Authors Note: Okay. I admit… I'm late, and I have no excuse… besides the fact that I was lazy and without inspiration for a third chapter. :) Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: Not going to be sarcastic, because it's late and I'm tired, but I still don't own Sherlock! :)

"Care to explain to me what the hell happened?!" John yelled.

Sherlock shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as he removed his scarf from around his neck. It was pretty much the only thing that wasn't blood-stained.

"Brian Lucas attacked Molly Hooper after he found out I was following them, he pulled a knife on me, Molly pushed me out of the way, and she was injured. I thought you'd gotten that much." He snapped.

"You really expect me to believe that that's all that happened?" "What are you talking about?" John obviously sensed Sherlock's irritation, though he decided to say nothing.

"Sherlock, we were working on the case when you looked me in the eye, told me that you were running an errand, and just disappeared. The next time I saw you, you were covered in blood that could have very well been yours. Not to mention that one of your friends and co-workers is in the hospital as we speak, because you're too stubborn to ask for help when you obviously need it!" John was yelling now, his face growing red with anger towards the consulting detective.

"You couldn't have done anything for me. The important thing is that we have our criminal." Sherlock was short with his answer, not wanting to feel anger any more than he already had tonight.

John shook his head in exasperation. "No, Sherlock, the most important thing is that Molly Hooper isn't dead as of right now! How's she even going to live alone now knowing what an easy target she is for the rest of the bastards searching for their next victim?"

John's words finally got to Sherlock. He was finally about to defend himself when he remembered something. "Hold on, is anyone even at the hospital with her?" "Lestrade said that he would stay with her and call when she woke up. Her mother is in America right now, and she has no siblings or other relatives that I know of." John explained, now calming his pounding heart.

A look of relief spread across Sherlock's face, which for some reason made John a bit antsy. "Actually she has a brother living in Africa on some missionary of sorts. She's out of contact with her family anyways. They stopped contacting her after her father passed." Sherlock explained.

This earned him a surprised look from John, who raised his eyebrows at his friend. "Oh don't give me that look. I've worked with the woman for over 6 years; I've had personal conversations with her before." He snapped.

John shook his head and smiled. "Alright, whatever. You need to change out of those clothes and get washed up and I'll meet you back at St. Bart's." John said. Sherlock nodded towards him and headed up stairs, waiting until he heard the door close to remove his coat to look his bloodied self over in the mirror.

Shivers raced through Sherlock's body. The thought of someone actually killing Molly was somewhat scary to Sherlock. He did care about her, no matter what John said. She saved his life, more than once as of tonight. But one question still haunted him. Who was this man, and what else did he have against me?

Shaking the thought from his mind, the consulting detective stripped the half white- half red shirt off of himself, followed by his trousers. He began disposing of them in plastic bags Mrs. Hudson kept under the bathroom sink. He turned the knob on the shower head, stepping in and letting the heat overwhelm his body. He stared at the crimson colored water as it found its way to the small drain. What was going to happen to her after she left St. Bart's? Would she be able to bear living in fear, or would she act like her usual strong self, and live with the threat of this happening again?

Given, she did recover from the attack when Sherlock hid out at her apartment. No. This was not the same thing. This man got close to her, pushing Sherlock away in the process, and then took advantage of the opportunity. This could not happen again. He refused to let this happen again.

SsSsSsSs

Molly woke from her sleep with a jump, forgetting where she was for a moment. She felt a strong grip on her small hand, fixing her eyes to the figure standing beside her. Greg Lestrade gave her an uncomfortable smile. "Greg? What…" "Everything's fine. Sherlock and John just went home to clean up and get things sorted out a bit." He explained.

Molly slouched back in the small hospital bed, trying to ignore the pain in her side. "How long was I asleep?" She asked groggily. "Not long. About an hour or two. Are you feeling any pain?" he asked kindly. "Just a little bit. Nothing I can't bear. Did the doctor's say how much longer I'll be here for?"

"I believe he said you can leave tonight if you would like to. If not, they'll only keep you here until tomorrow." He said.

Molly closed her eyes for a moment, pushing away images of Brian on top of her; holding the knife over Sherlock's heart. The only thing that snapped her out of her reverie was John quietly shutting the door. "How's the patient?" he teased.

Molly forced a smile to cross her face. "I've been better. How about you?"

She asked.

John smiled, letting a small giggle escape his lips. "What?" she asked.

"You. You're lying in a hospital bed and you're still asking me how I am." He said.

Molly looked down to hide the redness in her cheeks. Lestrade looked towards John, as if asking him if it was alright to leave now that he had returned. He nodded and smiled again at the small figure lying in the bed.

"Alright. I think I should go. I still have paper work I need to finish up." He directed his attention towards Molly, "If you need anything, call me, alright?" Molly nodded and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

The Detective Inspector stepped forwards and embraced the woman in his arms, gently patting her back, and walking out of the room, leaving only John and Molly alone in the hospital room. The awkward silence was really eating away at Molly; who was staring off into space at the moment. "Any word on when you'll be able to go home?" John finally asked. "Um… I think I'm able to go home tomorrow." She said; her voice almost inaudible.

