Molly looked from him to Lestrade, who nodded as well. She was the leader now, and they had accepted it. She was in charge of these two people, these friends, and she could be leading them to their deaths for all she knew. But she had a plan, and for the first time, she had real, true confidence. She was either going to save the Doctor or die trying.
With a wild half-grin, she told them, "Everywhere."
ONE YEAR LATER
It was the dead of night, on a beach in Great Britain. The only sound to be heard was the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. Wildlife had become scarce since the Toclafane had begun hunting them down, and no people in their right minds would be out at this time of night.
Except for one. A man stood on the shore of the beach, still too far away to make out clearly. As the boat approached, the man held up a lantern, waving it to let them know it was safe to land. The woman sat near the edge of the boat, staring out at the shore beyond. It had been a long year, but soon, so soon, everything would be over.
One way, or another.
As the boat pulled into shallow water, she hopped out into the water, followed by the two men who'd followed her across the world. The other two men in the boat quickly rowed back into the darkness, leaving the woman and the men on the shore of a country they hadn't seen in almost a year.
They jogged towards the shore, the woman reaching first. The man holding the lantern hurried over to meet them, grinning widely, as though Santa Clause had dropped out of the sky.
"What's your name?" The woman asked by way of greeting.
"Tom Milligan," he told her. "No need to ask who you are. The famous Molly Hooper, and the Hooper Army." The two men with Molly smirked at the familiar name. "How long since you were last in Britain?"
Molly Hooper looked at the familiar country with an unreadable expression. "Exactly a year."
"It's been a long time away from home," Greg added. Somehow, in that year, the former cop hadn't list his snarky sense of humor. It'd kept Molly from going 'round the bend more than once during that long year.
Indeed, Molly wasn't sure she'd have made it if it had been just her and Sherlock. Now that she was in charge, Molly was far more comfortable with putting the detective in his place when he was being difficult, which had led to many heated arguments. Greg served as a great peacekeeper, cracking a sarcastic joke to lighten the mood, or smoothing over ruffled tempers. She was pretty sure if it had been just her and Sherlock, they would have torn each others' heads off long ago.
Still, they'd come a long way since the beginning, a long year ago. Molly was more comfortable in her position as head of her little army, and a year had taught her that Sherlock and Greg would stand by her side through whatever hell the world had thrown at them. Sherlock, however difficult he might be, was extremely useful in dangerous situations, and undoubtedly loyal. A year of constantly being in his presence had cured Molly of her crush on him, allowing it to be replaced by friendship and mutual trust and respect.
Her relationship with Greg had been much smoother. She hadn't known him terribly well before the Year, but he'd proven to be a great friend and someone she was glad to have with her during the year of hell. While Sherlock was clever and quick, Greg was solid and dependable. And then there was her, the painfully self-conscious pathologist leading an army at the end of the world. It was a strange group, perhaps, but one she was glad to have.
"Not home yet," she said quietly in response to Greg's comment. "That's still ahead." Greg and Sherlock gave her quiet, knowing glances. They understood.
She turned back to Tom to introduce her companions, whose names weren't as widely known. "This is Greg Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes."
Tim's eyes widened in surprise. "As in the consulting detective? I thought he committed suicide. It was all over the papers... before."
Sherlock just said shortly, "Don't believe everything you read."
They started walking down the beach, working to get out of sight. "So what's the plan?" Tom asked eagerly. He wasn't that much younger than them, but Molly couldn't help but think of him as a kid. Eager and naive, ready to save the world.
"We need to see Professor Docherty," Sherlock informed him briskly.
"Can you get us in to see her?" Molly asked.
Tom nodded. "She works in a repair shed, Nuclear Plant Seven. I can get you inside." He hesitated, then asked, "What's all this for? What's so important about her?"
"Sorry kid, the less you know, the safer you are," Greg told him.
"There's a lot of people depending on you," Tom told them a bit shyly. "You guys are a bit of a legend."
Molly smirked. There were plenty of wild stories about her and the guys out there, and she'd heard most of them. "Really? What kind of legends?"
"That you sailed the Atlantic, walked across America," the man told her eagerly. "That you were the only person to get out of Japan alive. Molly Hooper, they say, she's going to save the world, her and her army." He sighed, growing somber as he thought about the havoc the Master had wreaked. "Bit late for that."
