his arms and lifted the door with his foot, carrying her down the stairs to the attic. There had been an understanding between the two, but it was one Molly hadn't caught yet from his behalf.

I'm okay. She thought repeatedly, and she was preparing herself to say it. That was completely manageable. She could do that, in a strong and confident voice.

What came out of her mouth, however, was entirely different than what she tried to force out.

"I am important."

When it came to light what she'd said, she was mortified at how small and broken her voice had sounded, and she instantly despised herself for it, able to think of several ways Sherlock would pick it apart. Given what Moriarty had told her, he would be all too eager to do just that. Instead, she was only met with a sad look from him as he continued to carry her down the stairs, and a very short but meaningful reply. "I know."

I don't know what happened to the formatting the first time I posted this, I'm sorry it was unreadable :( Let's try this again. Thank you for being patient, though, and I hope you enjoy!