Molly stepped out of the TARDIS, almost feeling disappointed as she walked right back into the familiar streets of the city she lived in. Everything seemed so much duller now, quieter and more lifeless. It could never compare to the wonder of the worlds she'd seen.

The Doctor followed her out. He let out a deep breath, looking out at the great city around him. "Here we are then. London, the morning after you left." It was late morning, with everyone bustling about trying to get to work or school or wherever their lives were leading them. Molly had just taken those crowds for granted before, but now she looked at those people, and she realized that none of them had ever stepped inside a blue box that was bigger on the inside, or had flirted with Shakespeare, or had walked on the moon. They blundered around the city, never realizing that there could be more to life than walking around in a mindless herd.

She turned back to the Doctor. "Right, so I just want to clear up a few things at work and tell them I'll be gone for a while, then I'll stop by my place for the night and come back with you tomorrow morning." A day in her old life might help clear her head.

"How do you know how long a while'll be?" he questioned. "We could get stuck somewhere for months."

"It's a time machine," she reminded him with a grin. "I'll just tell them I'm taking a week off. I can call them if I end up staying longer." She fell silent after that. Who knew how long the Doctor would let her stay on board?

With that, she started off down the familiar streets, turning back to wave at the Doctor. The blue box and its wild-haired owner were soon swallowed up in the crowd, and for a quick, terrifying moment, it was like he'd never been there at all.

SCENEBREAK

Molly hurried into the hospital, pulling her white lab coat back over her clothes. When she checked in for work, she did a double take. The date on the check-in book was five days after the Judoon attack on the hospital. She checked it again, but the date remained the same. Five days. Five days, not one night. She'd been missing for five days.

The worst part was that no one seemed to have noticed. The hospital staff had all had spotty attendance since the attack, and since her boss had died on the moon and had been replaced with a successor, her absence had gone pretty much unnoticed, as did her return. She was able to slip downstairs quietly to her work without a word from anyone. Before, she would have just accepted it and moved on, but now she wondered if her life here was really so meaningless that no one would notice if she left. Was she really so worthless to these people?

She worked for a few hours, wallowing in silent doubt, when a familiar voice sounded behind her. "Ah, Molly, hi."

The pathologist whirled around, sending a few papers scattering with her arm. "Sherlock!" The tall detective was standing there, in the same long coat and ruffled hair as always, his flatmate beside him, whose name she'd quite forgotten. After those days on the TARDIS, it was a bit of a shock seeing him again. The thin frame and the cheekbones and his cold eyes still made Molly as flustered as ever, even after her time away. And of course the way he looked right through her hadn't changed. It was like the last few days hadn't happened, and she was as self-conscious and meek as she had ever been before the Doctor.

Sherlock was flashing a tight smile, which meant he wanted something. Of course. As always, he was quick to get to the point. "We need the lab."

His flatmate gave him a short side glare. "Sherlock," he hissed warningly, but of course the detective ignored him. He turned to Molly with a look of concern. "Are you alright? We haven't heard from you in a bit, and you weren't at the hospital when you told us you'd be." She tensed at the implication, but he wasn't accusing. He actually seemed worried.

She ducked her head, trying to avoid Sherlock's piercing glare. "I'm fine," she mumbled. Now more than ever, after her exhausting days on the TARDIS, she didn't have the will or the energy to argue with Sherlock. "Go ahead, the lab's yours, I'll just pop out for a bit."

Quick as she could, she scurried out of the room, eager to get away from the detective for a bit.

SCENEBREAK

When she'd gone and grabbed herself a coffee and prepared herself a bit, she finally returned to the lab. She wanted to hesitate more, but she remembered the way she'd stood calmly in front of a Dalek, and told herself to stop being such a coward.

As she walked closer, she could hear Sherlock's cold, uncaring tone. "Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage. No lead there." Molly hesitated a little at the words. She wondered how she could have ever thought Sherlock and the Doctor were similar. The Doctor would never, ever presume to think that someone didn't matter.

John's disgusted reply came a few moments later. "For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads."

Molly decided to cut in now. She pushed through the doors. "Hello," she greeted with as cheerful a smile she could manage. "Any luck?"

As usual, Sherlock ignored her, and John just shrugged uncertainly. She looked between the two, growing flustered in the silence, and let out a little "Okay" before heading back towards one of the counters, leaning with her back against it, arms crossed self-consciously over her chest.

