A/N: Thank you so much to those who reviewed the last chapter!

Disclaimer: Sherlock is not owned by me.

The first thing Molly did after her hands had stopped shaking was to phone Mycroft. The older Holmes was apparently at home, and was seemingly annoyed at being disturbed until he realised the reason behind her call. He had sounded calm and emotionless over the phone, but she thought she heard a tiny flicker of dismay in his usually cold voice. They ended the call quickly, with Mycroft suggesting that she stayed in her flat in case Sherlock came back. She knew he was merely humouring her, probably because he detected the rising hysteria in her voice despite her best efforts to conceal it. If he thought it would make her feel better, he was wrong.

She couldn't believe that Sherlock was gone. That he had left without even bothering to say goodbye. There was no note, no text. His clothes were still in her bedroom. The only important things missing were his trademark Belstaff and his dark blue scarf – he couldn't be bothered to change his clothing style despite being dead. Molly collapsed onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands, trying to steady her breathing. His departure shouldn't come as a shock to her. After all, she had been expecting it, waiting for the day she would come back to an empty house. But she had foolishly hoped that he would at least think that she counted enough to inform her. Especially after what he had told her in the lab that night.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. It was as if someone had dug out a hole in the middle of her chest. The thought of waiting hopelessly until Mycroft phoned her again was agonising. It might be hours before he discovered anything, and she was already restless. She wasn't even sure if he would phone her. If Sherlock had walked out of her life, then her role in the plan was finished. She was no longer useful and there was no practical reason for Mycroft to inform her of Sherlock's whereabouts. And Mycroft Holmes was all about practicality.

Her mind screamed at her to do something. She should try and look for him, to see if he was alright. It was stupid, since she knew Sherlock could not be found if he didn't want to be. But anything was better than just sitting around, waiting for a call that might never come.

Molly never fully appreciated the term 'a needle in a haystack' until now. She walked aimlessly for hours until her calves ached, searching every street she passed, even resorting to looking at alleyways. In a desperate attempt, she even peeked into a few coffee shops and god help her, pubs. She had tried calling him a few times too, but his phone remained turned off.

As the hours flew by, the heavy weight in her chest deepened. She desperately fought the tears burning at the back of her eyes, not wanting to break down in public. She knew that if one tear escaped, many more would follow. She wasn't even sure if she was looking for him anymore, or just trying to soothe the dull ache of her heart.

The sky was a dark blanket when her stubborn mind finally accepted the fact that Sherlock was well and truly gone. Thunder clouds rolled overhead and a chill breeze ruffled her already tangled hair. Molly tightened her scarf around her neck and made her way into the park near her house. It was definitely going to rain soon, but she didn't care. She was not yet ready to go home and stare at the empty space where he was supposed to be. She sat on a bench and closed her eyes, her mind wandering to the past week that Sherlock had stayed with her.

Living with him hadn't been easy at all. He was prone to abrupt mood changes, and he sometimes took his frustration out on her, especially when he couldn't find his nicotine patches among the mess he had created. And she learnt early on that he had no sense of self-consciousness and privacy at all – he had tried to break into her bathroom on his third night, claiming that he needed to use the toilet and that she was taking too long to bathe. It was only when she had shouted at him (the first time she did that) did he back away from the door reluctantly.

But she also enjoyed spending time with him. He made her laugh with his witty remarks. His commentaries while watching telly were amusing, and he was an interesting conversationalist. He was one of the few who weren't disgusted by her talks about autopsies. In fact, he always participated enthusiastically when she spoke about anatomy. He was also caring in his unique way, waking her up once for work when she had been too exhausted to hear her alarm ringing. Granted, he had shouted at her to get up, but he had been kind enough to make her a cup of coffee before retreating into his mind palace for the day. What she loved most of all was the fact that she was gradually seeing the layers of human beneath his cold exterior. She only caught glimpses of them, but they only made her love him more.

