First off...thank you all so much for the reviews/follows/favs, you people are amazing. I, unfortunately, can't reply as FF is having some kind of issue with reviews. So sorry, I hate not being able to respond. Here's what I want to say: everything is NOT what it seems. Although I love everyone's theories. Okay... not much more I can say without giving away 'the good bits', so to speak. I feel your pain, however, because I adore Mycroft and he's being a big old meanie right now. Just keep that in mind going forward.

Trigger Warnings: Same as last chapter. Still talking about Molly's attack. There will never be any kind of graphic description whatsoever. Molly does generally talk about handsy dates a bit in this chapter.

I still owe thanks to Miz and Mrs for their help. And I still own nothing. Chapter time!

John stood in the sitting room slightly stunned for a moment. If he were honest he did harbour some resentment for the fact that Molly Hooper had been aware of Sherlock's deception, and not him. She had held his hand and watched him mourn. Hell, he had even cried on the woman's shoulder and she had said nothing. She was, by all accounts, an expert liar. Molly had cried right along with him. Had that been a lie as well, or was she simply crying because she missed the man she... loved? John had, at one point, thought that Molly was just infatuated with his best friend. Now he wasn't so sure. Mycroft had planted a seed. Normally John Watson didn't give two fucks what the pompous son of a bitch had to say, but on this occasion, he had to admit... it got him thinking.

He went check on Molly and Sherlock before he left. What he found was very strange. Molly was in bed propped up on several pillows, more pillows than John knew the detective to have owned, as a matter of fact. Sherlock was sitting in bed, facing her, holding her hand. What the hell? She was giggling when he walked in.

"Just wanted to check on the patient before I left," he announced.

"I'm fine John. Thank you though," she said with a smile, trying to pull her hand away from Sherlock's, though he wouldn't let her go.

"Just take one of the pills I left you if have any pain. And keep that wrist wrapped up." He looked at his friend. "Sherlock, can I talk to you for a moment?"

The detective looked put out, but gently extracted himself from the bed and followed John to the sitting room.

"What is it John? Don't you have a pregnant wife at home? You were complaining about needing to get back to her earlier, I didn't delete that."

"Yeah, so your brother seems to think Molly staged this to get your attention."

Sherlock just stared at the doctor. "And?"

John sighed. "And now you're in there playing footsie with her."

"I'm not... what the hell is footsie?"

"Never mind. Could there... is there any way..." John put his hands on his hips and tried to prepare himself for the fallout of his next question. "Would she? Could Molly have done this?" It made him uncomfortable just entertaining the possibility, but he had to ask. Mycroft had a point. Molly Hooper had lied to, well, everyone for the sake of Sherlock. What else was she capable of?

Sherlock's expression grew... to call it stormy would have been an understatement. "You too?" He shook his head and paced away. "Damnit John!" He turned back to him. "You examined her. She has a sprained wrist, for God's sake. Not to mention a boot print on her shin. Have you lost your mind?"

The doctor closed his eyes as guilt washed over him. Had he really just let Mycroft Holmes mind-fuck him? Shit. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." he whispered.

"Don't apologize to me, John," he said as he brushed passed him, and headed down the hall.

Sherlock once again knocked on his bedroom door just before opening it. He found Molly sitting on the edge of the bed putting her shoes on, or trying to at least. She was having some difficulty with her damaged wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I'm leaving. I only came here to let you know what happened and so that you could get the DNA. I assumed your brother would actually want to know that one of his agents was a rapey arsehole. I'm fine now, I can go back home," she said as she resumed her inelegant shoe tying.

Sherlock knelt at her feet and halted her progress. "No, you're staying here. And that's not the only reason you came to me, or at least I hope it's not."

Molly chewed on her lip for a second until she seemed remembered that it was injured and stopped. "Look, I'm fine, Sherlock." She smiled. "Really. It was a bit scary and I'm gonna be sore for a couple of days but you have this whole Moriarty thing to deal with. Let Mycroft handle Agent McHandsy let me get back to Toby." She tried to take her shoe back from the detective, but he refused, keeping it just out of her reach. "Sherlock..." she warned.

He sat it down and removed the other (still untied) shoe. "Molly, don't you trust me?"