Without warning, the doors to the morgue burst open, and a familiar man with wild hair and a long coat came hurrying in. "Molly, I was wrong, it was five day-" He paused, taking in the scene before him, with Sherlock bent over the microscope, completely ignoring his entrance, John looking up in mild confusion, and Molly hanging around in the back.

She fought the very unusual urge to roll her eyes. "I got that, thanks."

The Time Lord scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, giving her a sheepish look. "Well, to be fair, it's better than a year."

Her brief annoyance faded in the face of relief. It had all been real. The crazy, amazing days on the TARDIS had all been real. The man in front of her proved it. There had been several times that day she'd been afraid she dreamed it all, but now she was certain it was real.

She hurried to the Doctor's side, turning to face Sherlock and his flatmate. "Doctor, this is Sherlock Holmes, and..." she trailed off as she realized she didn't know his flatmate's name.

"John Watson," the man supplied, looking only mildly resigned at the slip of memory.

"John, Sherlock," she addressed the flatmates, "this is the Doctor."

John raised an eyebrow. "Doctor who?" he asked curiously.

The Time Lord shook his head. "Just the Doctor," he corrected. He wasn't wearing the usual goofy grin; instead, he was looking at both John and Sherlock, carefully evaluating. Sherlock looked like he wasn't paying attention, but Molly saw his quick, calculating eyes taking darting glances at him. She felt a rush of horror as she realized he was doing his usual information scan, the kind that revealed all of a person's deepest secrets. What would he discover about the Doctor? What could he possibly think of the time traveling alien? What might he blurt out?

The Doctor reached out to shake John's hand, but Sherlock didn't accept the offered hand when his turn came, instead focusing on his microscope. The Time Lord's eyes narrowed but he didn't seem fazed. "I just popped in to let Molly know that our ride might be a bit late." She held back a chuckle at his explanation. More like your ride was five days late.

"Your ride?" John asked curiously.

"Yeah, we're going traveling a bit," the Doctor lied. Well, not a total lie. "Part of a research… thing, you know."

John looked at him dubiously, but before he could say anything, Sherlock interrupted him. "Pass me my phone," he ordered shortly.

"Where is it?" John asked resignedly.

"Jacket." Molly looked around automatically for a coat hanging up, only to be struck dumb as she realized he was referring to the coat that he was already wearing. John's eyes widened, but after a few moment's annoyance, he simply rolled his eyes, strode over to the detective, and pulled the phone from his pocket obediently. The Doctor's eyebrows had raised, and he was clearly holding back laughter. Molly just tried to control the burning red on her cheeks. If it was obvious how much she liked this arrogant man, what would the Doctor think of her judgment now?

John looked at the phone. "Text from your brother," he informed the detective.

Sherlock didn't even look up as he said, "Delete it."

"Delete it?" his flatmate repeated dubiously.

"Plans are out of the country now, nothing we can do about it," Sherlock explained dismissively.

"Plans?" the Doctor asked curiously. Molly could see he was eagerly sniffing around for another adventure, another mystery to solve.

John looked at the Time Lord with suspicion, but it was Sherlock who answered. "Blueprints for a construction site my brother left on a plane. I told him they're halfway to China by now, but he never listens to me." Molly doubted that was the truth, but the effortless way he explained it left it hard to doubt. The Doctor, however, watched him with thoughtful, narrowed eyes.

Molly looked worriedly between the detective and the Time Lord, wondering what Sherlock might have already deduced about the Doctor. He seemed almost determined to ignore the Doctor, but John seemed curious. "What exactly are you a doctor of?" he asked lightly. He seemed suspicious; asking about the plans, whatever they were, had clearly captured John's attention.

The Doctor shrugged. "Oh, you know, a bit of everything." John stared back doubtfully, but before he could question the man further, the doors opened once more, and Molly's boyfriend stuck his head inside the door, looking surprised to see more than Molly inside. "Oh, sorry, I didn't…"

Molly stood quickly, forcing a smile for him. "Jim, hi. Come in, come in." She hadn't been dating Jim long, but he was really sweet, and he seemed to care far more than anyone else in her life did. He wasn't Sherlock, but she was really starting to like him.

He gave her a slight, worried look. "I was getting worried, I hadn't heard from you."

"I'm sorry, I had a few things to take care of with family," she lied. She didn't have much family left alive, but the excuse would work for now.

