'…I think he has anger issues. He just… went mad. Stuck his hand in the wound without thinking. He needs help. He needs a psychiatrist. He doesn't have the same empathy as other people. I'm afraid for him. You've got to help.'

'I'll do what I can, Miss Hooper. Call me if he does anything violent. I'll be in touch soon.'

'Thank you, Doctor Watson.'

'Where have you been?' Molly was accosted by Sherlock the moment she re-entered the flat.

'Nowhere important, Sherlock. Do you want a cup of tea?'

'Don't lie to me, Molly Hooper,' he growled, looming over her. 'I can deduce exactly where you've been. You're dressed smart, so it was somewhere important. You're wearing lipstick; you wanted to make an impression. Your hair is tied differently. You smell like hospital.' He sniffed her hair.

'Sherlock, I work in a hospital-'

'Stop. Lying. You smell clean. Sterile. Not like the morgue. You've been to see a psychiatrist. About me.'

'No-'

'Yes,' he breathed, 'you believe I'm a danger to myself. A danger to you. Take a look around this flat, Molly Hooper. I keep human body parts in the fridge. The kitchen is a lab. There's a knife on the mantelpiece and eyes in the microwave. I have books on kicking addiction. All the signs, warning you to stay away. You moved in with me after a few hours.' His face twisted into a sort of cruel smile.

'No, shut up Sherlock, you aren't like that. I've seen what people like that do. They kill for fun. I know you wouldn't do that. You stopped that cabbie from killing me.'

Quietly, Sherlock murmured, 'What if I just wanted to do it myself?'

'I don't believe you.'

'If you don't believe that, why are you backing away?' he grabbed her wrist. She flinched. 'Your pulse is elevated. You're afraid of me.'

'Sherlock, shut up, you're being an idiot.'

'Oh, Molly. Don't you realise? You were so easy to string along. The most I had to do was look at you and I could get you to do anything I wanted.'

She was in tears now. 'Stop it Sherlock, just stop it.' She pulled away sharply, turned on her heel, and walked out.

'Doctor John Watson speaking, how can I help you?'

'D-doctor. It's M-Molly Hooper. I need your h-help. It's Sherlock. He says he wants to kill me. I don't believe it. He needs help. I need help. I'm not in the flat now. He knows I came to see you. I'm afraid he'll find me.'

'Right, Molly. I think you should come in for a chat, okay? I'm fully booked right now, but I'll come and visit you later at your address if you'd like?'

She gave Doctor Watson her address and tried to concentrate on the papers in front of her. She was back in the morgue, half working, half on high alert for any sign of Sherlock.

'Right then… Molly.' Her stomach flipped. Molly Luxon was the next body on her list. Then Isabelle Aven, then Jackson Hooper. 'You're just seeing things. Molly and Hooper are common names. Chill, Molly. You'll see the doctor later.'

Molly was relieved to hear the doorbell that night. She half wished she had taken Donovan's advice and stayed away from Sherlock Holmes. Now, after a single day, she was seeing the danger. He really was a psychopath. She imagined him turning up at her flat in the middle of the night, waking her from fitful sleep and-

'Miss Hooper!' It was Doctor Watson. She opened the door with shaking hands.

'S-sorry doctor. Come in. would you like some tea?'

'Yes, thank you. Milk, no sugar.'

'Sweet enough?' He smiled at her gently. 'I'm sorry… I don't know why I said that. I've been on edge all day.'

'It's perfectly understandable, miss Hooper.' Molly shuffled off to her kitchen, trying to find the least feminine mug for Doctor Watson to use.

'Call me Molly, please, doctor. And please, make yourself at home.'

'Then I insist you call me John, Molly.' He sat on the sofa and Molly's cat Toby immediately leapt onto his lap, purring as John scratched behind his ears.

'Here's your tea,' she said softly, 'he likes you.'

'Thank you Molly. He's a lovely cat, what's his name?' He sipped his tea. 'Mmm. Lovely.'

Molly's cheeks went pink. 'He's called Toby. Normally he's awful to strangers…' she sat on the chair opposite the sofa, a little nervous.

'Molly, please, I don't bite.' John grinned and patted the seat beside him. She apologised and sat beside him. 'Now, I don't usually do consultations like this. Tell me about Sherlock, Molly, what was he like when you first met him?'

'He was… odd. In a good way- I thought he was fascinating. I wanted to see what his life was like. As soon as he met me he read me like I was an open book. It was mad; he could tell I had Toby-' she gestured to the cat, now curled up contentedly in John's lap- 'just from the hair on my trousers and the way I smelled. He could tell I was single, too. Desperate, he said.'

'You don't seem desperate to me. Tell me about the case you accompanied him on.'

'Oh John it was awful. Awful. This old cabbie lured me out to Bart's, put a gun to my head and told me I was going to die. He had these little pills. And then Sherlock turned up and I was so happy… that's when it happened. Sherlock took his gun and claimed it was a fake, but the cabbie pulled a real one from his coat. I don't know what made me do it, I just… I-'

'It's okay, Molly. Take your time.'

'I forced his arm down. It went off in his gut,' she said in a small voice. 'Blood was everywhere; he had a massive wound in his stomach. Sherlock asked him who put him up to it, the killings. The cabbie wouldn't tell him. So he… Sherlock just shoved his hand into the wound, and the cabbie yelled 'Moriarty' and died. Sherlock was furious. That's when I knew I had to get help. So I called you.'

John set down his now empty mug. Hesitantly, he took her hands, looking earnestly into her face. 'Molly, don't you worry. Right? We'll sort this out. Sherlock isn't going to hurt you, I can promise you that. I'm just on the other end of the phone. Here,' he pulled a card from his breast pocket, 'take this. This has my phone number, email and address. Visit me if you feel the need.'

'Could you, um, could you come here instead?'

'Of course, Molly. Will you be alright tonight? Do you want me to stay?'

'Oh! No, I'd never do that to you. It could cost you your job! Besides, you've got a family at home I imagine, you should go back to them.'

John gave her a small smile. 'No actually. I don't have a family waiting for me. Nobody seems to want a war veteran. As for my job… keeping my patients, clients, whatever you want to call them- keeping them safe is my job.'

'Oh but still, people might talk-'

'Alright, Molly. I'll be off then. Remember, if you ever need me I'm just a phone call away.' He set Toby on the sofa gently, stood up and Molly followed him to the door.

'Goodnight, John. Thank you.'

He smiled. 'Goodnight, Molly. Sleep tight.'