Right, so, here it is, kids. Thanks for joining me on this ride. This chapter is sort of a monster, so hang on.

A huge, massive, gigantic thank you to hobbitsdoitbetter who is an amazingly great beta. Amazingly. Great. Beta.

My lovely reviewers: CloudCuckooLandHasAQueen, , Calicar, Crimson and Chrome 42, Nocturnias, JC, springbok7, Get Sherlocked, DEfy'GRavitY95 - You are feeding this muse so feel free to keep her happy. XXOO

Let's do this.

~oOo~

Molly sat once again at her computer, entering casenotes. Sherlock had dismissed her from the autopsy after fifteen minutes indicating that he needed to concentrate. (Molly, your presence is distracting. Please go do something useful.) She was too tired to argue with him - not that she wanted to anyway. The adrenaline of the earlier shock had worn off and she was feeling the physical effects of not sleeping well the past month. If she put her head down now, she was fairly sure she'd slip into a coma. Molly finished typing the last few words of the final patient update when Mary Morstan - followed closely by John Watson - bounded through the laboratory door. It had been no more than thirty minutes since Molly called to tell her about the obscene 'love note.'

"Molly...you alright?" Mary leaned over Molly's back, wrapping her arms around Molly's shoulders, their cheeks flush with each other. The normally reserved Molly was still getting used to her best friend's propensity for hugging. Molly appreciated physical contact as much as the next person (well, except Sherlock Holmes) but Mary Morstan embraced people as if it were her sole purpose in life to ensure that someone received a good and proper hug. Molly patted Mary's arm to reassure her she was fine.

"Yes. Okay now, I suppose. Just tired."

Mary gave one last squeeze before letting go and moving to the front of the desk. Mary's brow wrinkled with concern as she surveyed her friend.

"Tired? You're bloody exhausted." Mary turned to John. "Doesn't she look bloody exhausted?"

John walked up next to Mary and, as his fiancee had just done, looked Molly over from head to toe. The poor woman looked about ready to drop. He'd come to know Molly well in the past two years; especially since she and Mary had become such close friends. The woman who sat before him now appeared far from the pleasant, happy person he knew. He certainly didn't want to make her feel any worse by agreeing with Mary's blunt assessment.

"Well...a trifle...tired, I'd say. So, Molly, mind bringing us up to speed here?" John asked; concern evident in his voice.

Molly sighed. "Kitty Riley's exposés made me into enough of a celebrity that I now have my own stalker."

John gritted his teeth and shook his head. That damned woman. She just couldn't let things alone. She was so bloody angry that Moriarty had duped her that her revenge was to dig up any information - truth or no - on Sherlock's friends. Her articles about Molly had been particularly spiteful. Kitty's scandalous trash sold papers, though, so they kept being printed.

"I started receiving things in the mail just after the first article. They were sort of flattering, actually - except for the ones that said I shouldn't be involved with Sherlock, that I was a disgrace to the profession." She sat back and rubbed her eyes. "At first I ignored them. Then the flowers started arriving and I began to get uneasy about all these gifts. But the flowers were especially disturbing. There'd never been a note and no one had seen them delivered - all when I was away from my desk. It felt as though someone was watching me."

"You never told anyone?" It was all John could do not to give into his frustration at Sherlock for not intervening sooner. "No one...guessed? And by 'no-one,' I mean that tosser with the flowy black coat and the superiority complex I used to live with."

Molly sighed. "I didn't want to be a bother. I thought it would go away."

Mary clicked her tongue on her teeth with a 'tsk.' "Didn't want to bother him, you mean." Mary was more than annoyed - mostly with Sherlock Holmes - but also with herself. Molly was her best friend yet she'd barely seen her in the last month - evidently just when Molly needed her the most. But Sherlock should have done something. He was at the lab almost every day - he should have seen what was happening. He should have stepped in to help Molly - she helped him when he needed it most. Sherlock should have done the same for her.

"Four bouquets in a month? I'm no great detective, but even I can see that's not 'going away', Molly." John's tone was gentle, not accusing.

Molly shrugged. "I realize that now. I was stupid to try and deal with it alone, I know. I just…" Didn't want Sherlock involved. Hated the idea of turning back into a stuttering, simpering hanger on. She'd tried hard to become more independent since he'd left and it hurt to think of him looking at her with pity. "...didn't want to worry anyone." Molly shook her head. "You...you wouldn't understand."

