Chapter 4

Sherlock did not care for being at a disadvantage. In ANYthing.

But at this rate, he was going to have to mentally build whole new wings to his mind palace just to contain all the recent information his brain was being supplied. Not to mention altering and/or replacing existing data.

He and John had been up quite late going over the message he and Sam had exchanged. Lestrade was helpful with his knowledge of these men's lives. It really was too much.

Angels, demons, ghosts, vampires, werewolves... and innumerable other monsters truly existed. Each with thier own individual method of destruction. But they weren't after vampires or other such bump in the night creatures were they? No. They were after something far more sinister. And far far more dangerous.

It brought about a large number of questions and doubts in Sherlock. He had taken down Moriarties network. But had he? What if any or all of them weren't quite...human? How could he know if Moriarty indeed was. He'd never heard of this Crowley person, but it did seem he had the answers.

So much to think on, with limited time.

So why couldn't he concentrate on that? Why did his gaze keep sliding off to Molly?

He wasn't jealous. The very thought was absurd.

First of all, Sherlock didn't doubt for a second that Molly's heart was his, and always would be. Even if he didn't deserve it, ask for it...or necessarily want it. Just as was her body. She'd given it to him without question. Without hesitation that night. But was it truly her body he was seeking, or would any willing one have done?

He watched as Molly and this Dean fellow haunched over the corpse. The man's hand resting on the small of the pathologists back as if it belonged there. An obvious move. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Surely Molly was too intelligent to fall for such a manuever. He himself had used it many times to get what he wanted from the woman.

But what was it Dean wanted.

He wanted Molly.

HIS Molly.

This could not be borne.

He fists his hands inside his pockets and tried to concentrate on the conversations going on around him.

oOo

Molly was having the best time...ever.

Every so often, she would well time a giggle at something silly Dean said, or move a little closer to him. The feeling of power she got feeling Sherlock's glare at her back was intoxicating. She glanced quickly in the direction of Meg, who wore a smirk and gave her an encouraging wink.

Sherlock turned to exist the lab. He needed a cigarette badly. He went out onto the rooftop at Barts knowing he would be undisturbed.

Standing there, memories of that time flooding him.

"This is where it happened. "

The sudden unexpected voice made Sherlock spin on his heel, only to find Castiel uncomfortably close.

"Where the bloody hell did you just come from? "

"I have a habit of doing that, I am assured. I'm sorry. " Castiel took a few steps back and regarded Sherlock with a tipped head.

"And you still suffer nightmares of the memory. " He continued.

"How would ...oh, that's right. Angel. So tell me, why would an all seeing angel need my help? "

"I am not omnipotent. I am an angel, not God. I am also somewhat cut off from heaven. "

"But your teleportation skills haven't suffered. "

"I can read minds to an extent, but sometimes the illogic of human behavior escapes me. " Castiel said, staring out onto the London rooftops.

"That is something we share. When did Moriarty come to your attention? "

"When I learned of the death of the angel that was with you the day of your...fall. "

"Excuse me? "

"Angels can sense demons. But Dominic, the angel that was with you, his messages were a little unclear. We still dont' know if there was a demon present during that morning, or if the demon resided inside Moriarty. The latter seems to make more sense. "

"Then why didn't the angel stop him? Or call out a few of his brethren to protect my friends? "

"It doesn't always work that way. What happened had to happen. For reasons Im not quite sure of just yet. "

"So it just stood there and watched? "

"I hardly think so. You may be good, but you aren't THAT good. "

Sherlock snorted.

"How do you think you survived. Virtually unharmed. Slight concussion? Broken arm? Even with your plan, even you must admit you would at least have been much farther injured. You knew before you fell there would be a chance it would fail. "

"Yes...but... "

"So you...had a little help. "

"This now dead angel saved me. "

"Dominic saved your body. Not your soul. "

"What about my soul? "

Castiel looked deep into his eyes.

"You should really look more closely at Miss Hooper...Sherlock. "

Sherlock pulled his glare away and looked around him, laughing.

"Molly? Surely she... "

But he was once again completely alone on the rooftop.

He hissed as the forgotten cigarette burned down to bite his finger. Tossing the offending object from his hand, he pressed a shiney toed shoe onto it before walking for the doors.

What the hell did Molly have to do with any of this?

Just as his hand rested on the door handle something struck his mind.

John...Mrs Hudson...Lestrade. Three gun men. Three bullets.

Moriarty had invented Jim from IT to get to Sherlock. He could have played off Molly as some kind of friend of hers to get to him. So why DATE her?

And how would a man of Moriarty's intellect miss her as a person of import to Sherlock.

Or did he miss it at all?

Why did Sherlock bed Molly? He'd been pumped on adrenaline before and never sought out such an act as ...

Did he need to somehow brand her as belonging to him?

Perhaps.

The real question, was why?

He'd thought about that night far more often than he cared to admit. He'd had sex before but this was somehow...different.

Too many puzzles all coming out at one time. His head pounded.

Only one thing became crystal clear as he opened the door, walked back to the morgue and viewed Molly smiling at Dean through the small window in the door.

Moriarty couldn't have missed Molly.

...then neither would Crowley.