Note: Thank you very much for your reviews and even more so for your patience. I know it was mean to leave you hanging with such a cliffhanger for so long. All I can say is: I am sorry. Forgive me ;)
Enjoy reading. (By the way: Not mine and all that...)

Slowly walking backwards, Molly looked at the scrutinising eyes of Sherlock again. He didn't look at her directly but his pupils flew between her throat, Phil's arms around her and the door behind them. She could see his mind racing. Assessing possibilities to intervene. The few seconds she had left in the room felt like minutes. Several ideas of how to overpower the other pathologist ran through her mind, but none seemed feasible. She wasn't able to move enough; Phil's grip was way too tight.

Molly felt Phil stop. With a small 'thud', his back came into contact with the swing door and he started to lean against it. Squeaking, it opened very slowly. Sherlock leaned in closer in reaction and Molly could see the concentration it took for him not to start running towards them.

"Oh no. You better stay there. Not one step. I will see your face through the glass in the door and if you come towards us she will die. I don't care for your threats, detective. Your pet is going to be mine for now," Phil spat out, breathing heavily and smiling gruesomely.

Sherlock's jaw clenched. He was disgusted by the tone of the pathologist's voice and the violent sparkle in his eyes, appearing at his last sentence. His stomach felt weird when he processed the connotations of his words. He wanted to punch Phil. Punching had helped to numb the similar feeling that had arisen the day before during his talk with David. But, instead, he didn't move.

As Phil had almost completely opened the door and turned to move Molly's body slightly to be able to go out without loosening his grip or looking away from the other man, Sherlock said, "She's not my only pet you know." Then, an almost undetectable smile crossed his features.

Molly's brow furrowed in surprise but about half a second later, she understood.

"Hi, am I late to the party?" a warm voice asked from not more than three feet away. She couldn't see him because he was standing on a side of her attacker she couldn't overlook from her position between his arms. She didn't need to see him anyway, she already knew who it was. Quickly, Phil turned them around to use her as a barrier again. She was now looking into a pair of wide blue eyes. Cracking a greeting smile, John rapidly focused on Phil again. Molly could now see how close he really was. If she could have moved her arms she would have been able to touch him. In his hands, he held a gun pointed directly at the other man's face.

_.:0:._

When Sherlock had announced he needed to go to St. Bart's and had swept out of the flat, John couldn't really understand his friend's logic but stood up anyway to follow him. When he was almost outside, he heard the detective shout back at him, "Bring your gun! Be quick." John was stunned but did as he was told and went into his room to fetch it. He actually had to run down the stairs and just barely made it into the cab Sherlock was already sitting in. Whenever this case was over he finally had to ask him about his cab hailing skills. This was getting ridiculous.

On the way to the hospital Sherlock had explained that he had found Phil's name on every questionable autopsy report. Also, the pathologist was working alongside Dr Garrett and had even offered Molly to introduce her to the researchers. John noticed the grim look that momentarily settled on his friend's face when he said, "I should have been more observant when he was talking to her."

"Okay. So, this Phil is involved. It's oh-so bad that you didn't deduce it from his suit yesterday night," John doubted Sherlock would hear the irony but put it in anyway, "but why are we rushing to the hospital like madmen now – with a gun?," he added in a whisper so that the cabbie wouldn't hear him.

"I sent Molly a text earlier to enquire about her wellbeing and she told me that she went to Bart's today despite not having to work. I think she wants to get closer to Miller. Just now, I remembered the shift plan I passed by last week. Phil is working right now and not many people are in the hospital at the moment. Molly is not save. I have a bad feeling, John." During his little speech, Sherlock had stared out of the window gravely, not meeting the doctor's eyes.

So many things with his friend's sentences were just wrong; John didn't know where to start. First of all, Sherlock had texted Molly. Just like this? Enquiring about her wellbeing, for heaven's sake. Then, he usually didn't have bad feelings about something. Furrowing his brows, the blonde doctor looked at his friend who still looked out of the window. He is actually worried about her.

When they had arrived at the hospital, they went straight down to the morgue, suspecting it to be the likeliest place to find Molly. They walked down the corridor when Sherlock suddenly stopped and touched John's arm. "Something's wrong," he whispered, "Listen." At first, John couldn't hear anything, but when Sherlock said, "she's talking to someone and she's crying," he heard it as well. He wasn't sure if it was Molly, but a female voice was sobbing very quietly. They were still several feet away from the doors. Sherlock turned, leaned in close to John and ordered him to go around the back waiting in the corridor with the gun ready. He only nodded and left his friend in front of the morgue.

_.:0:._

Some very tense seconds passed without anyone moving or speaking. Molly doubted that any of the men were even breathing during that time. Sherlock was the first to speak again. She could hear his voice getting closer with every word. He was walking towards them.