She waved the meek man over, turning back to the others for another introduction. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and the Doctor." Jim spared a quick, surprised glance at the Doctor, probably taking in the eccentric clothing and the hair, but then turned back to Sherlock with a shy smile. "Hi. So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" He was looking over the detective's shoulder at the microscope, leaning slightly towards him.

"Jim works in IT, upstairs," Molly explained. "That's how we met, Office romance." She didn't know if she'd go as far as romance yet, but she wanted to convince herself she liked this man as much as Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't look up from his microscope as he muttered a quick, devastating word. "Gay."

Molly froze. "Sorry, what?" she asked meekly. He hadn't deduced that about Jim. He couldn't have. Jim was her boyfriend, he couldn't be gay.

The detective looked up, surprised. "Nothing. Um, hey."

Jim continued smiling at him, only making Molly more uncomfortable. He's not, she told herself resolutely. He's not, he can't be. He chose to date me, he wouldn't do that if he didn't mean it. Would he? She tried to crush the horrible, doubtful thoughts, but they continued on.

After a bit of fumbling on his part, Jim gave Sherlock a final shy look. "Well, I'd better be off." He turned back to Molly. "Dinner tonight? I'll pick you up around five?"

Molly forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah, sure."

He looked back at Sherlock with the shy, almost adoring look. "Bye. It was nice to meet you." With that, he turned and headed out the doors, not even giving Molly a final look.

The pathologist turned to Sherlock, trying to hide the fearful doubts pounding in her head. "What do you mean, gay?" she asked, trying to seem casual. "We're together."

"And domestic bliss must suit you. Molly," Sherlock remarked, oblivious. "You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

The Doctor said in a low, warning tone, "Sherlock," but the detective ignored him.

"Two and a half," Molly protested meekly.

"No, three," Sherlock corrected.

Molly was getting worked up now. Doubt and fear of being rejected by the few people she'd come to trust was getting to her. "He's not gay. Why do you have to spoil? He's not."

Sherlock scoffed. "With that level of personal grooming?"

John made an attempt to stick up for her. "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair."

"You wash your hair," Sherlock corrected, "there's a difference. No, no tinted eyelashes.. clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?"

"Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. Plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish. I'd say you'd better break if off now and save yourself the pain. And then there's your friend the Doctor."

John's voice was sharp as he warned, "Sherlock!" but as usual the detective plowed on.

"Calls himself a doctor, but those aren't a doctor's hands. He's a soldier, a man used to danger, a man seeking danger. The minute he walked in the room he was evaluating the layout and searching for exits, but it's not fear, it's anticipation. A man who's used to danger then, a man who's killed. Worn converse suggest a lot of running and danger, suit is high-quality but well worn, suggesting fall to low income, I'd even go as far to say it's all he ever wears. There's no way he'd be able to afford traveling, so I'd say he's probably after your money. You really must choose your friends better, Molly."

Molly stared at the detective in horror, embarrassment and doubt washing over her. He was wrong about the Doctor, maybe, but what about Jim? What if he had just gone out with her because she was easy to lie to, because she was undesirable? If only someone not interested in women could ever want her, what chance did she ever have? And what would the Doctor think now that she'd seen her life? Would he want her back on the TARDIS now? How could he?

Overwhelmed, she turned and pushed past the doors the morgue, trying to hold back the tears. Sherlock Holmes just had to ruin everything. The first time she'd really felt good about herself, and now she had nothing.

SCENEBREAK

The Doctor watched Molly leave with a rush of sympathy. He'd guessed that Jim might be gay when he'd walked in, it was a bit obvious really, but he never would have told her that. He felt a rush of protectiveness for his companion. She hadn't deserved any of that.

He whirled around to glare at Sherlock, who was watching Molly leave with a baffled expression. John, too, was glaring at him. "Charming, well done," he said sarcastically.

Sherlock looked honestly confused by the pathologist's reaction. "Just saving her time," he defended himself. "Isn't that kinder?"

John's eyebrows raised at that. "Kinder? No, no, Sherlock, that wasn't kind."

"That wasn't necessary," the Doctor said sharply. There were two things in the universe hat were guaranteed to get him angry – threatening innocents, and hurting his companions. The fact that it had been a verbal attack rather than a physical one made no difference. Molly had some serious self-esteem issues, and this Sherlock had torn her down without so much as a second thought. That would not be tolerated.

