Sorry about the delay with this chapter! I have been crazy busy! Enjoy!

Two days later, Molly cut was healing well, but she still had to be careful, any sudden movement was still causing it to bleed slightly.

Her hunter map was now sprawling over the ceiling of her spare room, hunter room, as she now referring to it as. While getting the stuff up there had been painful, it was a lot easier to examine without her having to scramble to hide everything. Greg and John had started to follow Sherlock's habit in popping in unexpectedly, no doubt making sure hadn't disappeared or been murdered.

Cheery.

She also got the feeling that Mary had been asking John questions about Molly; John was a lot more inquisitive about her and her past as of late.

While she could definitely argue that it was John realising how important she was to Sherlock and kicking himself for not seeing it sooner, the slight bamboozlement to the questions lead to believe that she who was pulling the strings. Molly sighed, rubbing her temples, closing her eyes trying to clear her mind of the clutter.

The Winchesters were going to be in London tomorrow and there was nothing new to add other then Moriarty had worked a deal of some sort.

Not a cross roads one, not his style, Westwood after all.

She sat up slowly, trying to keep from pulling her wound and shimmying off the bed. Toby wound through her legs as she padded into her kitchen. The sunlight, a rarity in London, streamed in through her living room window and into her small kitchen and she stood facing into it.

Her eyes closed as she relished in the heat for a moment, but that moment ended quickly. Molly sneezed loudly, stilling as a ruffle noise from her front door. She looked at it moving to it carefully, as silently as she could and picked up her gun from behind the books on her bookcase. Molly held it at her side, hiding it with her leg as she opened the door using it as her shield.

All that was awaiting her was a tall thin black box wrapped in a dark purple ribbon was leaning against the door. Toby's meowed loudly from her feet; Molly had to put on a happy little smile as she leaned down to pick up the package given that Mrs. Moran was now watching her through a slightly open door.

She carried it in, ushering Toby in gently with her foot and grabbing her Harry Potter mug for a large cup of tea.

A quiet knock came from the door, slow and measured, definitely not Sherlock, he would've just broken in a new and unexpected manner, John's knock was always more shorter and more abrupt. So, that meant Greg.

'Hey.'

Greg blinked a couple of times as she opened the door, taken aback by her lack of surprise and the fact the mug that had become his over the past few years was already by the kettle.

'I always forget how good you are at that.' He sat down opposite her, giving the package a curious look, but shaking his head and focusing back on Molly.

'What?' She placed the tea bags in the cups and placing them on the table, turning get milk and sugar.

'Figuring people out, deductions all your own.'

'I don't see everything.'

'You see what's important. You're the only one who can figure Sherlock out, well except for his brother.'

'And even Mycroft misses what's important.' Greg continued thoughtfully, eyes narrowed and examining Molly, who simply rolled her eyes.

'Neither of them sees it as important.' She pointed out, running her finger around the rim of her mug.

'Sherlock is beginning to.'

'I suppose he is. Who would have thought that would happen?'

'We knew him back in the rough days.'

'I mentioned the wardrobe incident. Nothing.' She made a cutting gesture wither her hand, laughing slightly at the memory of Sherlock's face when she mentioned it in the lab.

'He doesn't remember?' Greg choked on his tea and opened his mouth in amazement. While he was used to Sherlock forgetting his name, on purpose, he frequently told her that Sherlock never seemed to forget anything in relation to her. Something Molly doubted to her very core.

'Either he really managed to delete it, or he was so high he can't remember.'

'You should sell that story to the papers. Far more entertaining than Janine's stuff.' Even as he said it Greg looked like he desperately wanted to take back what he just said. Which intrigued Molly to no end.

'Oh. So you've met her?' Her head tilted as she smiled lightly, watching Greg cough awkwardly, ruffling his hair.

'Yeah, and?' Oh defensive. Interesting.

'Oh wow. You like her.'

'No.' His answer was far too quick, his eyes too wide and his hand clenched around his mug. Honestly, it was too easy to figure him out.

'Greg really? You have no poker face! So cute! At least you'll know Sherlock will give next to no fucks about it.'

'She's, interesting.'

'Devious.'

'Interesting.'

'Ahhh. Hot.'

'Fine. Yes. I hate you sometimes Hooper.'

'Because when I figure things out you can't get angry?'

'You do it in such a nice way!'

'How awful of me; to not shove my observations in your face to bolster my ego!'

