Chapter Eight:

Sherlock and Molly stood looking at one another for a few moments, before either of them made a move to speak. Sherlock still had a look of disbelief on his face as he looked Molly up and down. She had escaped a room that seemed inescapable; it was quite impressive. Molly, on the other hand, stood with a triumphant smile on her face, completely unphased by the fact that she was standing in front of Sherlock wearing a hospital gown. The courage she felt within herself gave her the ability to address him.

"Sherlock, this is my mind palace and I'm pretty sure that makes me the boss."

The smirk that he was trying to stifle before forced its way onto his face, and he began to laugh. The laugh startled Molly, as she very rarely heard Sherlock laugh. In fact, she couldn't think of a single time where he cracked more than a simple smile. However, as laughter filled the room, she couldn't help but smile herself. He sounded like a little boy; not the serious man that everyone else saw.

She took a couple steps toward him, before deciding to explore her library. It was even bigger now that she could see it properly. The ceilings were grand, rising high above her head. There was amazing wood detailing that curved with the ceilings dome. As she marveled at the beauty of it, she realized she had seen this ceiling before. It was the ceiling of an old church her parents used to take her to on Sunday's. The thought of her parents – particularly her father – brought tears to her eyes. She fought them back and continued to explore.

The books in the library were old and worn, and as she looked over their covers, she realized all these books were familiar to her. Each and every book was something she had already read; some of them from her childhood, others from more recent years. The sight of them brought joy to her heart, as she realized she was in the company of some of her favorite memories. The joy filled her heart to the brim, making her grin with pleasure. It was a few moments before she realized that Sherlock was watching her intently.

"Sorry, I was just..." Molly began to stammer, locking eyes with Sherlock.

He smiled softly, and took a step toward her. "Don't apologize, Molly. You're just taking everything in, which I can appreciate."

His kindness toward her was a bit unsettling, as most days, he was harsh and sarcastic. Of course, this man before her wasn't ireally/i Sherlock; he was the Sherlock her mind created for herself. Her heart fell slightly at this thought, but she knocked away the sadness. Even if this man before her wasn't really Sherlock, she could still pretend he was. Suddenly, as Molly opened her mouth to speak, she heard footsteps coming from somewhere outside the library. Both Sherlock and herself turned toward the noise with puzzled expressions.

"Who is that?" He said, looking back at Molly. His voice was filled with disdain, and Molly secretly rejoiced, because he sounded more like the Sherlock she knew.

Molly shrugged. "I have no idea."

The footsteps were becoming louder and she realized, whoever it was, they were coming to the library. When Molly had made her way out of the white room, she had noticed that to her right and to her left, a hallway cut through the back of the library. This is where the footsteps were coming from. Two large wooden pillars blocked the view to both openings of the hallway, giving anyone the opportunity to keep their presence unknown. However, as the footsteps grew louder, their owner walked swiftly from behind the right pillar.

"You have to be bloody joking," Sherlock said, groaning and turning away, walking toward one of the large windows. "Bloody joking."

Molly was just as surprised by the person who bore the footsteps. He grinned smugly in Sherlock's direction before turning toward Molly. "Miss Hooper."

"Mycroft..." Molly wanted to ask him how in the world he got into her mind palace, but she couldn't find the words. Sherlock knew this and decidedly stepped in.

"What Molly is trying to say is...why are you here, Mycroft?" He grimaced at his brother's name.

"That is an excellent question, brother, but you're asking the wrong person." Mycroft said, looking in Molly's direction.

He rolled his eyes. "A half hour ago, Molly didn't even know she had a mind palace. How would you expect her to know why you're here?!"

"Excuse me, boys," Molly interjected. "That's enough. Honestly, I don't really care how Mycroft got here. He is just one more person to help me get out of this place. So, let's get to it."

There was a moment of silence, as Sherlock and Mycroft stood scowling at one another. Molly always knew that Sherlock didn't exactly get along with his brother, but she hadn't realized it was this bad. You could practically cut the tension in the air with a knife. Uncertainty began to cloud Molly's heart and mind, as she questioned her ability to get these two to cooperate. Mousy Molly Hooper seemed to be reappearing, and she did everything in her power to stop her from coming back. Thankfully, Mycroft spoke, which allowed Molly to relax a bit.