John sighed. "I do understand. You've come into your own these last two years without him and you don't want to go back to the way things were." He'd honestly been glad of Molly's evolution during Sherlock's absence. New outfits (courtesy of shopping trips with Mary) and additional responsibilities at the hospital (teaching, supervising interns), had brought Molly a new level of confidence. She really was quite remarkable. Despite Sherlock's genius, he failed to open his eyes and observe this new Molly Hooper.

Molly's eyes began to glisten, the tears threatening her tenuous composure. She nodded. "I don't want that, I really don't. I like who I am now, and that's the sort of person who takes care of herself. But when I'm around him, that 'old Molly' wants to come back. I find myself wanting to become the little lab rat scurrying to get his coffee and his...damn body parts. It's like… It's like I turn into the invisible woman again, and I don't like it."

Mary took Molly's hand. "I love you, Molls, but that's rubbish. You're not invisible. You're brilliant and funny and damn Sherlock Holmes for being a complete prat. I know why you wouldn't want to go to him. But you're our friend. Even if you didn't go to him, you should have come to me...to us. It's our job to worry about you. You have to let us take care of you, yeah? So we're going to help. John, call Lestrade."

"No need." Molly pointed in the direction of the other room. "He arrived just before you did. He's in there with Sherlock."

"Right. Well, I'll go see about things then." John patted Molly on the shoulder. "We'll get this sorted, Molly. Promise. Even if it means me giving Sherlock a swift kick in the arse." Molly smiled and wiped her eyes. He kissed Mary on the cheek before disappearing into the autopsy theater.

Crossing her arms, Mary leaned on the desk and stared at Molly. Despite Mary's outgoing nature, she didn't make friends easily. True friends - ones that knew her secrets and flaws, who wouldn't judge her as her family so often did - were few and far between. Molly was the genuine article. A loyal and trusted friend who, right now, needed Mary more than she would admit.

"You're about two seconds from collapsing, aren't you?"

Molly nodded. "I'm tired, Mary. I just want to get some sleep."

"I wish you'd come to me sooner. Damn Sherlock Holmes for making you feel like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. I would have called Lestrade. Filed a report…"

"Claiming what? Stalking with beautiful flowers? There wasn't a boiled bunny in my flat, Mary. The police aren't going to do anything until I've been…" She didn't want to say the next words. Molly knew from the start that the police wouldn't do anything if she reported 'feeling uneasy'. They wouldn't have done anything until she was actually assaulted. And she certainly hadn't wanted to involve Sherlock. He might have taken it seriously but she didn't want to seem like she was clamoring for attention. Stupid, yes. But what was done was done.

"Don't even say it, Molls. Just don't. No one is going to touch a hair on your brilliant, stubborn head, yeah? You're going to stay with John and me until this is all done."

Molly shook her head tiredly. "I don't want to put you out. You and John are in the middle of planning your wedding, and there's your work...his work…"

"Bollocks. You're my best friend, Molly Hooper. I'll be damned if I send you home alone with some insane stalker waiting to do God-knows-what to you." Fear suddenly replaced the exhaustion on Molly's face and Mary immediately regretted her choice of words. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to make it sound as bad as all that."

"But it is as bad as all that, I suppose. I'm being a stubborn idiot, I know. This is just unreal. This isn't my life, Mary. This is Sherlock's life. Murderers, thieves...he understands them. I don't. I just deal with the science at the end...not the motives. When I started in this work, I made a choice not to think about the killers...the evil of it all. But, now, I could end up in there and it scares me."

Mary stepped forward and embraced Molly again. "No, you won't. We'll see to that."

The moment between friends broke when the autopsy theater door opened and Sherlock's voice boomed through the space.

"I've obtained all the data I need for now. Molly, gather your things."

He strode over to 'his' chair and picked up his coat while Lestrade made his way to Molly. Greg winked, trying his best to lighten the mood.

"Sensitivity of a porcupine, that one. He thinks he might have it cracked, Molly, don't you worry." Greg glanced over his shoulder briefly, then quieted his voice. Molly knew that tone. That was the one Greg used when he didn't want to start a row with Sherlock - but he was using it on her. She didn't see that as a good sign.