Molly felt a pang of grief as she remembered all of the destruction she'd seen in the last year. So many lives had been lost as the Toclafane cut brutally through the numbers of the human race. 1/10 of the population cut down on the first day, millions lost in the year since. Anyone who rebelled was killed without the blink of an eye, and there was no way to kill a Toclafane. There was nothing to do but obey. Japan had been the worst of it. A whole country burned to ashes.
In all that death, there was hardly a way to keep track of all the names. But there was one that Molly knew haunted her friend, would continue to haunt him until the job was done.
John Watson.
The former army doctor had refused to sit back and do nothing while people died by the thousands. He'd traveled, helping those who needed it, and eventually it had gotten him killed. The people who'd found him had said he'd been shot down defending a teenage rebel from the Toclafane. They hadn't been there when he'd died, but they'd gone and identified the body, and even through the chaos and death, they made sure he got a proper burial. It'd been hard seeing him lying dead, and Molly wasn't even that close to him. She couldn't imagine what Sherlock had gone through, seeing his best friend cold and lifeless. Molly had a feeling the only thing keeping him going was the knowledge that, in a few months time, the job would be done, and it wouldn't matter either way.
As they came over the hill, Molly could see a medical van sitting out, waiting for them. She gave start of surprise, and Greg's eyes widened. "Can't remember the last time I rode in a car. How come you've still got one?" he asked Tom curiously.
"Medical staff," Tom explained proudly. "Used to be in paediatrics back in the old days. But that gives me a license to travel so I can help out other the labour camps."
Molly couldn't help but chuckle. "Great. Looks like we're traveling with a Doctor." Greg chuckled appreciatively, and she managed to win an amused smirk from Sherlock. He'd been far more subdued since John's death, so even a hint of amusement was rare from him anymore.
As they got into the car, Tom told Molly eagerly, "Story goes that you're the only person on Earth who can kill him. That you, and you alone, can kill the Master stone dead."
Molly sighed, trying to disguise her mixed emotions at the idea. "Just drive," she told him quietly. "We need to get going."
If their plan didn't work, it would all be for nothing, and they'd be the one to die.
SCENEBREAK
They had to ditch the car when they got closer, and were back to walking. Luckily, after a year without cars or TARDIS, they were plenty used to walking. All that running on the TARDIS had let her get used to it quicker than her companions.
As they walked through the quarry, they came upon a huge, rock statue of the Time Lord whose name was only heard in terrified whispers. Molly glared up distastefully. "That smug bastard," she growled. "You know he's carved himself into Mount Rushmore too?"
Greg shook his head sadly. "Those bloody things are everywhere. Every continent, every country."
"Best to keep down," Tom warned them. As they came over a ridge, they were able to see shipyards stretching out far ahead. "Here we go. The entire south coast of England, converted into shipyards. They bring in slave labour every morning. Break up cars, houses, anything, just for the metal. Building a fleet out of scrap."
Molly shook her head sadly. "You should see Russia."
"Shipyard Number One," Sherlock said distastefully. "From shore to shore, rockets by the thousands being readied for war."
"War?" Tom repeated in surprise. "With who?"
"Everyone else," Molly told him grimly. "The rest of the universe." At Tom's evident surprise, she chuckled. "Humans like to think they're all there is, but I've been out there, in space, with a friend of mine. There's so much life out there, whole planets and civilizations, and if we don't act, the Master will do his best to wipe them all out."
Tom's eyes widened in further surprise. "You've been in space?"
Greg chuckled, clearly amused at the kid's obvious admiration for her. Molly knew he'd bug her about it plenty later. She fought the urge to roll her eyes and replied, "Yeah. Problem?"
Tom shook his head quickly. "No. No, just er, wow. Anything else I should know?"
She considered for a moment. "I met Shakespeare," she said thoughtfully. "Bit of a flirt, to be honest."
Before Tom could say anything else, two Toclafane flew overhead. Molly, Sherlock, and Greg slowly crouched to the ground, while Tom stood and nervously faced them. "Identify, little man," one demanded in its shrill tone.
Looking nervous, Tom held up a badge for them to see. "I've got a license. Thomas Milligan, Peripatetic Medical Squad. I'm allowed to travel. I was just checking for – "
The Toclafane cut him off with a shrill giggle. "Soon the rockets will fly, and everyone will need medicine. You'll be so busy." The spheres zoomed off, still cackling shrilly.
Tom turned shakily to the three travelers. "But they didn't see you," he said, looking puzzled.