Those were the last words they spoke to each other before Sherlock came strolling through the hospital doors. Molly let out a sigh of relieve now that the awkward silence was over. His hair was still a wet mass of black curls. Molly smiled warmly at the sight of the consulting detective, but was cut off before she was able to greet him. "Miss Hooper, you're cab awaits you." Sherlock stated kindly.

Molly furrowed her brow in confusion. "Have I been released already?" she asked. "Yes. I've already talked to your doctor. You're just about ready to leave." Sherlock explained.

John held up his hand to stop his further rambling on. "Why don't you ask her what she wants?" he said. "No, John, it's fine. I don't want to stay here any longer anyways." Molly forced a smile. She was ready to leave this place.

"We'll stop off at your flat so you can get changed, and then we need to head down to the police station where Lestrade will question you about…" Sherlock trailed off. "That's fine. Will you be coming as well?" she directed towards Sherlock.

He nodded slowly, turning to face the doctor the second he walked through the door. "Miss Hooper, you're all set." He said, handing her a bag that contained 2 orange pill bottles. "Those are your pain killers. Take one of each twice daily. If you experience anything out of the ordinary, you need to contact either myself or your regular doctor immediately." He explained.

"What do you mean, out of the ordinary?" Molly asked. "You may experience nausea, loss of appetite. Those are all normal symptoms. You may experience dizzy spells and loss of balance, which is what we really need you to look out for."

Sherlock watched while Molly held onto his every word, listening intently as he rambled on about symptoms and side effects. After they finished, Molly threw on her blood-stained jeans, and her white coat she asked John to grab from her office. Despite her attempt to bundle herself up, she still shuttered uncontrollably at the feel of the harsh wind on her warm skin. Sherlock noted this and, much to John's surprise, removed his own coat to drape over Molly's shoulders.

"No… Sherlock… you'll catch something…" She shivered. "It's fine." He said dismissively.

Molly forced a smile, and attempted to enjoy the silence of the cab ride back to her flat, fighting off the sudden urge to kiss that irritating man right then and there.

MmMmMm

Molly was right about one thing; the cab ride home was quiet. However, it wasn't a peaceful silence; it was leaning more towards awkward by the time they finally arrived at her apartment. Sherlock was the first to speak, finally breaking the forever lasting silence.

"Wait." He told her, as she slid the small silver key into the lock. "Why?" She asked. "Shh. Both of you be quiet for just a moment." He said, facing his ear towards the door.

Both Molly and John did as they were told, waiting in anticipation for what seemed like a lifetime. "There's someone inside. Stay back. I'll go in first." Sherlock whispered, removing a small revolver from his coat.

"What the hell are you carrying that around for?" Molly scolded. "Shh. Not now." He said dismissively, reaching for the doorknob.

"Sherlock, you can't just walk in there. Call the police for god sakes." John said. "It's fine." He said. "No, it's not, Sherlock. You're going to get yourself killed." Molly said. "Molly, if I don't go in there then…"

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence at the sound of a gun being loaded and pressed to the back of his head. "Put your hands up, now." The voice ordered.

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to focus on his next move as he gingerly slid the gun in his waistline, and raised his hands high enough so that the man could see, but low enough so that he could reach his gun if needed. "What do you want?" He asked. "This isn't about what I want, Mr. Holmes. It's about what you've already started."

Sherlock didn't like where this was going. Molly was back against the rail, clinging for dear life to John, who stood staring with an emotionless expression. He'd entered his 'I'm a solider, I feel nothing' mode; as Sherlock referred to it. "Explain." The consulting detective said irritably. "Brian Lucas. I assume you've taken him into custody already." The man asked.

Now he was growing irritable. "What. Do. You. Want?" Sherlock asked, pausing in between his words. "Hand over my brother, and I'll let you walk away with your girlfriend still alive."

Molly shivered violently at the threat. "She's not my girlfriend, you uninformed bastard." He snapped. "Well then I guess you won't mind if I put a bullet in her head then?" the man growled.

Sherlock laughed at this, though his heart was once again pounding with rage. "You can certainly take Miss Hooper's life…" He said. "Over my dead body."

Sherlock swung his arm around in one swift motion, knocking the man's arm to the side. He kicked his wrist with one powerful blow, making him drop the gun. John had stepped in now, punching the small man in the face. Rather pleased with the actions John just followed through with, Sherlock picked up the gun and held it to his head before the man could stand once more. "This ends here." He said violently.

Molly stood in the corner, paralyzed with fear. "Molly, phone Lestrade. Tell him we've caught another one." He directed.

