'Molly.' The voice was familiar, deep and dangerous. 'Molly…' it had shifted. In the darkness, she felt the presence of the speaker, circling her. She watched as the light illuminated the face; high cheekbones, piercing, imperious gaze, set mouth. It was Sherlock. His voice was soft, she felt a sense of calm as he neared her, slowly. There was a glint of light; a knife in his hand. He smiled, and-

Molly gasped awake. Since her talk with Doctor Watson, John, she had been having nightmares about Sherlock. Every time she went to work, she dreaded finding him. Every night, she would attempt sleep, but she would instead be haunted by Sherlock. It was getting too much. She grabbed her phone, dialling John's number.

'Mmm. Hello? Who is this, it's 2am…'

'Doctor Watson, it's Molly Hooper. I'm sorry; I wouldn't call if it wasn't important…'

'Molly! I've told you, call me John… I'll- I'll be right over…'

Molly breathed a sigh of relief. If John was here, surely the nightmares would stay away? She busied herself with the kettle and coffee, until she heard John at the door. She opened it, coffee in hand, still in her pyjamas and dressing gown.

'Doctor Watson. Thank you so much for coming, I should have waited till the morning…'

'It is the morning, Molly. Thank you. And please, call me John.' He accepted the coffee and shuffled to the kitchen table. Toby, who had been curled on the sofa, padded in to jump into John's lap.

'Oh dear. People are going to talk,' Molly mumbled, 'I'm sorry for doing this.'

'Let them, Molly.' John yawned. Molly stiffened and looked away. 'What's the matter?'

'Oh, um… he said that. That's all. Sherlock said that to me when I- when I moved in.'

'I'm sorry Molly. Is that what you called about? Sherlock?'

'Yes. I've been having nightmares. I keep seeing the same dream.'

'Explain it to me.'

'I'm just in some kind of room, it's really dark and I can barely see. I can't move. Every time, I can hear Sherlock's voice, calling me, coming closer and closer, circling me. And I feel this sort of calm when he talks, you know? And then I can see him and he smiles and raises a knife and then… I wake up.'

'This could suggest you're afraid of attack. It also suggests you're afraid you'll get sucked in by him again and he'll end up hurting you. There's a level of attraction there, still. You don't really want him to leave, he's the most exciting man you've ever met. I'm sorry to say this Molly… but you'll have to confront him.'

'I can't. I can't, John. He'll kill me.'

'Molly, I'll be there with you every step of the way. I was a soldier, I'll protect you. I'll call DI Lestrade for backup. I'll be just outside, I promise you.'

'A-alright.'

And so she steeled herself. That night, she returned home and wondered how she would do it. She opened the door- left it unlocked, again- and opened the living room door. Candles were lit, on every surface. The light was dim but she could just make out a figure sprawled nonchalantly on her sofa.

'Ah, Molly. I took the liberty of cooking dinner.' He gestured to the table, set for two.

'Get out. Get out of my flat, you maniac. I'll call the police.'

He laughed, a deep, dangerous laugh.

'It's just dinner.' His eyes flashed and he lets her glimpse his teeth.

'You broke in. Why are you here?'

He moved toward her, taking slow, deliberate steps. She didn't back down.

'Don't tell me you aren't glad I'm here. There's a lot to be said for attraction, isn't there? It makes people so easy to trap. Don't bother calling for help. DI Lestrade is dealing with a particularly difficult murder case and your friend John, who you've been getting dangerously close to, by the way- is indisposed.'

'John,' She breathed. She couldn't see him hurt by her actions. 'Oh god, this is my fault…'

'There's no-one left for you, Molly Hooper. Just me.' He extended a hand to her and she imagined she saw blood all over them. She stared at it and then back to his face, imagining blood at the corners of his mouth. She couldn't trust him. He was insane.

'No. I don't believe you. Get out.'

He snapped, slamming her against the wall. She stared wide eyed as he hissed,

'If you want to see your precious John alive again, you're going to play along. Everyone must believe I'm dead. Too many murders have been put to my name. You're going to fake my death and then organise my passage out of the country. And then you'll do one more thing for me.'

'I won't, I won't!'

'I can see the headlines now. 'Molly Hooper, mild mannered pathologist, revealed as accomplice to deceased murderer Sherlock Holmes, kills herself. She couldn't take the guilt of knowing she helped him hunt his victims'. John will die if you don't obey me. Slowly and painfully. And you'll be next.'