"I think it best you stay at Baker Street until this business is over."

A part of her thrilled to the idea of staying in close proximity to Sherlock; being in his home and having him watch over her. Their conversation earlier indicated that he was concerned for her welfare - even if he had no inclination toward her as anything other than a friend. But her pride (stubborn, yes) told her that jumping at this chance would, once again, demonstrate that she would do anything when it came to Sherlock Holmes. No. She wanted to prove that she was stronger than that - to herself...and to Sherlock.

"Greg, I…"

Lestrade raised his hand, trying to put forth his argument before Sherlock stepped in and changed this request to a demand. "John told us you were going to stay with him and Mary, but Sherlock is more available…" He looked from John, then to Mary. "...no offense, of course. He feels it's the most sensible option and I'm inclined to agree."

"Well, none of this is sensible, is it? I appreciate the concern for my safety, I do. But I'd be more...comfortable at John and Mary's. I'm sure I'll be safe there and then I can always figure out getting to and from the hospital."

She rose from her seat and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Switching off the light, she took a few steps away from her desk before Sherlock stopped her with his voice.

"You'll stay at Baker Street." Sherlock stood squarely in the middle of the room with his hands clasped behind his back. His jaw was set and Molly could see the determination in his eyes. When he looked this way, negotiation was not an option. So, she wouldn't negotiate.

She moved toward him, relegating John, Mary and Lestrade to witness Sherlock on the receiving end of a stronger, more confident Molly Hooper.

"No, Sherlock, I won't."

Sherlock remained stock still. "Molly don't be…." (Stupid. Don't say it. Not good. Definitely not good.) "...ridiculous. You know it's the only option. With the data I've obtained, I should manage to finish this case overnight. You can take the spare room." He held Molly's gaze (had she always had such unusual eyes?) in order to drive home the importance of his next words.

"Besides, I should be the one to guard you." It was the truth - he felt utterly protective of the diminutive woman standing before him. He was intent on keeping Molly Hooper safe. Safe and sound and, and…. his. His, even if he didn't know what to do with her. "It was, after all, publicity surrounding your assistance in my disappearance that let to this person's fascination with you," he continued. She said nothing. "So, as I am somewhat responsible for this situation, I should ensure your safety."

Disappointment took hold in Molly's chest. He'd said he wanted to protect her and, even if only for a moment, the look in his eyes was fierce and passionate. But as quickly as one would flip a switch, the mask descended back over his face. He was Sherlock again - the brilliant detective who always had to be right. She was, as always, nothing but an… obligation to him. He would never change. Never be more to her than someone who needed her for his cases. He'd said he considered her a friend and maybe that could be good enough. But it didn't lessen the sting.

"No, Sherlock. I don't need you to sweep in and play the hero right now." She paused for a moment. "I appreciate that you feel responsible, but I'm not going to stay at your flat. John and Mary's is perfectly safe - at least for tonight. If you haven't solved the case tomorrow then I'll consider moving to Baker Street. But not tonight. Tonight I need to be with my friends."

With that, Molly turned on her heel and left the laboratory. Mary stood for a moment, glanced at John and followed her friend out the door. The three men remained silent for several moments in the aftermath of Molly's declaration. Lestrade was the first to speak up.

"Well, I'll follow them out and wait until you get there, John." He tipped his head and left John alone with a stunned consulting detective.

John watched his friend. Sherlock was visibly struck from Molly's words. His eyes darted about and the lines in his forehead grew more pronounced as he replayed the interchange in his head. John knew something was happening in that brain of his - he just hoped it was his best friend finally coming to his senses.

Sherlock turned around and slammed his hands against the counter top.

"I'm not a hero. I never intended to be a hero." (Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.) "I simply want to help her, doesn't she bloody realize that?" He righted himself and spun around, his hands gesticulated wildly; a perverse conduction of his own internal orchestra. "This happened because of me. Because some psychopath saw Molly in an article about how she was involved with me. I'm responsible, I have to fix this. To take care of her until this is done."