Now Sherlock could really look at the man. He had a beard just starting to spread all over his face, and dark hair like his brothers. His front teeth were yellowed and gapped where some had fallen out. The man had to have been at least 47 years of age, and a drug and alcohol addict just like his brother. Now Sherlock saw the resemblance. They have the same ice in their eyes; the same crooked smile. Now, they both have the same black and blue bruises on their faces as well, Sherlock silently praised himself.

Molly handed the phone to Sherlock, looking even more panicked than before. He held the phone to his ear, keeping the gun pointed at the man's head. "Hello?" he said.

"Hello brother dear. If I am correct, you have the brother of Brian Lucas in your custody as of now."

Sherlock shook his head in disgust. "Mycroft, tell me what's going on." He demanded. "That's not important now. My men will be over to escort him into the hands of my secret service, who should be arriving as of now." Mycroft explained.

As if on cue, at least 10 secret service men dressed in formal black and white suits came running up the steps, wordlessly handcuffing the man, and removing the gun from Sherlock's hand. "Who the hell are you?!" He yelled. "Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, and Miss Hooper, if you would please follow us." They said.

Molly looked to Sherlock for reassurance, receiving nothing in return. "No." he spat. "We will take you by force, Mr. Holmes." "Oh, I'd love to see you try." He teased.

The man motioned for the remaining 7 men forwards, two grabbing Sherlock, who reluctantly broke free of their grasp and walked at his own pace. It took three men to carry John, who was kicking and punching at the men, to finally restrain him. The remaining two men took ahold of Molly, who gasped at the jerking pain in her side. Sherlock rushed to her aid, shoving away the two men, and wrapping his arm protectively around Molly's shoulders.

"It's going to be okay. It's just my brother up to his old tricks again." He reassured her. "Sherlock you'd better figure out what the hell is going on, because I don't know how much more of this I can take." She replied tiredly.

"Trust me. I promised I wouldn't let them hurt you again, and I plan to keep that promise." Molly sighed, and drew up her arm to smack Sherlock hard across his bicep. "Ow, what was that for?" "Sherlock, I don't care that people are chasing me. I don't care that I got hurt. I care about your safety. You can't keep throwing yourself into the face of danger the minute you get the opportunity!" "I'm doing it to protect you!" Sherlock yelled.

Sherlock and Molly were now far behind the secret service men, and John, which was a good thing considering that this was turning into a rather loud argument. "I don't want protection if it means you dying in the process!" "What do you want then? Do you want me to let you die? Do you want me to throw you in front of me as a shield, because if that's what you want, then I can't do that, Molly!"

It took a lot to tick off Molly Hooper, but when it happened, it happened. "Let me ask you one question, Sherlock. If I'm such a huge concern of yours, then why didn't you talk to me for months?!" she hissed. "Because you told me that you hated me, and that you never wanted to see my face again! I didn't know what you wanted me to do!"

Molly shook her head. She was done with this argument, but all the same, she was sick and tired of holding back. "Do you seriously think I meant that?! These past few months have been bloody hell for me! Honestly, how long have I known you? I will never hate you, no matter how many times you deduce me to tears; no matter how many boyfriends you chase away; I will never hate you, Sherlock Holmes." She screamed.

Sherlock paused, looking her straight in the eyes now. "And why is that?" he asked in all seriousness.

Sherlock had stopped yelling at some point throughout the conversation, and was surprised to find that they were only mere inches away from one another. Molly shook her head at the clueless man standing in front of her, shaking her head at his response. He has to know, right?

She didn't know what to think anymore, and honestly, thinking was getting old. Without another word, Molly closed the remaining space between them, forcefully pressing her lips to his. The funny thing was… he didn't pull away. In fact, he was kissing her back. Molly brought her hand up and ran her fingers though his raven locks; down his neck. Sherlock's hands found their way to her waist, traveling up her spine, making her gasp for air before his lips came crashing back down on hers, hungry for more.

Her heart beat pounded away in her ears, but she didn't care. Sherlock lifted her up, careful not to touch anywhere around her stiches. She wrapped her legs around his waist, still fully engaged in the kiss. Molly ran her hand down Sherlock's chest, feeling his own heart pounding away like a drum in his broad chest. Their lips finally came to a halt, and Sherlock carefully set Molly back down.

Their hearts still beat out of control, which was something Sherlock rarely experienced. They stayed silent for a moment. Their lips were still inches away from each other's, and their foreheads were resting on one another for support, more or less. They locked eyes for a moment, finding the crazed look on each other's face amusing. Molly smiled at Sherlock, whose hair was sticking up at various awkward angles surrounding his head, and pressed them back down with her shaking hand.

That's when they heard his voice.

"If you're quite finished yet, brother dear, you are still needed back at my quarters."

Soooooo… Did you like it? Sherlock and Molly FINALLY shared their first kiss. :) This chapter was a bit long, but I feel like since I haven't updated in a few weeks, you guys deserve it. Thanks so much for all of your support!

XXX Danielle