The detective looked up at him with a sharp, penetrating glance. His bright eyes were sharp with an intelligence and a coldness that would better fit a Time Lord than a human. His lips quirked into a little mocking smirk. "What, warning her about you?"

The Doctor stayed leaning back against the counter, arms crossed across his chest. His expression was quite blank, far too carefully neutral. Monsters far more dangerous than Sherlock Holmes had fled in terror from such a look. The detective's calculating glance flitted quickly over the Time Lord's face. His eyebrows raised slightly at what he found, but he said nothing.

The Doctor had seen him evaluate people with a glance's work, shooting off facts to look impressive and prove himself clever. Well, time to turn the trick on its master. "You act like you don't care. You're the clever one, aren't you? The genius who has to stand out, to prove how clever he is, over and over, just to feel your own worth."

"Hey, there's no call-" John tried to cut him off, but the Doctor plowed on. "You think just because you're brilliant that you're better than everyone else. But you're not. Genius doesn't give you the right to walk over everyone else, the way you do with Molly. You manipulate her when you need her, but when you don't you tear her down. And you say you're helping her?" His tone had sharpened towards the end, disgust evident in every word.

Sherlock looked properly surprised at having been read so well, something the Doctor guessed didn't happen often. There was maybe a flicker of guilt in his expression, but he covered it up quickly. He leaned back in his chair, looking at the Doctor thoughtfully. "You're not preying on Molly, you actually care about her," he mused. "But you're clever, properly brilliant. It's not a romantic attachment on your part or hers, that much is obvious, and you're not related. So what do you care?"

He seemed genuinely interested, not trying to insult, but the words had done their work. John sucked in a sharp breath, gaze flicking between his flatmate and the Time Lord, and the Doctor's expression grew dangerously still. In a low, deliberate voice, he told the detective, "If you think an ordinary human, not a genius like you, isn't the most important thing in the universe, you've got a sad view of what matters." With that, he turned and pushed past the morgue doors, trying to push down his anger. Molly probably wouldn't thank him for interfering, he realized now, and normally he let companions defend themselves. But Molly clearly didn't have the confidence too, and he wasn't going to leave her defenseless while the man she clearly adored tore her self-esteem to shreds.

He resolved to seek out Molly later, to try and repair the damage of Sherlock's revelations. But not now. He'd give her time to cool off first.

SCENEBREAK

Molly had held off from texting or calling Jim about what Sherlock had said. She didn't cry in the hours after that, instead becoming even more withdrawn as she finished her work and headed home.

The pathologist's doubts only grew worse as she prepared for her date with Jim. Sherlock was right, he'd always been right. She must have looked like such an idiot to Jim, and to the Doctor too. What chance did she have of returning to the TARDIS now?

Finally, she was ready in a fancy blue top and dark pants, with a necklace to match. She didn't know how this date was going to go, and the anxiety was starting to get unbearable. What would Jim say when she confronted him?

Minutes later, the cab he'd promised pulled up in front of her apartment building. She approached the door, expecting to see Jim waiting inside, but instead a thickset man in a heavy coat exited.

Molly backed away from the door, embarrassed. "Er, sorry, wrong cab." As if she couldn't screw up more that day.

That's when she heard the cock of a gun.

She froze in horror. The thick-set man was pointing a gun at her from within his heavy coat. In a deep, thickly accented voice, he ordered, "Get in the cab."

She tried to push down her fear and think logically, a skill she'd gotten particularly good at in the last few days of travel. Jim would be coming soon, but he wouldn't be able to do anything to help, he'd just be in danger. No one but the Doctor would realize she was missing, and that wouldn't be until the morning at least. There was no choice but to obey.

She quietly slipped into the cab, waiting for the driver to drive off. Instead, the thickset man lunged at her, wrapping a wide, strong arm around her throat.

Molly tried to scream, but the man stuff some sort of cloth in her face and nose, and the sound was muffled. The pathologist found herself quickly growing weaker. She thought she caught a glimpse of the Doctor watching in horror from the cab window, but before she could be sure, a dark spots blotted out her vision, and she succumbed to unconciousness.

As some of you might have guessed, I have decided to replace the Lazarus Experiment with The Great Game - but with a twist, of course.

For the Sherlock fans out there who might think the Doctor's being too hard on him - there are several points in the series where people are rude to Sherlock or go too far, but this time he's the one who went too far, and the Doctor's justified in defending her.