She realised too late that tears were dripping down her cheeks. She was going to miss him, and he wasn't even gone for a day. A loud clap of thunder sounded across the sky at that moment, and the first drops of rain fell, merging with her tears. She hastily got up from the bench and was just about to make a dash for her flat when she came into contact with something large and hard.

Startled, Molly looked up and saw a burly man smiling down at her, a hungry glint in his eyes. She saw two other men behind him, watching her like a pack of wolves. She backed away from them slowly, her pulse beating hard against her skin. Her mouth opened in fear.

"Hello, sweetheart. How can a pretty girl like you be alone in the park at night?" the burly man spoke softly, as if talking to a vulnerable prey, doomed to die.

Molly continued backing away, her eyes darting frantically around, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone nearby to scream for help. But it was raining and close to midnight, so no one else was around. The trio of men advanced towards her, never breaking eye contact. Realising that there was no other alternative, Molly swallowed hard to compose herself.

Then, she ran.

She only made it a few metres before a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind, causing her to lose her balance. Her arms flailed in the air before someone pinned them behind her. Before she could process the dire situation she was in, she was dragged behind a huge tree and flung to the ground. Her head hit a protruding tree root and a sharp pain erupted from her temple. Groaning, Molly tried to sit up, only to have one of them press her body down again. She yelled and thrashed against the unwelcome body heat, but her cries for help were easily muffled by a hand. Tears of fear and panic were streaming down her face as she tried to aim a kick at the man sitting on her, which only motivated him more.

Rough fingers unbuttoned her coat, and she heard a rip as one of the men pulled it off her gracelessly. She shut her eyes tightly and dug her fingers into her palms, her cries never stopping. Just as her top blouse button was tore open, she heard a shout. The voice got steadily louder and she heard footsteps running towards them. The men pinning her down immediately got up and ran, cursing under their breaths as they disappeared into the darkness.

Molly sat up shakily, her breathing loud and heavy. Blood was trickling down the side of her head and her lips were pale with fear. A lean man appeared, looking down at her with concern. He muttered something like "bloody bastards" under his breath before squatting beside her and placing an arm on her shoulder. She flinched and made an odd noise that sounded like a yelp. He immediately moved his hand away, raising it in surrender.

"It's ok," he murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm Joe. What's your name?"

"M-Molly."

"Molly. That's a lovely name. Can you stand?"

She closed her eyes for a while before nodding.

"Ok, that's good. Molly, I'm going to hold your left hand, but it's only to help you up, ok? I promise I'm not going to do anything else. Is that alright?"

She nodded again and he took her hand, slowly pulling her up. She grimaced as she stood up, feeling the bruises from where the men had pinned her down.

"There you go," he said softly. "Do you need me to help you call a cab?"

"No, it's…it's fine. My flat is…it's nearby. I can…walk there," she stuttered, shivering from the cold.

"Are you sure? I think you should see a doctor first, Molly."

"I think I just have super…superficial wounds. I can tend to…them myself." She used her scarf to gently wipe some of the blood away.

"Alright," Joe said, sounding unconvinced. But he didn't want to push her further. "Need me to walk you home?"

"No, it's alright. My flat's just…just five minutes away."

"Ok then. But remember to see a doc if anything comes up."

"Thank you so much, Joe. Thank you," she reached out to clasp his hand in gratitude.

He gave her a soft smile. "You're welcome."

The moment Molly reached home, she slumped onto the floor and sobbed, her entire body shaking from exhaustion. Toby came towards her, rubbing his body along her legs in greeting. She reached out to cuddle him, his warm body soft and comforting. He meowed a little in protest before giving up and letting her stroke his head.

Just then, she heard the click of her lock. Someone was entering her flat. Fear gripped her again and she let go of Toby, standing unsteadily. She realised too late that she had nothing to protect herself with. The door finally clicked open and her jaw unhinged itself.

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