She closed her eyes and sighed, deeply. "Of course I do, it's just..."

"You don't want to prove my brother right."

She looked down at her hands. "I don't need to be taken care of Sherlock. You'd be surprised how many times things like this have happened." She looked back up. "I'm small, okay. Men think they can take advantage. I've been taking self-defense classes since my first year at uni."

Sherlock felt his stomach turn. "I'm sorry... for my entire gender."

She laughed. "Don't be. You, of all people..." She paused and patted his hand. "Can I go now?"

"Oh, yeah. Still no." He jumped up and started going through his drawers. "I will get you something to sleep in, though. And you're in luck as I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom, still in the packaging."

"What about Toby?" she asked.

"I'll call Mrs. Ham, she loves me." He flashed Molly his most incense smile. "Have her check in on him."

"That's only because you flirt shamelessly with the poor old woman."

"Comes in handy."

"For what?"

"Who do you think lets me into your building so I can pick your locks?" And with that he dashed out of the room.

Molly sat stone still for a moment. She was a bit tired of putting on a brave face. Yes, she was used to fighting off roaming hands of overeager dates and random drunk blokes, but a trained government agent? It had frankly scared the life out of her. She had fought back, and hard. She had kicked and punched and scratched. Then she ran. She ran as fast as she could to Baker Street, not even considering getting a cab or jumping on the Tube, for some reason. Thankfully, Sherlock had given her an 'emergency key' months before. She was fairly certain his intention was for the delivery of body parts, but at the moment she arrived at his flat all she cared about was that she felt safe. After pacing around the for forty minutes or so she must have decided to wait it out in Sherlock's bedroom. She was still a bit fuzzy on how she'd come to that decision. Though she did remember not wanting to call him; he was on a case and would most likely be very busy.

Molly shook herself and picked up the clothes he'd laid out for her. Then she went into the bathroom to change and clean her teeth.

Ten painful minutes later she was finished. She stepped out into the sitting room to find Sherlock in his chair, deep in his mind palace, so she went to the kitchen to make some tea. She was once again lost in her thoughts when she felt a hand on her back. She jumped dropping the empty mug she'd been holding.

"Bless it!" she cried, then immediately bent to start cleaning up the mess.

Sherlock dropped to the floor and stopped her, picking up the pieces of broken mug. "It's okay Molly, let me."

"I'm so sorry. It must be the adrenaline wearing off," she tried to explain as she stood up.

Sherlock finished cleaning up the mess and slowly walked back to her. "Are you sure it's not something else?" he asked.

She wrapped her arms around her middle and shook her head.

"Why don't I finish the tea?" he said in a startlingly gentle voice.

Molly went and sat down on his sofa. She really needed to get a hold of herself. Sherlock had bigger problems than a nervous woman in his sitting room. She closed her eyes and tried to calm down her breathing. Moments later Sherlock returned with the tea.

"Here we are." He handed it to her.

"Did you talk to Mrs. Ham?"

"Of course, she was more than happy to help. Especially after I told her how much I enjoyed the last batch of biscuits she made you."

Molly smiled; she knew he was trying to distract her. She tried to allow him. "Why do you even have her number?"

He looked a bit caught for a moment. "I have her number and your landlord's, also your grandmother's. I talked to her two weeks ago." She started to interrupt, but he continued. "I need to be able to get in touch with them... in case. "

"In case of what?" she asked then she took a drink of tea.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Things like this, Molly, finish your tea." Then he got up and marched off to his room.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Why on earth did he need to talk to Gran? she wondered. He was making her nervous. At first she liked his attention, it was distracting at the very least. But now she just wanted to try to forget the whole thing. She was just starting to drift off to sleep about a half an hour later when Sherlock came storming back into the room.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be an only child?" he asked as he frantically searched for... something.

"Umm, Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Several things, actually. I'm trying to figure out where Agent Cummings went after being discharged from my brother's employment. I'm plotting my revenge against Mycroft, aaaand," he said as he pulled a gun out of the seat cushion of John's chair. "Finding exactly what I was looking for."

Again, so sorry about not responding to reviews, blame FF. I'm checking on the problem every day. Please let me know what you know what you think. I really appreciate it. ~Lil~