A/N: Well, here is the next one. Hope you like it. And the final chapter will be posted very soon. As in right after I post this one, so I hope you like that one too, haha. Anyway, reviews are love, so please let me know if you like it :)

"Sherlock, would you mind explaining to me why Molly thinks not only that you are gay, but that you and I are in a relationship?"

Sherlock flinched as he turned to face John, who had just walked through the door of 221B.

"Well, remember how I told you the first time I tried to talk to Molly ended in disaster?" John nodded. "I may have asked her for advice to get background information, only to have her misunderstand and think I was talking about you."

John stared at him in bewilderment before letting out a bellowing laugh. "Only you would screw up so badly at chatting up a girl that she would end up thinking you're gay."

Sherlock bristled. "Well at least-"

He was cut off when his cell rang. He saw Molly's name flash across the screen and felt his stomach drop.

"John, it's her. What do I do?"

"Answer it, you dolt!" John yelled. He knew his friend was pretty much a genius, but sometimes he was convinced he had the mentality of a five year old child.

"But what do I say?"

"Well, 'hello' would be good for starters. Quick, before she hangs up," John barked.

Sherlock slid his thumb across the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello, Molly. What can I-"

"Sherlock?"

He froze at her quivering voice. He could hear the panic, the fear in it.

"Molly, are you ok?" he asked quickly, his sharp voice alerting John.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but Greg's not answering his phone and I didn't want to call the police if I'm just being silly, but-"

"Molly, what's wrong?" Sherlock pressed urgently.

"Well, I walked over to the Tesco for some milk. I'm on my way back now and, well, I think this man is following me. I wouldn't normally think anything, but he was following me around in the store and - oh I'm probably just being stupid. Nevermind, I'm sorry I called, I shouldn't have both-"

He was so stupid! He had been following her home every night, like he had previously decided, watching over her, but he hadn't taken into account if she would leave after that.

"Molly where are you?" He felt something come over him, something he couldn't explain.

"What?"

"Where are you?" he growled, already heading out the door, John hot on his heels. They hailed a cab quickly.

"U-um, I'm walking down Paddington Street." He barked the street address at the cabbie and told him to step on it.

"Do you see a phone booth anywhere?" he asked.

"Yes, there's one about twenty feet ahead," she murmured.

"Good. Get in it, close the door, and stay there. John and I are on our way."

"What?" she shrieked. "Sherlock, really, you don't have to do that. I'm probably just being paranoid, or something."

Sherlock ignored her outburst. "Can you still see the man, Molly?"

"Um...oh, yes. He's...he's just standing across the street. I-I think he's watching me." He could once again hear the fear in her voice and he felt rage grown in his chest. He would kill this man.

"It's okay, Molly. We'll be there soon. We're not far."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she whispered. He remained silent, unable to speak with his heart racing in his chest.

"Wait, I don't see him anymore...I think-I think he might be gone. I don't see him anywhere on the street. Maybe it was just a flase alarm."

He heard the sound of the phone booth door opening.

"Molly, no. Don't leave the booth, wait for-"

He was cut off by an ear piercing scream. It was as if time had frozen, and he couldn't feel a thing. Then suddenly, everything restarted in hyperspeed with startling accuracy and he felt an acute pain in his chest.

"Molly? MOLLY!" He felt himself start to hyperventilate as John ripped the phone from his hand.

"Get there NOW!" he growled at the cabbie. Not a minute and a half later, Sherlock was jumping out of the cab and rushing toward a now vacant phone booth. His heart plummeted when he found her phone and purse lying on the ground just outside it, the contents of her purse scattered like it had been thrown down forcefully.

"Oh no," John spoke from behind him.

"Shut up, John. I need to focus."

He couldn't panic now. He had to find her. He shut his emotions out and focused on the facts. Her purse was left behind, her wallet included, meaning her attacker didn't want money but something else. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat at the implications of that. Large boot print leading toward the left. He followed it. It cut off abruptly, and he examined his surroundings. There were two large apartment buildings only separated by a thin alleyway. He could not decide which way the kidnapper would have gone. However, when he heard a muffled whimper coming from the alley, he didn't have to guess.

He rushed down it, and froze. There was Molly, pushed up against a wall, a heavy man hovering over her with a knife pressed to her throat. He couldn't think. All he felt was white hot rage, and for once, he simply acted. With all the force he could muster, he rushed at the man and tackled him to the ground. After a remarkably easy scuffle, he held the knife against the attacker. He raised it to slice the man in the throat.

"Sherlock, no!" Molly's voice stopped him. "Leave him for the police."

He desperately wanted to kill the man for laying a hand on Molly, but only her plea could stop him. He could hear John behind him, calling in the police.