John had seen his best friend angry before. Anger on Sherlock Holmes hung like a dark cloud over his face - he simmered, his jaw clenched, he calculated. This was more than anger - it was frustration, hurt...terror. For all of Sherlock's protestations against emotions (Your heart should never rule your head, John.), it seemed that the man in front of him was experiencing a full range of them - including, God help them all... love?

It hit John. He knew what he had to say now. "Just until then?"

"What?" Sherlock spun around and fixed John with those piercing eyes.

"You said you want to take care of her until this is done. After that, you two will go back to Sherlock, the consulting detective and Molly Hooper, pathologist? Or are you finally getting it in your overworked skull that she means more to you than just an inroad for obtaining body parts?"

John's accusation unsettled him. Sherlock detested being the one observed. Irene Adler. Moriarty. They saw through Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and it was decidedly unnerving. He wanted to be the one in control yet this entire evening demonstrated that there were some things even he could not control. Emotions he could not master would destroy him - could destroy Molly.

That could not happen. John was absolutely correct. Molly...his Molly...was more than a scientific collaborator to him. She was important. She mattered.

"John, Molly Hooper is important. She is a friend.…"

"Oh shut it, Sherlock. She isn't just a friend and you damn well know it." John stepped forward and glared at him. "You've been different since you came back from the dead, you know. You're still an arse - that's one thing that will never change. But when you stood up on that rooftop and made the choice to jump - you got it. You understood what it meant to have people to love and protect. You disappeared for two years to bring down a network that could harm one of your friends. And as much as you are loathe to admit, you towering git, you care about Molly. Not just as a doctor or friend...as a woman. You're too damn stubborn to say anything, but even Mary and I can see it."

John put his hands in his jacket pockets and continued. "You know bloody well how she's always felt about you, Sherlock. She helped you stage your death without a second thought yet you went two years without contacting her. You've been back for three months yet you've all but ignored her. She deserves more, Sherlock, and she knows it. Molly's spent the time without you becoming more confident and independent - she's damn good at it too."

He paused for a moment to choose his next words. He didn't want to betray Molly's confidence, but Sherlock needed something akin to a slap on those rigid cheekbones to bring him to his senses. "She's been so wound up because of you sitting in that chair, treating her like she's a part of the scenery that she's neglected to to confide in you...the one person who could help her," he tells him. "Two years ago, she would have told you everything, But she doesn't trust you anymore, Sherlock- And trust is a fragile thing for a woman like her. She doesn't want to be hurt anymore, and I can't rightly blame her. So how's about you give her a reason not to expect the worst of you, eh, Spock? Think you can work on that?"

And the good doctor stepped away, his point made.

John watched Sherlock process the information he'd been given. He knew Sherlock became overwhelmed when emotions were present and, right now, Sherlock Holmes looked like he was fighting a tidal wave. Good. Maybe something he said would shift that pretentious brain of his into gear. Or even the under-used, but equally important, bits of him that might be of interest to Molly Hooper. He gave his friend a moment, allowing him to process things a little, and then crossed the short distance to stand next to Sherlock. Clapped him on the shoulder and smiled lopsidedly to take the sting out of his words. "I'll watch out for her, alright? You know I can protect her. But if you let things go any longer without telling her and something happens...you'll never forgive yourself, mate."

He turned and began walking out of the laboratory, leaving Sherlock alone to sort out what needed to be done.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the lab, his thoughts whirling. The full realization that his feelings for Molly might lean more toward affection than friendship shifted his internal balance. He'd never had to battle against what he thought and what he felt - feelings were a disadvantage. But the knowledge that she was in danger caused his brain to flood with unwanted levels of emotion. The chemistry of feeling could be so bloody unhelpful at times. Sherlock paced back and forth while images of Molly's injured body flashed through his mind. Knowing someone wanted to hurt her caused fierce anger to bloom in his chest. The idea of her absence from his life agitated him. He relied on Molly. Trusted her. If she were hurt, kidnapped, killed...stop. Stop. Following that train of thought would be dangerous for him and for her. He needed to remain focused on the task at hand. Sherlock took a deep breath, centering himself and moving those emotions back to their place in his mind. Only after identifying Molly's stalker would he entertain the examination of his feelings for Molly Hooper. Doing so now would only prove detrimental to the investigation.

No one would harm Molly. Sherlock would see to that.

~oOo~

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