I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTER IN THIS STORY.

Chapter Eight: Did you miss me?

Her name fell from his lips over and over again as he kiss his way down and up her body. Oh she was beautiful truly wonderful. He had once thought her breasts where small, but now as he cups one in his left hand and sucked on the hard nipple of the other he saw them differently. They were made to fit perfectly in his hands just as they did and just like the rest of her body. Again she pulled at his hair, scratching her nails over his scalp. Every touch, every kiss she placed on him made is whole body burn. Those torturous touches that made him shiver. God how he love this small creature that sighs and moans with pleasure at his ministrations.

Sherlock turned on the shower, not bothering to wait for it to warm he stepped in. Holmes pushed his soaking and limp curls back over his head. The dreams had been acquiring more often and each one was more painfully pleasurable than the last. He wanted her more than ever. The image of her laying naked in his bed the day she left for the safe house, wouldn't leave his mine.

….

Molly awoke in a daze. She could have sworn she heard Holme' voice saying her name. But now as she sat wide awake there was no sound but Toby's mewing. She was glad that today was the last day of her supposed illness. It wasn't the most impressive excuse, but it was the most believable.

"Well come on Toby. Let's make the most of all this free food for you and I'll make the most of that lovely power shower. Eh?"

Meow.

"Okay then." Molly pulled back the covers and walked across the room to where her light linen dressing gown was laid across a chair. She raped it around her naked body. She had always hated sleeping with pyjamas on.

Toby purred contently as he saw his mistress going into the cupboard for his packet of food. At home he never go the brand wet food. She couldn't afford it. It was always the supermarket value stuff.

"Here you go baby. Right Mummy is going to have a shower."

….

Sherlock dropped his towel and walked across the room towards his wardrobe. Eight years he had been able to stay detached from all feelings involving lust or love towards anyone. Eight whole years he had been able to resist Molly's sweet smile and giggles. This woman who made jokes that weren't funny, that had an often terribly childish style in clothing, and who had a bad taste in men had stolen his heart. Something that even the woman couldn't do.

"What the hell are you doing Holmes?! Molly went because of the danger your fake relationship put her in and now you want to put her in danger again!" he said out load to himself. That was one advantage of John not living at Baker Street anymore. He could speak out load and not have to worry about someone hearing. The other advantage would be how easy it would be to shag Molly without worrying about noise.

Sherlock smirked at this thought 'Oh how easy it would be.'

…

The soap suds from Molly's hair ran over her small frame as she washed her hair. She ran her hand over her scalp three or four times. There, to her, was nothing better than the feeling of a hot shower on an icy cold morning. She loved the feeling of the powerful patter of the shower water beating against her breasts, collar bones and face. Far better than any massage.

It was only when the water began to run cold did Molly get out. Looking at the time she had been in there for at least an hour and a half. Her finger tips where certainly wrinkled. And the whole of the bath room was filled with hot steam.

Molly walked over to the large central that hung about the fireplace in the living room. Her face was still slightly pink from her shower and her hair lay softly over her shoulders. She grabbed the last of her things from that room and then began to check the others from the third time. Toby watched his mistress very carefully. There was no way he was going back into that cage again. Not a chance.

Miss Hooper I have sent the car for you. I will be with you in exactly thirty-five minutes (traffic permitting) – Mycroft Holmes

Thank you Mycroft – Molly

She would usually put a kiss at the end of her text but Mycroft Holmes didn't seem the type to appreciate that sort of thing. Molly looked at the cat "You're not going to make this easy are you Toby." Molly said titling her head at the ginger tabby cat who was wagging his tale as he sat on the cream fabric sofa.

…..

The car pulled up exactly thirty-five minutes later just as Mycroft had said. There was a knock at the door as Molly finished with her struggle of putting a very grumpy Toby in his cat cage. Molly headed towards the door. She was just about to open it when something told her not to. She had never really used the eye hole in doors before but today she was rather glad of it.

As she peered through she spotted young slender man with short black hair. He turned to face the door after looking down the steps. And gave a smile that can only be described as reptilian. Moriarty. Her heart stopped and a lump in her throat almost choked her.

He just stood there. It was only him? No trained killers? No bombers? No Hench men?! Just him. He had only knocked the once. Moriarty clearly knew she was watching him, too terrified to look away.

From his coat pocket he pulled out a few white cards. Rectangle in shape and just less than A5. He held each one up in turn so she could read the short sentences that were written on each one. Before throwing them haphazardly over his right shoulder.

