Breathe, Molly.

Check your heart.

Stay under 175 beats per minute or you'll go into catastrophic motor skill failure, your body will shut down.

175.

Breathe.

"Come and have coffee, Molly." He repeated again, staring intently at her.

She was backed up against a table by the window, but she strived to seem calm and confident, hoping against hope that the Italian officer would just leave.

In an attempt to dissimulate, she looked away and tried to adjust a microscope...But her fingers couldn't work properly.

115 beats a minute. Fine motor skills are failing.

"I'm sorry, but..." She began blindly, then continued in a flash of inspiration, "But... Well, I'm sort of dating the ambassador, now. I wouldn't want to give you the wrong idea."

Stefano paused, hesitating. "So...You're just not interested." He eyed her suspiciously.

"Exactly...I'm sorry." Molly attempted a smile.

"All right, then." Stefano said, shrugging. He picked up the folder with the test results and walked to the door. Molly silently breathed a sigh of relief.

Then she heard a beep.

Stefano slowly took his hand off the door handle and pulled his phone out of his pocket to read the text message.

"Oh, you're clever." The Italian murmured softly. He turned to look at her. "You're very clever."

His hand returned to the door...

And locked it.

John looked back as he tried to follow James, weaving his way through the rows of spectators. No sign of Sherlock.

"Your excellency!" The ambassador turned distractedly when he heard someone calling. Michael Carthy approached them from one of backstage doors. "Is everything all right?" The stylist inquired, tilting his head in concern at the ambassador's departure, although his voice carried notes of wounded ego as his catwalk was being thus slighted.

"I am sorry, but a friend is in trouble, I need to go to the hospital..." James explained, striding to the exit, his jaw clenched.

"I will have Mr. Holmes know where you are." Carthy cried, waving one hand. "Good luck!"

His voice was lost in music and the applause of the crowd.

Molly was cornered.

She felt the cold steel of the table pressing against her as she backed away from the man at the other side of the room.

Stefano turned away from the door to look at her. His smile had hardened into a sneer, his demeanour shifted to an air of leisurely, chilling confidence.

"Well, there is no point in faking anymore, is there, Molly?" He purred. Stefano opened the folder with the test results and took a picture. Molly realized he was sending it to someone, so she tried to inch her way to her own phone while he looked at his...

"Tut tut." Stefano shook his head, casually disengaging the retaining strap of his gun holster with his thumb. "Just let me do this, and then I'll be all yours."

Maybe she should have just had the coffee. Maybe he would have not suspected her and he would have let her go...

No. Sherlock had a plan.

He always had a plan.

Right?

Doctor Paten, lying on the concrete...Molly blinked the mental image away.

Her mouth felt dry.

"You know..." Stefano began idly, sauntering casually towards her, occasionally stopping to admire some item or utensil. "I really was not supposed to do anything to you." He picked up her phone and carelessly inspected it. Molly could see the flashing light of an unread text. "I was instructed to try and keep things clean." He quickly typed a message with one hand, then looked at her and licked his lips. "Tidy."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Molly shrugged, shaking her head.

"Oh, yes you do, you cheeky girl." He reprimanded her as if she were a child, shaking his finger at her jokingly.

Ok, so that didn't work...

Stall him, Molly.

"What did you do to my phone, Stefano?"

"I sent a message." He grinned. "The event should last for another thirty minutes at least, and nobody is waiting for you. We have loads of time." He added thoughtfully. "Loads of time."

A chill.

"Why...Why are you doing this?"

"They pay me well." He shrugged. "Doing scorta was never enough for me, but I wasn't expecting such a good offer, for so little work..." Stefano tilted his head, looking her over approvingly.

Keep him talking.

"Why do you want the results? Isn't it enough to just destroy them?"

"I don't know, I'm just following orders. It's funny." He mused, his eyes falling on the folder. "That isn't even what her hair looks like. You're barking up the wrong tree." Stefano chuckled, taking off his jacket and tossing it aside, exposing his crisp white shirt and the black holster attached to his belt.

145 beats a minute.

"So...You didn't kill doctor Paten and the ambassadors?"

Stefano raised a brow, as if her question pleased him. "No, not my bailiwick. Sorry to disappoint you. "

He then undid the first button of his shirt and unfastened his cuffs as he walked towards her. His left hand rested on his gun.

"If you didn't kill anyone, Stefano, it's not too late! You could..."

"I never said I didn't kill anyone."

Oh.

He stood mere inches from Molly; She felt the cold steel of the table behind her pressing against her flesh.

Stefano reached around her and placed his right hand on the pristine surface.

150.

NOW!

With all the force of her enhanced gross motor skills, she brought her knee up, hard, against his groin.

She pushed him off as he crumpled and ran to the door.

It wouldn't open.

Molly grabbed a microscope and raised it to try and break the glass.

It fell to the floor when she yelped in pain, as a hand grabbed her hair from behind. Petri dishes crashed to the floor in the wake of her searching hands.

Instinctively wanting to pull away, she pushed against him to lessen the pain and blindly tried to scratch him.

With a strong jerk he let her go, bringing his hand to his jaw, which now trickled with blood.

"Bitch!" He snarled. He gave her a vicious slap with the back of his hand and Molly fell to the floor.

Stefano pulled out the gun.

200.

Those few minutes in the car had been agony.

The ambassador had tried to call, but she hung up. Then he got a message: "I'm fine. Have fun."

How did she guess that was what he wanted to know?

She wasn't fine.

Or worse, she didn't write the message.

Which meant she was far from fine.

Now James Bailiff was running up the stairs as if the hounds of hell were after him, vaguely aware of doctor Watson and his scorta close behind.

They reached the lab floor and James froze.

"What...What is it?" John panted.

"Where are the guards?" He replied stonily. His heart dropped.

"Molly!" James called, running to the lab door, but his call was covered by a sudden noise.

A gunshot.

Blood splattered against the glass door.

A/N

Thanks to lovebirds413, sharon.w, pujalysfelton, almightyswot, 8XiongMao8, Abydell, Crimson and Chrome 42, Renaissancebooklover108, 16magnolias, Rocking the Redhead ,swathy, mrspencil and SammyKatz for the wonderful reviews. Thank you so much, I'm sorry for the wait.

Reviews make me smile.

Thanks for reading!

Feral