"Give me back my Colin!" A gruff voice spoke in Molly's ear.
Molly's heart raced, blood rushing in her ears, making her momentarily unable to focus. She closed her eyes and tried to take a deep, calming breath to steady herself.
"I- I don't know what you're talking about." She whispered, trying to stop her body from shaking.
The man's hands tightened around her. "I know you have my son, you bitch!" He took a step back, intending to bring Molly into the alley right next to her flat.
Focus! Molly scolded herself. Don't give in, stay calm and assess your situation. She tried to see whether there were people whose attention she could catch, but the man's hands tightened around her, sensing her intent.
"Make one sound, one squeak, and I swear I'm going to slice your neck and carve your tongue out!" The man said through gritted teeth, still slowly dragging her away. She knew that if he managed to get her alone in the alley, her chances of surviving this encounter would very quickly diminish from not likely to nil.
Not for nothing was Molly the daughter of a police officer, as well as the only sibling to a younger brother.
Your size is your advantage. Molly could swear she heard her father speak, as if he was standing right next to her. People, men especially, will take it for granted that because you are small, you are weak. Prove them wrong.
As the man- Horace Williams, Molly was certain- took another step back, she took advantage by suddenly lifting both her feet at once and leaning in, grabbing the arms that were wound around her neck and shoulders. Caught by surprise, Williams overcompensated by spreading his stance, his hands slightly loosening their grip as the instinct to clutch at something for balance won out.
Remember, speed is key. Taking a deep breath, Molly held his arms tight and quickly lowered herself, planting her feet on his and using her hold on his arm for leverage as she slipped out of his arms and turned around so that she faced him.
A wild look in his eyes, Williams lunged, but Molly dodged, and although his fist managed to make contact with the side of her face, the impact was lessened by the fact that she had quickly followed through with the heel of her palm rushing up from below to crush her assailant's nose.
Never attempt to out-punch a man stronger than you. Her father's words echoed in her ears, fortifying her resolve. And they'll expect a woman to always go for the groin, so don't aim there first thing. And don't stick around to see if he recovers: immobilize, then, RUN! She kicked his left shin as hard as she could, then turned and ran; her long plait flying behind her.
Why is this street deserted? She thought. It was the middle of the day, and yet there were very few people about. Fighting the wave of hysteria that threatened to overcome her, Molly kept running as fast as she could, trying to decide her next move. She was quickly running out of breath, but didn't dare stop or look back. She checked in her pockets for her phone, and gave herself a small slap on the cheek when she realized she must have dropped it in the struggle.
When she felt as if her heart would burst with her efforts, she rushed into the open door of a corner bookshop, and alarmed the store clerk by jumping over the counter and crouching down on the floor.
"Please!" she pleaded with the gangly teenager who stood gaping at her. Wheezing from her efforts, she clutched a stitch on her side while her other hand fished for her wallet, showing the clerk her Bart's ID. "I-I need you to…" she gulped, trying desperately to catch her breath "…call for the p-police. Please!"
The boy nodded, taking hold of the telephone receiver which sat next to the register. "Thank…you." She managed to say as she took in huge gulps of air.
After the obliging youth had dialled the number, Molly motioned for him to give her the receiver and asked for DI Lestrade, still slumped down on the floor, her legs stretched out in front of her in exhaustion.
"Molly?" When she heard the detective inspector's voice, Molly, though still out of breath; started sobbing.
She could hear panic enter Lestrade's voice. "Molly? What's wrong? Did something happe-" His question was cut off and a familiar voice took over. "Molly? Where are you?" Molly registered alarm in Sherlock's usually smooth baritone.
"Sher-Sherlock!" she gasped, trying to stop herself from shaking. "Please come get me. H-hurry, Sherlock!" She managed to get out before finally breaking down, her petite frame shaking. The teenager kindly took the telephone from her hands and spoke into it, explaining who he was and where Molly could be located.
"Are you sure you're okay? Can you tell us what happened?" Lestrade asked as he stood with his feet apart and his arms crossed, leaning down to where Molly sat by the ambulance doors, being attended to by John, who was the only one Sherlock would allow to touch her.
Molly nodded, giving the DI a small smile. "I'm fine." She said, and launched into her story. She was not surprised at their astonishment when she had described how she got away from Williams. She'd never bothered to tell anyone about how her father had insisted that both his children learn self-defence. After her mother's death giving birth to her brother when she was five, her father had taken to bringing her to work with him whenever he could, and him teaching her, and eventually her brother, the basic techniques which had been a way for the three of them to bond.
She'd never had to use her knowledge before now, but had remained interested, watching martial arts shows on the telly and sometimes reliving the training whenever she and her brother spent some time together. Molly only grew more avid when she learned that Jim from IT was a psychopathic criminal mastermind.