"Well, Sherlock, she wants our help. We might as well give it to her, since we're stuck here together."

Sherlock looked over at Molly, his face littered with frustration. "She should be perfectly capable to getting herself out of this situation, without assistance from either of us. Besides, I already told her I wouldn't help."

Molly groaned softly in aggravation. "No, you said that you wouldn't help me escape that room." She said pointing toward the open door. "But I'm out now, so you can start helping me."

"No," He said simply, sitting down on the sofa.

"For all the times I helped you, Sherlock," She said, her voice raising in anger. "The least you could do is help me this once!"

Suddenly, something dawned on her. Molly had read a book once about lucid dreaming, where the person dreaming realizes they are in a dream state. People who were able to lucid dream were also able to wake themselves up from their dream. If Molly was unconscious in the hospital, then it stood to reason that she was dreaming. From what she remembered, people could do things in their dream to wake themselves up. As she looked from Sherlock to Mycroft and back, she knew what she had to do.

"Sherlock, punch me in the face."

The stunned look on his face was quite amusing to Mycroft, who began to laugh as he walked over to him. "Well, brother, go ahead. Punch her in the face."

He snapped his attention to Mycroft and practically snarled his response. "I will not punch her! Absolutely not!"

"Please, Sherlock," Molly protested. "I need to be suddenly shocked somehow, in order to wake up. Punch me. In the face."

He walked over to her, and she was surprised by how close his face came to hers. "No, I will not punch you in the face, Molly. Out of the question."

She groaned and took a step back, unable to focus with Sherlock so close to her. With more ease than she expected, Molly collected her thoughts and spoke the words she knew would hurt him. "Fine, if you won't punch me in the face, then I'll just jump."

Mycroft looked puzzled as her gaze flickered over to him, trying to avoid Sherlock's eyes. However, she knew she needed to look over at him eventually. Most people wouldn't have understood Molly's statement, but as her eyes fixed on Sherlock's, she knew he understood completely. The pain in his eyes broke her heart, but she knew she had to do it. Memories of helping him plan his death echoed through her mind. If he could jump off a building, faking his death, to save his friends, then Molly could jump off a building to save herself. Without hesitation, she began to walk out of the library and explore the rest of her mind palace. Behind her, she heard the distinct footsteps of both Sherlock and Mycroft.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked Molly, his voice a mix of frustration and anxiety.

She didn't turn around to respond. Instead, she continued her search for the staircase that would lead to the top of this mind palace. There had to be a room somewhere that had a staircase, and that staircase would lead her to freedom. Molly could feel the tension behind her, as Sherlock became more aggravated. It was tempting to turn around to see his expression, but she suppressed the urge and continued forward.

"You know what she's doing," Mycorft said coolly.

"Shut up," Sherlock barked at him, clearly more frustrated than he had ever been.

"It's a good idea, Sherlock," He responded, obviously not phased by Sherlock's anger. "This pathologist of yours is awfully smart; much smarter than I thought. The force of the fall alone should wake her up, easily."

Molly smiled softly, and turned around, no longer able to resist. "Thank you, Mycroft."

He nodded once and smiled back at her. "You know, if this idiot won't punch you, I certainly will."

At his words, Sherlock reeled and stepped in front of Molly. "You so much as lay a finger on her and I will-"

"Enough!" Molly yelled, startling even herself. "Just...enough." She paused a moment before continuing, Sherlock looking at her now. "Sherlock, you can spare yourself the agony of watching me jump off a building if you would just punch me. Honestly, I won't hold it again you. Your verbal abuse is much worse than any punch you could throw at me."

She instantly regretted her words as pain splashed across his face. He gritted his teeth, trying to conceal the pain that she caused him. "Molly Hooper, you are impossible, but..."

She watched in delight, as she saw Sherlock concede to her request. Never did she imagine being so happy about being punched in the face. Taking a step back, she braced herself for what she knew was going to hurt. However, a few second of pain would be nothing compared the joy she would feel waking up. Sherlock braced himself as well, balling his hand into a fist. Her eye quickly jumped from his fist to his face, uncertainty clouding her mind. Maybe this wasn't the right thing to do...

"Are you ready?"

Molly nodded, swallowing her uncertainty. "Go for it."

"Molly, wake up." At his words, she felt his fist meet the left side of her face, and everything went black.