Title: "It's All in the Mind"
Pairing: Molly/Moriarty
TV Show: BBC Sherlock
Word Count: ~1,900
Rating: T

A/N: This ending's been planned this whole time.

Plus, if I don't make someone scream at their screen, or blow someone's mind, I'm going to kick my face.

Enjoy part one!

x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Some days, Molly would start to crumble. Her world would shake and amplify the worst inside: her nightmares, her dying words. These days were accompanied by reality with a touch of fear driving through her skull. But she'd have no recollection of the breakdown, o motivation to research the plight; she wanted to live in order to survive.

Her life was a dying maze, each dead end another world to live through, but the memories were all the same. It was a slow progression to reality, but it only took days to hit the next road block in her wake. And her Jim Moriarty would always be there, waiting for her to fall. He was there to gently catch her before the storm would break her back and kill her silently; he'd keep her safe.

Just like he promised—or said. Did he actually promise her? She started to rock back and forth on the floor, feet away from her bed. What day was it? What was the time? Where was she? When did that food nearby appear? Why were the walls padded? –No, those were always padded. Jim let her have the soft walls, so not to bruise her precious skin, something he always loved. "I'd hate for my favorite merchandise to be scarred so easily." But he couldn't save her from her nails, his hands, her scratches, his prods.

She stared into her lap. Had she always been in this outfit? Grey sweats that covered her feet, a white t-shirt that was the cleanest item in her room—her hair was a nest, stringy; nails were torn apart at every angle (was it from the lackeys? No, she must've bit them. Yes, she bit her nails) and she continued to rock. Her fingers were twitching at the sights her eyes were adjusting to: the window to her soul, her awakening path. And she didn't know how to react.

She had a feeling she had been at that moment before, feeling these walls come down. It was a game, she told herself. It was all just an illusion. She felt as though Jim was setting her up, however, and did not want to believe in such a lie. Why would the big bad wolf want to lie to his precious little red, especially when the big bad wolf cared so much about his little red? Her wolf did not lie to her, ever.

Just as she thought about that nasty monster, she could hear a screeching howl charge toward her room, screaming against the walls. She knew it was coming for her, whatever its purpose. Were they new lackeys? What had she done this time? She rose from the floor and stood back against the wall, staring at the door that kept her safe. What big eyes she had staring at that locked door, hearing the screaming howls tumble toward her. Molly heard the door start to unlock, and she secretly prayed for something new, something fresh, something blue.

Why blue?

Two men stood in the doorway as the door opened wide—my, what a big jaw it has, she thought. "Molly?" the short one called out to her. Who were they? Why did they know her name? Why were they so familiar? And why did she wish for something blue? She stared at the tall one's scarf: a dull blue. "Hey, Molly," the short one called out again. She turned her attention to the short one, wearing a cream-colored jumper—she'd seen that around before. Where, though? His eyes bore into hers as he reached out to her, but she flinched away.

"John-" the tall one growled. She shot her eyes to the tall one. John. John. She knew that name. The tall one, he must be the "Sh" man. Sh. Sh. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think, think, think—where was she? She opened her eyes and looked over at John. Yes. He was John. She forgot his name once with Jim.

Where was Jim? She watched the two of them speak, guns in hand, and she tore away at the skin on her fingers. This was real. This was happening. Jim was away, he was gone. John and the tall man must have killed him. Yes. She opened her mouth. "John?" She whispered. John turned his head over to her and watched her take a step forward. He didn't move. She expected him to be afraid of what she had become, stuck in the dark for all this time. How much time had passed? "John?" She reached out with her hand, and he grabbed it with both of his.

Where did his gun go?

"Molly, we're here to save you."

She felt the whole world lifted off her shoulders.

Safe in the outside world. Jim would not touch her again. He would not keep her here anymore. She was able to leave. "Sa-Save me?" She blinked, and she watched his face go from concern to—pity. Jim perfected that look. Why was he giving that look?

The tall one just stood there. "See you, Molly. See you. John, we go through this every time," Molly didn't move her head. See her? Why were they just wanting to see her? Save me!, she thought. Save me from this place! Take me away! Please! She felt John sigh and turn his head to the tall one.

"Sherlock-" Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes.

The one that put her here, Sherlock Holmes. He was here seeing her—saving her.

"Sherlock!" She cried out. "Sherlock and John." She whispered. John smiled and looked Molly in the eyes.

"Yes, Molly, it's Sherlock and John. We're here."

