A/N - You lovely reviewers! - Myseybee, mycatsaninja47, magicstrikes, MadAsAHatterJayy, lililoop, Ssmill, friend2friend1, FrancisLovey, Guest, Rose DeTyler, Lono, louisethelibrarian, TheDayItRayne's and patemalah21! Thankyou for your continuing reviews! All are very much appreciated :)

This chapter, yeah, don't hate me, please. Enjoy!

Thanks to my beta again, TruffleHead.

Disclaimer - Its funny, but I still don't own Sherlock.

John rushed out of 221b and joined Sherlock on the street.

"Now wait just a minute Sherlock; think this through!" John sighed, "If it is Moran-"

"Which it is." Sherlock snapped, interrupting.

"Alright," John said, nodding his approval, "It is Moran, okay, but how are we going to get there in time? It takes 8 hours to get there, Sherlock; what happens to Molly if we're late?"

"He'll wait. He needs something from Molly, or she would be dead already. There's something I'm missing! What could he possibly need Molly for?" Sherlock muttered as he typed furiously on his phone, "And you're right, John, it does take too long to get there; however, I believe Mycroft will be able to help us."

As he spoke, a smart black town car pulled up to the kerb and the door opened to allow them inside. Sliding onto the seat, Sherlock turned his attention back to his phone. "John, phone Lestrade and inform him of the situation. Get him to send a squad up to assist us; we will need help bringing Moran down."

"No, we

can't, Sherlock. Greg doesn't have any power up there; we're going to have to call the Scottish police and see if they can help."

"No. I am not dealing with incompetent policemen; the situation is dangerous enough. Phone Mycroft. Tell him we require back-up as well." Sherlock said with a hint of disgust. He hated having to ask his brother for help.

"Emm, okay, I'll phone him." John acquiesced.

Two hours later, the car was travelling alarmingly fast down the motorway. They had made record time getting out of London and were now well on their way to Edinburgh. Sherlock was still staring blankly out of the window, so John assumed that he must have entered his mind palace. To fill the time, John had been doing some thinking of his own.

"Sherlock?" John asked tentatively; he didn't know if his friend would even hear him.

"Sherlock?" John said more forcibly, this time earning a grunt of recognition from his companion. "I've been thinking."

Sherlock turned to face him and regarded him with a withering glare, "Really, John, this isn't the time. I'm working on a plan to rescue Molly from Moran. If only I knew what he needed her for," He grumbled, more to himself, now, "Then I could figure out how to best him."

"You see, that's what I've been thinking about." John announced, "I know what he needs her for."

"I doubt that, John." Sherlock commented, turning back to the window dismissively.

"No, Sherlock, listen to me- really listen, and for goodness sake, don't interrupt half way through." John took a deep breath before he continued, "I found the note Molly gave you and I know, I know I shouldn't have read it but I did, and I think that is the reason Moran wants Molly."

"Oh, please John. A note does not merit kidnapping someone." Sherlock replied with a snort.

"I told you not to interrupt me. No, the note itself doesn't, but what it caused does. You care for her, Sherlock; don't deny it. It's more than that, though. When you found the note, I reckon it caused something to change in you; maybe you suddenly realised what she meant to you, although that would be a miracle, but since then you've been going from case to case trying to forget about it.

"When we met Molly in Edinburgh the first time, you refused to tell me what you spoke about and you practically froze at the sight of her. You didn't do that before, but you do it now. That note must've changed you, and that's the reason Moran has Molly. Sherlock, he knows how you feel about her." John took another deep breath, "Right, you can speak now."

"You're right, John." Sherlock answered simply.

"What?! "John exclaimed, incredulously. He knew his theory was right, but he hadn't expected Sherlock to admit it so easily.

"I do care for her. A... great deal more than I am used to caring for anyone." He paused, seemingly trying to collect himself. "I suppose I knew this is why he had kidnapped her, but I didn't want it to be true." He looked up at John, and the doctor realized how scared he was. "This is not me, John. I don't feel. I don't care about people this way. But I care for Molly. I don't know how, John, how to cope with all these... feelings! So it's better... better to simply shut them out."

"No. It's not, Sherlock. You need to deal with this, or Molly is going to get seriously hurt. If not by Moran, then by you."

John's words shocked Sherlock. He was right, of course he was right. If Sherlock didn't act on these feelings, then Molly would end up getting hurt by him.

"I have a plan, John, but it's...risky." Sherlock turned to face John as he stared at him.

"Tell me." John demanded.

Molly awoke, not to sunlight and an arm around her, but to harsh concrete and the taste of blood in her mouth. She coughed weakly as she tried to open her eyes. Her vision was hazy; she surmised she must have been out for a while, possibly even for hours.

As her eyes began to focus, she became aware of the blood pooling on the floor around her. She didn't remember much about what had happened, but she remembered the pain. The worst pain that she had ever felt radiating through her body until all she could feel was the darkness.