Molly smirked. "How'd you think we went around so long without getting caught?" She and her companions held up their TARDIS keys for Tom to see.
As they walked on, Molly explained, "Remember, a year ago the Master set up Archangel, that mobile network, fifteen satellites around the planet. Really though it's transmitting a low level psychic field. That's how he hypnotized the world into thinking he was Harold Saxon."
Tom sighed. "Saxon. Feels like years ago."
She held up her key again. "This key kind of works the same way. It doesn't make us invisible, just unnoticed. Like something in the corner of your eye that you don't really want to see."
The former doctor frowned. "Well, I can see you," he pointed out.
"That's 'cause you want to," Greg told him with a smirk. Molly resisted the urge to smack him with something.
Tom grinned. "Yeah, I suppose I did."
SCENEBREAK
To get to Professor Docherty, they had to sneak into one of the shipyards. Tom used some pliers to cut through the barbed wire, allowing them to slip inside. In one of the sheds, an older woman was fiddling irritably with an old TV. "Professor Docherty?" Tom asked tentatively.
The woman grunted. "Busy."
"They, er, they sent word ahead. I'm Tom Milligan. This is Molly Hooper and the Hooper army."
"She can be the Queen of Sheba for all I care," Docherty growled. "I'm still busy." She gave the TV an irritable smack.
Molly raised an eyebrow. "TV's don't work anymore," she reminded the professor, even as Sherlock went to help her.
Docherty sighed wistfully. "Oh God, I miss Countdown. Never been the same since Des took over. Both Deses. What's the plural for Des? Desi? Deseen? But we've been told there's going to be a transmission from the man himself." Molly stiffened. What could the Master have to say to his slaves?
After a moment, a static black-and-white image appeared on-screen. "There!" Docherty said triumphantly. Molly felt a deep rush of anger as the Master's smug face appeared.
"My people," the Master announced grandly. "Salutations on this, the eve of war. Lovely woman. But I know there's all sorts of whispers down there. Stories of a child and her little friends, walking the Earth, giving you hope." Molly tensed. So that's what this was all for. A little message for her. She fought back the familiar anger, trying to think of the Doctor instead, and what the Master meant to him. "But I ask you..." The camera panned away from him to show a horribly familiar old man. "How much hope has this man got?"
Molly froze at the sight of him. It had been a year since she'd seen the Doctor, and having to see him like that, degraded and enslaved, weak with age, made her blood boil. Greg seemed to understand, for he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Say hello, Gandalf. Except he's not that old, but he's an alien with a much greater lifespan than you stunted little apes. But what if it showed?"
Molly stiffened, realizing what he was going to do a moment before he did. Her face went bone-white, fear freezing her heart.
The Master continued, "What if I suspend your capacity to regenerate? All nine hundred years of your life, Doctor. What if we could see them?" He raised his screwdriver and, just like that long year ago, zapped the Doctor, sending him into wild convulsions. The Master laughed cruelly as the Doctor screamed. "Older and older and older. Down you go, Doctor. Down, down, down the years." It was horrible, but Molly forced herself to watch. She wished the Doctor knew, that he could sense her watching, and know that she was coming to save him.
In the end, there was no Doctor in sight, just a rumpled pile of clothes. The Master cleared them away, and Molly couldn't suppress a strangled gasp. Where the Doctor had once stood was a small, wrinkled, Gollum-like creature with huge, sad eyes. Molly trembled with rage at the sight of what the Master had reduced him to, and she could feel Greg's hand give her shoulder a comforting squeeze.
The Master grinned cruelly at the shriveled Time Lord, then turned smirk at the camera. "Received and understood, Miss Hooper?"
The transmission cut off. Molly was still trembling, the rage boiling underneath. For a year, she'd been running from country to country, keeping her head down, keeping out of trouble. And she'd have to keep at it for just a while longer. But soon, very soon, the Master would get his own back, and the Doctor, and John, and all the others who had suffered because of the Toclafane, would be avenged. She just had to be patient.
She turned to Tom and Docherty, shoulders squared like the soldier she'd become, glaring evenly at the two. "Let's get to work," she ordered.
There was no way she was letting the Doctor down.
Right, so here's the beginning of the end. I hope you've enjoyed your daily serving of BAMF!Molly.
And yes, I killed John Watson. Sorry about that. But on the bright side, Molly no longer has a hopeless crush on Sherlock! Sorry Sherlolly shippers.