Did you miss me Molly? – said the first card.

Tell the Ice man to stop been so predictably idiotic… - said the next.

I can find anyone. Anywhere. – said the last.

Molly watched in terror, confusion, frustration as the dead man walked away from her door with a wink. Her eyes began to fill with tears as soon as he left. It was if her body was determined not to show any emotion towards him even though he could not see her. Like the wet salty liquid that ran from her eyes Molly slid down the flat door into a weeping ball. 'If only the car had come earlier.' She repeatedly thought and muttered under her breath.

When the car finally did come it was an hour since he had left. Though she did want to. And no matter how hard she tried to persuade herself not to, that she was stronger than that. As soon as Anthea walked through the door with her ever present phone in her left hand Molly couldn't help but run to her. And though taken by surprise the young woman immediately rapped her arms around the other. Anthea did not ask what was wrong with Molly, well not until she had stopped sobbing and apologizing to her. By which time Mycroft had come up to see what was wrong.

"Anthea?" said the elder Holmes as he looked towards her, then to Molly, then back to her again. "What's going on?"

"Sir." Anthea squeezed the pathologist's hand and stood. "It would appear that Molly… sorry Miss Hooper has had a visit from Moriarty, sir." She handed him all three cards that she had picked up from outside the flat.

"What?!"

"These were scattered outside the flat sir. Molly said that he had held them up to the eye hole for her to see. And then left sir." Anthea failed to correct herself.

"I see and did MISS Hooper say if he did anything else?"

"No, Sir. He did do anything else."

"Fine. Get her back to her flat…"

"But…Sir…"

"As Moriarty has been kind enough to point out he knew she was here. He knows she will be there. He knows where she works…" Molly began to lesion in of Mycroft's and Anthea's conversation. "He knows she will most likely be seeing my brother soon. I hate it, Anthea. I hate it, but with must play along." He turned and walked out not even saying a word to Molly who was still quietly sobbing on the corner sofa.

"Yes…Sir." Anthea hung her head. She too hated times like this, for he would never really acknowledge her verbally unless it was on the phone. And even then it would only be a few moments.

….

Sherlock's phone began to buzz in his trouser pocket. He ignored it for a moment or two with the feeling that it might be his brother. The call ended. For a few moments the only noises in the Baker Street house were the sound of Mrs Hudson hovering downstairs and the pages of a newspaper been turned by john in the living room. Mary had gone to stay with her parents for a little while apparently. But then the device began too buzz again.

Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh. "No, Sherlock." Replied John before his friend could say a word. "I'm not getting your phone out of your trouser pocket for you."

"But th-…"

"No. I'm already in trouble with Mary as it is."

"How would you getting my phone for me be adding to your marital troubles?"

"People talk."

"People do little else John." The phone stopped ringing again.

Tell my brother to pick up his phone John. It's important. – Mycroft Holmes.

John gowned "Sherlock he's texting me now. He doesn't even have my number. Just pick up your phone."

"Why?" Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

"Just pick it up." His friend didn't move a muscle. He just kept steering down the lenses of his microscope. "SHERLOCK!"

"Fine." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the once again buzzing phone. "What?! I'm busy?!"

"I'm sending Molly to her old flat. Moriarty visited her two hours ago…"

"What! And you only just told me. FOR GOD'S SAKE Mycroft!"

"Sherlock…"

"Why are you taking her to her old flat you should take her somewhere save?!"

"He made it quite clear that he can find her or anyone anywhere and I have that in bloody writing Sherlock. So you can get off that bastard high horse of yours!" hissed Mycroft down the receiver.

"Me on a high horse?! You need to look in the mirror!"

"Stop being a child. Molly is on code red surveillance protection. I have people living in flats 21, 23, and in the houses across the road. You may have your 'homeless network' watching her to. I need their names." He was given no answer from his little brother.

John turned round to see his flat mate had pushed the science equipment out of his way and was covering his eyes with one hand and the other holding the phone loosely to his ear. Both of his elbows rested on the table work top. John stopped that he was shacking as the material of his shirt slipped here and there against the other surface.

Sherlock's friend did not open his mouth. He had only ever seen Holmes like this once before and that was after he had supposedly seen the hound of Baskerville. John watched as Holmes ended the call and leave without a word. John heard the front door slam shut.

…..