She attempted to move just a fraction, but decided against it when her very flesh cried out against her. She let out a strangled scream as pain shot through her back. She collapsed back to the floor and took a deep breath.

It didn't take long for her mind to return, and when it did, she took a second to assess her body. By her estimation, she had at least two broken ribs, a broken arm, and she couldn't feel her left ankle. Her whole body was covered in small cuts and there was a bump forming on the back of her head.

She gathered her strength and turned over, only to be blinded by a bright light being shone directly into her face.

"Ah, you're awake," Moran crooned, "Just in time, too. Are you sure you're up for this? Oh, who am I kidding; of course you are! He'll be here in about two minutes, I think, so get ready."

Molly couldn't believe he was actually coming. She hoped he had some sort of plan, or she wasn't getting out alive. A stray tear ran down her face and merged with the red on her cheek.

"Oh, here he comes, now! I'm so excited!" Moran exclaimed giddily. He acted like Moriarty, but it was all for show. He wasn't like him; he just wanted to hang on to any trace of him.

Sherlock whipped around the corner and opened the door to the abandoned hotel. The building hadn't been touched for years, and every nook and cranny was covered in a thick layer of dust. Well, except from a clear circle in the middle of the reception area where Molly Hooper lay on the cold floor.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked, not willing to believe what he was seeing. It couldn't be her; he couldn't accept that it was her. It was not his pathologist lying battered on the floor; it just couldn't be.

Molly rolled over and grunted with the pain, "Sherlock?" she said with a look of utter disbelief.

It was her.

Sherlock rushed forward towards her broken body, intent on just getting her out of here, whatever the cost, but he was stopped by a sing song voice echoing around the empty room.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Moran exclaimed as he walked out of the shadows, "Tut tut Mr. Genius, you should've known I wouldn't let you get to her that easily."

"Moran, let her go. You don't need her anymore, you've got me." Sherlock pleaded, struggling to keep his features neutral.

"No, Sherlock, that's not how it works. You are going to listen to me, then I'm going to kill Molly, and then, do you know what? I'm going to kill you."

"You don't need her. You don't need to do this, Moran. You are trying to keep Moriarty alive, but he's dead. He killed himself; you know this."

"I SAID I WAS GOING TO TALK." Moran shouted, "And you are going to listen, or Molly gets it." Moran reached into his pocket and brought out his gun, pointing it directly at Molly but keeping Sherlock's gaze.

Sherlock gulped as he realised how unstable Moran was. He was obviously struggling with Moriarty's death, and that had sent him off the rails. There was the faint smell of alcohol coming from him, and his hand that was holding the gun was shaking uncontrollably. The man was a bomb wound tightly around a false sense of reality; one wrong move from Sherlock and he went off.

"You see, you took Jim from me. You took him, and now I'm going to take Molly, because you care for her, don't you? DON'T YOU?" Moran hollered, his breathing uneven. Now faced with his enemy, Sherlock Holmes, he was starting to lose it. Blind sighted by the mere thought of getting revenge for Moriarty's death.

"Yes." Sherlock answered simply. He looked to Molly, who was now looking up at him, astonished. At some point she had shifted and was now crouched on all fours, slightly doubled over from the pain but determined to get up.

"Molly, stay down." Sherlock commanded, looking back to Moran.

Molly shook her head, not trusting her voice, but stayed put, the pain overwhelming her as she listened to Sherlock.

"Yes, I do care for her, but not in the same way that you cared for Moriarty. Killing Molly isn't going to do anything; just let her go."

"No, because you took Jim away from me, and now I can take Molly away from you. I never saw what Jim liked about her, even in the end he never put a sniper on her. He said she was special, but she's not; do you hear? She is not special. I'm special; I am so much more than her." Moran screamed, waving the gun about wildly before looking at Molly in disgust and taking aim on her, "I am so. Much. MORE"

"NO!" Sherlock roared as two distinct gunshots went off.

Moran looked at Sherlock before he slumped to the floor, the life flowing out of him as his body fell.

John walked out from behind Moran, holding his gun in one hand. "Shoot him before he shoots Molly; that was the plan, right?"

A shower of relief washed over Sherlock at the sight of his blogger. A scream brought him back to the present.

Molly.

Sherlock crouched down beside her and held her in his arms.

"Sherlock?" Molly wheezed as she lifted her hand from her abdomen. Her hand was covered in blood; a ragged gun shot wound scarred her stomach.

The second gun shot; Moran had managed to shoot Molly before John had shot him. No, not Molly, not now.

"Molly, stay with me, you are not leaving me now, don't you dare. Don't you dare." Sherlock pleaded as Molly smiled faintly in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." Molly said, slowly closing her eyes.

"No, not now, not after all this. You are not leaving me now Molly; I mean it. John, call an ambulance." Sherlock ordered as he grabbed Molly and carried her out of the sordid building.

He would not lose her now.

Note - That little review button again huh! Hes a mischevious little chappy! Give him a click, please?