"John, would you mind holding your gun on him? I'd rather not sit on him all night. He's not very comfortable."

But in truth, he couldn't be near the man and control his rage. John chuckled half-heartedly as he walked over. Sherlock hopped up, and immediately switched his focus to the woman he had become consumed by.

She was still leaning against the wall, her breath coming out shakily. He could see her blouse had been torn slightly, and he felt an overwhelming urge to take the knife and stab the man in the throat...or groin. His rage was taking over again, and her couldn't rein it in.

"What were you thinking?"

She looked up suddenly, her eyes going wide. "W-what?"

"Why would you go out in the middle of the night on a deserted? And for milk? Do you realize how incredibly stupid that is, Molly?"

"Sherlock." He ignored John's warning tone.

"And why on earth would you walk instead of taking a cab? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Are you?"

He heard her whimper and suddenly realized that she was cowering beneath him. He had somehow stalked toward her until he towered above her. He saw her terrified eyes and instantly hated himself. Before he could stop himself, he gathered her in his arms. She let out a small shriek and tried to push him away, but he just held her tighter.

"Molly, I'm sorry. I'm not angry at you. I'm so sorry. I did not mean to frighten you."

He felt her relax in his arms, and he reveled in the feeling of her small frame pressed tightly against his body. Suddenly, he felt her body star to shake with silent sobs, but he just held her closer, running his fingers through her hair soothingly. He looked over to John quickly and saw his friend give him an approving nod. After a few minutes, Molly's crying subsided, and she slowly looked up at him. He was struck then by her beauty. How had he never seen it before? Even with her face splotchy and red from from crying, and her mascara running, she was easily stunning.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for coming," she whispered with a shy smile.

He looked at her intensely for a long moment, gathering up all the courage he could muster for what he was about to say. "Molly, you have to understand, it would be most...inconvenient for me if I were to lose you," he said softly, reverently even. However, he saw the smile fall from her face, and he quickly felt rejection seeping in. Then, anger flashed in her eyes. He looked to John again, as if to ask not good? But his friend was only shaking his head.

Molly pushed him away forcefully, and he felt something twist in his chest. "Well, I'm so sorry if my possible kidnapping and/or death would be inconvenient for you, Sherlock. I'll try to keep that in mind next time," she hissed before storming off down the alley, leaving him feeling crushed in her wake. However, she stopped halfway there, turned toward him, and said just loud enough for him to hear, "You know, for once, for one single moment, I thought you were actually being nice. I thought you came to help me because you cared about me, but all you care about is the work. Your cases and your experiments. God, I was so stupid, all these years I've been so stupid."

Then, she turned fully and looked him in the eye as she delivered the final blow. "You don't even have a heart, do you?"

She pivoted and started to sprint toward her flat.

"Molly, no. Molly, wait!" Sherlock yelled, beginning to run after her until a hand grabbed onto his wrist.

"John, let go of me, I have to go talk to her."

"And what exactly will you say? You're big mouth got you into this situation. You don't need to talk to her until you've figured out how, and until she's had some time to cool off and think a bit."

Sherlock wanted to disagree with his friend vehemently, but he knew he was right. He went over Molly's words again in his head, not understanding how things had escalated out of control so quickly. How could she so completely misunderstand his words?

"John, how could she not know what I meant?"

John sighed deeply. "Sherlock, inconvenient was not the best word to use. You don't want a woman to think you keep her around purely out of convenience. That doesn't show caring, it shows laziness and boredom. Second, given everything that you've done to her previously, it just makes it seem like you only want her alive so you can continue to use her..."

"But that's not what I meant at all!"

"I know that, but she doesn't. With women, you have to tell them what they want to hear. You have to say that you need them, you love them, you can't live without them."

"That's what I meant! Why did she not know that?"

"Because you have to say it Sherlock! You have to talk to her, my God! You have to do what I've told you from the beginning. You can't keep skirting around the truth like a scared little boy anymore."

"I'm not a scared little b-"

"Yes, you are, and if you don't do something about this soon, you are going to lose her. So, stop being a coward and be the man she deserves."

John stomped down the alley and Sherlock felt his gut clench as he thought his friend was leaving him too. Then he saw the flashing lights of the police car he hadn't noticed had arrived. They each gave their statements to Lestrade as another officer hauled the attacker into the car. Lestrade looked around.

"Hang on, where's Molly?"

"She went home," Sherlock said, his voice empty.

"And you just let her. Sherlock, we need her statement. Why on earth would you do th-"

He cut off when Sherlock fixed him with a deadly glare. "She went home," he said again, his voice dangerous this time.

"Right," Lestrade said, his eyes wide. "I suppose we can just get her statement in the morning."

Sherlock nodded sharply before hailing a cab.