Lestrade waved over a younger police officer as Molly wrapped up. He ordered her to bring along two others to search the area around Molly's flat, giving her the address and a picture of Williams which Sherlock had handed him that morning at the Yard; he and John had been in to give Lestrade an update on Colin.
The consulting detective himself was standing to the side with his hands in his coat pockets and his eyes focused on Molly, eyeing the small cut she had on her cheekbone, fury evident in every line of his body. When she hissed as John dabbed it with a cotton ball, Sherlock's eyes flashed, and his fists clenched inside his pocket. He said nothing, however, settling for giving his best friend his most venomous glare.
A few minutes later Lestrade's phone rang. "Yes? What is it? Oh, you've found him?" He listened as the person on the other end explained something, and his face split into a grin. After ringing off, he faced the three, shaking his head with amusement.
"What? What is it?" Sherlock asked impatiently, his scowl growing worse.
Lestrade pointed to his mobile. "They've found Williams, AND…" he turned to raise an eyebrow at Molly, "….someone managed to literally break his leg."
John whistled at the sight that greeted him.
Molly needed to still give her statement and Sherlock had refused to leave her side. John, eternally curious, had decided to come with them. That, and the fact that he was worried his best friend would manage to actually kill Horace Williams if the opportunity presents itself. He could see the rage simmering just beneath the surface of Sherlock's features, and although he believed that Williams deserved to get whatever he had coming, he did not want to risk his friend being jailed.
When they arrived at the Yard, they headed straight towards Lestrade's office, and on the way they saw Horace Williams handcuffed and slouching on a bench, a police officer on either side with their hands on each of his shoulders, holding him down.
His left leg was in a cast, but what had earned John's whistle was the sight of the burly man's nose, almost unrecognizable due to the fact that it was sitting on the man's face in not quite the right angle, and had turned a disgusting mixture of red, green, and purple.
"Right. Remind me never to get on Molly's bad side." John muttered to Lestrade, who chuckled in response.
It was fortunate that the former army doctor had just turned to speak to his companions then, because had he not, he would not have been able to hold back Sherlock, who had lunged in Williams' direction, his teeth bared and a murderous glint in his eyes.
"No! Sherlock! Stop!" John wheezed, turning so that he stood in front of the furious consulting detective. The doctor grabbed Sherlock's shoulders, trying to push him back, while a startled Lestrade helped, trying to reach around Sherlock to grab his waist from behind, at the same time shouting at the officers in charge of Williams to take him away and into one of the interrogation rooms.
Sherlock surprised them both by getting out of their hold. He turned to chase after Williams, his blood ringing in his ears, when Molly's voice broke through the red haze that clouded his vision.
"Sherlock! Don't! Please d-don't." Molly said, softly pleading with him, her stutter stopping him in his tracks. He turned and walked back towards her, then dragged her into an empty office and slammed the door closed.
Once they were inside, Sherlock pulled her to him, trying his best not to crush her in his embrace but failing. He bent so that his face was on her shoulder, a hand on her nape and an arm wrapped around her torso, slightly lifting her.
Molly could feel him shaking, and tried to soothe him, sinking her hand in his hair and rubbing the other down his back. "Sherlock?" she whispered, and felt him take a deep, shuddering breath.
"I'm sorry." He turned and muttered in her ear, his eyes shut tight, trying to stop his mind from conjuring images of Molly with her throat cut, with the same familiar message carved into her, eyes open and empty. He had experienced extreme fear a very few times in his life, and this, this was by far the worst. "I'm sorry."
Anxious, Molly, took Sherlock's face and tried to make him turn. "No. This isn't your fault." She said firmly, looking into his eyes. "It's nobody's fault but Williams'" when she saw his eyes harden, she placed her forehead against his and pleaded. "This isn't your fault and I don't blame you. But I-I don't want you to take the law into your own hands…" she could not hold back, and tears ran down her face, "…please Sherlock. Please. We've only been together for a little while. I'd like to have you for longer. Please." She closed her eyes and willed herself to say it, to tell him exactly how she feels whether he was ready to hear it or not. "Sherlock. Please. I love you."
Something seemed to flare in Sherlock's chest at her words. "Molly, I-"
The door burst open then, and in walked a very confused, very worried Lestrade, followed by John, who looked anxious and sheepish at the same time.
Author's Note: Whew! Chapter 10 is finally done. These last three were the toughest to write by far. I hope you enjoyed them. ^_^
I've always wanted to see a side of Molly that was different from her portrayal as a mousy pathologist, and imagined that she had more physical and emotional strength than she is usually given credit for.
By the way, those moves Molly used were things we were taught during the self-defence classes I took at the university. The techniques were specifically designed to be advantageous to women, and I was glad to have the opportunity to share them here!
Ta,
~Liberi Ad Somnia