'Yes, bang on. It is a pain. I have no justifiable reason to dislike you, or even get a little annoyed.'

'Because I'm so nice?'

'Yeah, you lied your ass off for two years and I can't get mad at you.'

'I do feel awful about that. As I should.'

'Yeah and I can never play poker with you.'

'I'd beat your pants off.'

'You would.'

'Easy pickings.'

'Now what is in the box?' Both turned to look at the black box that was sitting idly on her kitchen table now, purple ribbon gleaming in the last lingering streams on sunlight.

'I'm sure it's from Sherlock.'

'What makes you say that?'

'Just a feeling.'

'Open it and see.'

Molly glared at the DI, then heaving a melodramatic breath she reached over and pulled the package to her. Pulling off the ribbon with a flourish she opened it, and recoiled in horror as a blood soaked whip fell out of the present.

'Not from Sherlock then.'

'No. Best call him though.'

'Already on it. Greg stood up as Molly moved the mugs of tea to the sink and went to grab Toby before he could damage the evidence.

As she walked back in to the kitchen after locking Toby in her room, Greg talking quietly and urgently on the phone Molly went to inspect the whip and the box.

About litre on the whip and remaining in the box, she'd guess, odd that the decorative box, with a familiar velvet pattern could retain the fluid without any sign of leakage. If the blood was from one person, they could still easily be alive, if this was the only evidence of the injuries.

She peered over it, trying to place the pattern and the significance of the whip. If it had been sent to Sherlock, Molly would be sure it was linked to that Irene Alder, but to her?

It made no sense.

Then she noticed flash of white at the bottom of the box, carefully placed in a small space between the box and the wrapping. Molly as sneakily as she could; moved her hand towards the bag on the counter and pulled out a tweezers, then being careful not to attract Greg's attention, pulled it out and on seeing the insignia on the paper, shoved in her back pocket.

'Sherlock, John and Mary are on their way.'

'Mary?'

'Both men are insistent on keeping her close, understandable in her condition.'

Crap. Molly had to concentrate on not letting the wince explode on her face, the possibility of Mary figuring out what she was, before she could do the same...

That would be bad.

Dangerous and explosive.

'Well that's good. Maybe they can figure out what this means. My home is now a crime scene, great.' The last thing she needed was more people coming in and milling around, she'd have to hide her hunter ceiling again. God damn it, it took so much effort getting it up there in the first place with the cut on her torso.

'Can you give me five minutes Greg?' She tried to sound as freaked out as a woman should be on discovering a blood whip had been dropped to her door, and made her way to the spare room.

As fast and as quietly as she could, with care to not aggravate her chest, she tried to get everything off of her ceiling and hide it away. Molly had to scramble to get it all in the wooden case as she heard the door burst open in the other room.

Molly walked to the window, pulling out the note opening it with a shaky breath.

Molly Hooper is a liar,

And Sherlock Holmes is none the wiser.

The Hunter and the Detective are not alone,

The King is about to ascend the throne.

The message was connected to Sherlock but was aimed directly at her.

King?

Suddenly Molly found herself slammed into a wall, a gun shoved into her ribs; she kicked back, causing her attacked to stumble heavily. She spun round standing defensively only to find Mary facing her, gun trained on the spot in between her eyes.

'I knew it.'

'I don't care what you know, who are you really?' Her voice was an ice cold hiss, eyes flashing dangerously and Molly felt her blood rise sharply.

'You already know.'

'A Hunter. You are good.'

'As are you. I'm guessing you're the one who shot Sherlock.'

'Yes.'

'Can't say I haven't felt that temptation. Are you going to lower that, with the three next door? We both know it's too dangerous for them to know.'

'Sherlock would either run like hell, or...' Mary gestured loosely with the gun and then tucked it into the holster hidden by her loose jacket, one hand rubbing her heavy stomach absent-mindedly.

'Run straight in. I'm on the case.' Molly tucked the note back into her jeans, rubbing her shoulder irritably.

'Don't think this means I trust you, you're a hunter, I can't trust jackshit you say.'

'And you're a spy. Which one of us can hold the moral high ground?'

The door opened and John poked his head in the door looking concerned as both women pulled on their masks. Mary's one full of worry and Molly's one of a woman trying to hide her fear, but the ducking of her head and slight tremble of the hand giving her away.

And so the game is played.

I have to say a massive thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed as well as reviewed this story! The response has been huge and far more than I expected!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!