Chapter 10:

Baker Street. NOW. -SH

John groaned softly as the text message flashed onto his phone's screen. Minutes before, he was getting ready to settle in for a quiet evening with his wife. Amidst all the chaos with the accident, they both were looking for some quality alone time. Of course, Sherlock would be the one to snuff that out.

He sighed and walked into the kitchen, finding his wife cooking their dinner, with Grace in her arms. "Honey, I have to go."

Mary turned and smile sympathetically at him. "Sherlock, I presume."

He nodded. "I think I need to remind him that I'm married."

Her laugh filled the kitchen. "You know that won't do any good." She walked over to him and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "You go on and help Sherlock. We'll be here when you get back."

He smiled softly before turning, grabbing his coat and heading out the door. What did he do to deserve such an understanding wife? He silently thanked a God he wasn't sure he believed in, and headed down the street to Sherlock's apartment.

Sherlock paced back and forth, anxiously awaiting the arrival of John. The moment his eyes graced the words that Moriarty had sent him, he went into full protective mode. Within a matter of seconds, he contacted Mycroft (much to his dismay) to explain that Moriarty was alive. Of course, Mycroft did not believe him at first. His initial response was, "Brother, are you certain that accident didn't mess with your mind." It took all of Sherlock's resolve not to shove his hand through the phone and strangle him. However, after a few convincing words, Mycroft made arrangements to have Molly placed under surveillance.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. He stopped mid stride and turned toward John, who appeared in the entrance to the living room. For several minutes, they simply stood there looking at one another. Sherlock glaring with anger at John, and John staring bewildered at Sherlock.

"What's the matter?" John said, finally breaking their silence.

"We have a serious problem."

"It better be serious, because I was in the middle of a relaxing evening with my wife. May I remind you, Sherlock, that I am imarried/i now, and cannot simply heed to your every beck and call."

"Your marriage is irrelevant." He said, waving his hand in the air. "Moriarty is alive."

John coughed from shock, and stood there, unable to speak for a full minute. "Excuse me?"

"Are you losing your hearing, John? I said, 'Moriarty is alive.'"

He shook his head. "Impossible. You were there when he killed himself, Sherlock. Granted, he did frighten us all a bit with his 'Did you miss me?' stunt. But that was just to mess with our minds. He's dead, and you know it."

Anger flared in Sherlock's eyes and he practically shouted his response. "Then explain this!" He threw his phone at John, and began pacing again.

"Wait a minute," He said, reading the text message. "You mean, Moriarty caused the car crash? How?"

"I don't know yet, but when I find out..." His voice trailed off. The anger inside his heart was quickly turning to rage. Dealing with Moriarty was not that much of a bother, to be honest. He learned to play his games and dance his dances. Oh no, it wasn't the fact that Moriarty had fooled them into believing he was dead that bothered Sherlock. It was that Jim had figured out Sherlock's own game. He was attempting to take out the one person who he let have his heart. His pathologist. His Molly. Sherlock shook his head, but couldn't keep the thoughts away. Flinging himself onto the couch, he buried his face into the pillow. This was all too much to deal with. God help me, he whispered to himself.

"Sherlock, you need to relax," John said, walking over to him. "You've outsmarted Jim on more than one occasion, and I'm certain you will be able to do it again."

He mumbled something into the pillow, but John couldn't make it out.

"What?"

Sherlock lifted his head slightly. "He could have killed her, and there was nothing I could do about it."

For a moment, John stood there, uncertain of what Sherlock was referring to. However, as Mary's words from the day of the crash echoed in his mind, his heart ached for his friend. "You love her, don't you?"

He shot up off the couch, only to sit back down. "Ridiculous. You know how I detest sentiment."

"Oh, shut up, Sherlock, and admit it. You are in love with Molly."

If looks could kill, John would have been dead in an instant. Sherlock had to admit, he was fond of his pathologist, but love? That was, as he said, ridiculous. He didn't love people; he appreciated them, even cared a little, but never loved. Love and sentiment went hand in hand, and that was why he had avoided it. But as he looked up at John's face, he felt his resolve slipping away. Watson was, after all, his best friend and best friends could share their secrets. He groaned and stood up. Where was that gun?, he thought. He needed to shoot a wall.

"Yes," He whispered. "I...yes, I do."

"Say it louder, Sherlock."

He sent another glare John's way before conceding. "I love Molly." The words were but a raised whisper, but as the escaped his lips, something inside of him snapped. His mouth was suddenly moving and speaking without thought. "I love Molly Hooper. Her infatuation with me was quiet...annoying, at first. But then, when she started to adjust to having me around, I started to miss the way she stammered when I complimented her. Granted, I was doing it to get my way, but that's irrelevant. I missed the way she blushed when I was near here; I missed all the things that made her a lovesick puppy around me. And when she slapped me in the lab, as you remember," John smirked slightly and Sherlock scowled at him before continuing. "I wasn't angry with her. I was...proud of her. She wasn't mousy Molly Hooper anymore. She was strong and confident and..." His voice trailed off.

"And what?" John asked.

"And absolutely beautiful."

He laughed softly, and shook his head. "Sherlock, you need to tell her when she wakes up."

Suddenly, Sherlock realized he hadn't broke the news to John, Mary, or anyone else. He smirked slightly. "She is awake."

John's eyes widened, and he took a step toward Sherlock, punching him in the arm. "And you neglected to tell us?! Come on, let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"To tell Mary," He said, stopping a moment before turning around. "And if you think my punch hurt, you better watch for Mary's reaction when you tell her. She is going to knock you clear into next week."

Sherlock smirked again, and follow John out of his apartment. His entire body felt lighter, as he had finally admitted to his feelings for Molly. Even so, there was still a lingering darkness over his entire being, as the thought that Moriarty was alive settled into his mind palace. None of them would be safe, especially Molly, until that sociopath was gone. And he was going to make sure he never saw the light of day again.