"I'm afraid to tell you, Philipp, that your chances of getting out of this situation are diminishing by the second. Would you do us all a favour and drop the scalpel already?" His voice sounded more stable than before and almost cheery. But, Molly knew Sherlock well enough by now to recognise the tiny signs of distress still showing. He usually didn't tend to phrase orders as questions. His footsteps, accompanying his words in the deadly silence of the morgue, could be heard clearly and Molly guessed he was now not more than ten feet away. She had been staring at John the entire time and studied his features; he didn't react to Sherlock's words. Instead, he just stared at Phil intently, pointing the gun calmly as if it was a natural thing to do. Phil finally shifted behind her.

"Lower the gun. I demand it," he said defensively while sliding the scalpel up her neck a bit. Her throat felt sore and it burned and she suspected the small wound had widened slightly. The sharp instrument was now resting right under her chin.

John chuckled silently. "Really?" he remarked, "do you expect that, because you demand it, I'll drop everything and let you leave with her? Surely, you cannot overestimate your persuasive power that much! Now, I honestly don't like to use this gun but another twitch of your fingers and poor Molly will have to wash pieces of your brain out of her hair later on."

Molly was shocked by John's words. She had never known the gentle doctor to be so intense. But, on the other hand, she thought, she had also never seen him in such a situation before. Maybe that was a frequent case-persona of his?

Sherlock had come even closer when he spoke again. "I would listen to the doctor. The army doctor, by the way. Not that it matters. While John is an excellent shot, I doubt that anyone would miss your head at that proximity. Also, he actually is very reluctant to kill people, which is good for you; I would have shot by now. Don't mistake it for weakness, though. If need be, he won't hesitate."

Molly felt one of her attacker's arms loosen around her. He seemed to finally understand the hopelessness of his situation. She was glad that he didn't seem so completely desperate not to care even for his own life anymore. In that case, she would be dead by now. She still watched John who started to relax a bit when he noticed Phil's movement but still kept a firm grip on his gun. Now, she heard the loud thumping of her heart again and suddenly felt dizzy. She was only half aware of Sherlock's steps coming closer tentatively.

The adrenaline rushing through her body made her brain work slowly which is why it took a long time for her to realise what was happening next. She heard a loud sound, some muttered swearwords and a scream. Suddenly, She felt her knees give in when something dragged at her from below; then she was thrown to the side and flinched as she expected to fall to the floor. Instead she felt something soft and warm that stopped her fall and kind of accompanied her down to the cold tiles of the morgue. Then she saw a lot of blood and closed her eyes in shock. All of this happened in less than two seconds. When she opened her eyes again, she was met with very wide, very icy ones, approximately four inches away.

"Molly," Sherlock all but screamed at her, "Molly, are you all right? Talk to me!" He recognised the panic in his voice with unease but didn't care for once. He grabbed her head and tore some hair away from her throat to have a close look at it. No damage to the carotid, he noticed, good. Molly was half lying in his arms, still not answering and stared at him. She shuddered. Quickly, Sherlock moved away from her face and scanned her whole body. When he saw the small pool of blood forming at her legs, his eyes widened even more.

Everything had happened so fast. Just when Phil had been about to let go of Molly, Sherlock had heard a sound behind him. He'd turned just in time to see the doors on the other side of the room fly open. Professor Piers Miller himself suddenly stood in the room, rapidly getting aware of what was happening. In shock, Sherlock turned again and within a fraction of a second, several things happened. Firstly, he saw John look towards the sound of the doors opening. Secondly, in his peripheral vision, Phil and Molly vanished. Phil was ducking to move out of the fire line of John's gun and dragged her with him. Then, some movement Sherlock couldn't see properly and Molly was thrown towards him. He caught her and they immediately sunk to the floor together. She had screamed with a high-pitched voice. Another scream sounded; Sherlock had been sure it was John, and soon he heard the quick footsteps of someone running away.

Now, with Molly right next to him, he frantically tried to find the source of the blood. "Molly, say something, please. Did he cut you with the scalpel?" Sherlock removed the scarf from his neck as he spoke. Turning his head slightly with the motion, he realised that Piers Miller wasn't standing in the door anymore. He had probably run away. The detective didn't care.

Finally, Molly answered him at the same time as he found the spot where her trousers had been cut open. "Erm, I.. I think it's my thigh." She gestured towards her right leg. He already knew by then and started wrapping the scarf around it tightly. As he did it, he calmed down slowly.

"John, your ragged breathing tells me you're alive and that he hasn't punctured your lungs. Good. What's wrong with you? Do you need help?" he shouted towards the back corridor.

"My ears are fine as well," John started in a much quieter tone, "so no need to scream like that. I'll be okay. I'm bleeding quite a bit but he didn't get any internal organs." He paused for a bit and then added, "I'm so sorry I let him get away!"

"Don't be, I know where he's going!"