The wind was a lot cooler than Holmes has first thought and he shivered as he walked to her flat without his heavy Belstaf coat on. Today was meant to be the day. He was going to the lab under the pretences of needing more samples for a case. He make sure to catch her as she goes for lunch and as soon as they we're her office he would have her. How perfect it would be for their first time with each other to be in the lab where they met. Sherlock had dreamed how he would take her, where he would take her and how many times he would have her before he would let her sleep. He had planned everything. But now all that was gone.

As he neared her flat he noticed that all the curtains where closed. He sighed 'a clear sign of felling threatened.'

He knock rhythmically on the sky blue door. "Molly?" but she gave no answer. "Molly?" he would have thought she was asleep if it was not for the muffled scream she gave. "Molly its Sherlock can you let me in? It's just me Molly."

She looked up from where her head was laid in the nook of the sofa arm. Another knock came, but this time it was at her window. Molly saw Sherlock's tall shadow case on her curtains by the street lamps outside.

After a few moments Sherlock the door's Yael lock been clicked open and a tear stained face poke around the edge of the door. There was a moments silence before Sherlock stepped into her small flat. He shut the door gently and locked it again.

"You look tiered." Holmes cursed himself for pointing out something so obvious.

"Yes…well…I…"

"Have you eaten?"

"Uhmm no I don't really want anything…"

"You need to eat Molly" he said as he walked into the small kitchen opposite.

"Sherlock I'm not hungry." She said following him. But he wasn't having any of it. He turned to her. Put both of his large hands on the top of her arms.

"Molly, please. Just a slice of toast you have to eat."

"How do you know I haven't already had something and washed up." He just looked at her with a sad smile. She sighed. "Just one though, I really aren't hungry."

"Fine. Now go sit down in there." He pointed to the sofa. "I'll bring it over."

Toby looked up at Holmes. "You haven't eaten either mate?" the cat mewed. Toby was a funny one he really was. One minute he was all over him the next he would want nothing to do with him. Holmes feed the cat and made Molly a cup of milky tea to go with her toast. And headed into the living area again.

He set the things down on the table and took off his suit jacket. "How can you stand it in here its freezing?"

"You're the one taking his jacket off." She sipped her tea. She didn't know why but he seemed to bring the sarcastic side out in her, but at the moment sarcastic was better than miserable.

"Yes but I'm putting the fire on."

"Good luck with that." Sherlock hummed. "That thing is a pain in the arse to get going." And just like that it started. He had only pushed the button twice. It took her at least six attempts to start it the last time she tried.

"You were saying?"

"Oh shut up."

"Nice way to thank me for making your supper. And making it warm." He winked and gave a sad smile. He sat next to her and took a bite out of the toast that she had just put down.

"Oi!"

"You said you weren't hungry." At last a little giggle. Only a small one and only for a couple of seconds but it was a start. They sat there for the next few hours talking about anything everything. The T.V. occasionally stopping they conversation when one of Molly's favourite food programs came on. But after a while the pathologist feel asleep. Her head resting on his shoulder. Sherlock lifted his arm and placed it around her. Just like he had done so many times in his dreams. Her hand came up to rest on his chest and he covered it with his own.

…

Another few hours past and the ten o'clock news came on with its breaking news headline:

MORIARTY BACK FROM THE DEAD!

"The criminal James Moriarty was stopped yesterday evening around the Knightsbridge around." Stated one of the BBC's news reporters.

"Shit." As he turned it over. The same story on the next channel, and the channel after that and after that. "998 channels and he's on the lot of them." Molly began to stir from her sleep.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing." Replied Holmes as he quickly turned off the television. "Come on I think you should go to bed." Agreeing with Sherlock with a slow nod Molly walk to her room Sherlock followed with her blanket.

Molly got in not bothering to get undress. "Will you stay?"

"Sorry?"

"Just for tonight?" He should have said no, but after what she had gone through today…how could he?

"Yes, Molly if you want me to." He smiled. "I'll be next door."

"No. Can you stay here?" Sherlock watched as Molly scooted over to the other side. "Please?"

Molly couldn't know how hard this was for him. He wanted to rip Moriarty to shreds. He couldn't get the image of her riving under him out of his mind and now she wanted him to sleep in the same bed as her! "Yes." He kicked of his shoes and laid beside her with all these thought running through his head. And to make things worse Molly, now knowingly, had once again got her head and hand resting on his chest. "God help." He whispered as he pulled her closer to him. "God help."