Sherlock muttered something, but Molly wasn't paying attention. "Every time?" She asked. She heard right, didn't she? Why was the room getting brighter? Why was the hallway not dark looking? It looked so clean and all sorts of lackeys walked around with other people. Did they not see her? Should she scream?

John sighed again. "Molly, we're here again." Again.

Why?

"Again?" She tore her hand away from his hands, bringing it to her chest. Were they lackeys of Jim's now? Did he hire them to kill her? Or to ruin her? Why were they there? When did they come before? Why can't she remember? And why did they have little badges on their clothing? When did that get there?

"Yes, again," Sherlock impatiently said. "Molly, you've been here for a year. You should know that by now."

"Sherlock, stop. She's had a mental breakdown."

"They should not last this long, John, you know this. You're a doctor."

"It's case by case. You should know all about these things, since you know everything."

"Medicine has never been a forte of mine. You've probably seen that."

Molly shook her head. "Stop! Stop! Please!" Sherlock and John turned their heads back to her, and she continued to watch everything fall apart. She started to cry. "You have to help me! Just get me out of here before Jim comes back! You came to save me, please!"

Sherlock stepped in front of John and placed a hand on both arms. She froze. He was a lackey. He was going to hurt her. "Molly," he looked straight in her eyes, watching them bounce back and forth between the walls in the room. "He's not coming back."

She pushed against his grip and held her hands against her chest, protecting her. She knew what was right. "No! You're wrong! He'll be here! You have to get me out of here!"

"But, Molly," John called out. Molly watched the room shift back into darkness, then into the light again. "You're safe here."

"I'm not safe here! He's going to hurt me! Please!" Sherlock's grip tightened on her arms, and she stopped screaming. Was that a sign of torture? She didn't know. Jim never had a sign. She bit down on her lip and looked at Sherlock. "Please."

"No," he whispered. "You're not ready."

No.

She was ready.

She had been waiting all this time.

She was ready.

Sherlock released her.

"No," she whispered, watching him back away. "No, stop!" She reached out to Sherlock and grabbed his coat sleeve; he just stared. "Please! Take me with you!" John calmly stepped between them and tried to pry her away, but she grabbed onto his arm. "I shouldn't be here! He's going to hurt me! Please!"

"He's not going to hurt you, Molly," John whispered, trying to calm her down. She let go of Sherlock, staring into the eyes of what appeared to be an angel. He wasn't a lackey. He was John. Yes. Sherlock stepped out into the hallway and waited, looking in every direction. He was on watch. Was Jim coming? No, she had to get away.

"Yes he is! He'll be back!" John brought a hand to her arm and gently rubbed her skin. She felt warmth, something she hadn't felt in a long time. Jim was always so cold.

"Molly," he grumbled. She let him go, and he stepped away. She followed like a puppy dog, but his stare told her to stay. She stopped. Why? Why couldn't she leave? Why was she stuck here? She wanted to be saved. That's why they were there, to save her. They said it themselves—didn't they? No, they wanted to see her. See her. He sighed and rubbed the back of his head.

"Molly, he's dead. He's been dead for a long time."

He was lying. He was a lackey. He was a liar.

"N-No, h-he was j-just here," she whispered. She looked down at her arms, looking at the fresh cuts on her arms from Jim. She had evidence. Why didn't they believe her? They? Who else did she tell? "See? My arms-"

John looked out to the hallway as she stuck out her arm. He saw Sherlock become impatient and bored—and he did not want him bored. He turned around when she lowered her arm. "I'm sorry, Molly. We'll be back soon, okay? You get better." He gave her a small smile, then he turned his back to her.

"No."

But he did not stop. The large jaw started to close on her.

"No!"

She rushed to the door to try and stop it, but she heard the loud crash of the door and the frame, the large padlocks locking themselves into place. The room was getting darker—wasn't it? She took a glance around the room, just turning her head. When did that caged window get there? Why was there a table? Where was she? Where was she!

She turned her head back to the door and started to pound against the door.

"No! Let me out!"

Nothing.

No sound.

No big bad wolf.

No howls.

Nothing.

"Help me! Help me!"

She pushed against the door and spun around, watching the walls crumble before her very eyes. Her eyes couldn't deceive her. There was light in this room, and it was clean. There was a bed. There was a table, a sink, nice walls, a clean floor. Windows graced the wall opposite to her, but the curtains were shut. It was dark. It was light. There was no blood. She was not tortured here. Jim. Where was Jim? Where was he? Where was she? Why was she here? What brought her here? How long had she been here?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her head started to hurt.

And Molly screamed as loud as she could.