A/N: Penultimate chapter and it's almost there. 2022 me has changed the title, and messed around with this a little bit.

2015 me made this the final chapter, and then an epilogue (a year later)

Tell the Devil I Said Hey When you Get Back to Where you're From

It was another day, another showdown between heaven and hell. Stood atop the roof of St Barts, Molly had sprung out of the access door before Moriarty could stop her, and confidently walked forwards with a gun in her hand. She trained it on the demon's face and cocked it.

The clever words that had been batted between detective and demon had died at the sight of her. The jibes and mockery of one another faded as the chestnut headed woman stood, determined and watched as the demon's face twitched into a smile.

"Molly what are you doing?" Sherlock's voice was hoarse from behind her.

James Moriarty didn't bother to pretend anymore.

"She's saving you Sherlock, by damning herself." He grinned at her. "The poor little angel doesn't want to see you suffer at my hands, so she'll sacrifice her soul for yours…"

"Molly, put the gun down." Sherlock whispered but Molly's eyes did not leave the demon before her.

"Adramelech…" Her voice did not waver nor did her hands shake. "Sherlock's soul is not yours, it has never been yours. While Sherlock may not always play on the side of angels, he will always have this angel to watch over him." Her speech was long enough to make James snarl at her, but she had made peace with what she was about to do. "You lose." She pulled the trigger aiming the bullet at the centre of the demon's forehead.

The whiteness that enveloped her was not what she expected.

Nor had she expected to see the figures before her.

"Well Miss Hooper, I have to say I am quite impressed." Mycroft Holmes stood before her, with Anthea at his side.

"I have to say, white doesn't suit you." Molly dropped the gun and nodded at the change in his suit.

"No, but apparently it's a requirement." Mycroft's face twisted into a scowl before smoothing out. "Anyway, I am impressed with you, wingless angel. Anthea told me I should trust you, and I am glad I listened to her." He spared a glance for the brunette who simply rolled her eyes. "Yes, it was quite…"

"Enough rambling Mycroft, you can tell her your great plan later, for now…" Anthea stood forward and took Molly's hands in her own. "You have defeated one of the demons trapped on this earth, and you may have your reward." Anthea hugged her hard and Molly felt a warmth in the hug she had missed.

Molly held her breath as the brightness of the angel realm faded to the brightness of the rooftop of her workplace. She came to with Sherlock kneeling beside her. "Molly." His vicelike grip around her wrist was probably taking her pulse, and she was only vaguely aware that he was babbling on about Mycroft dealing with the body and that they needed to get out of here.

"Sherlock?" She whined and managed to sit upright, realising she had fallen.

"Molly, you blacked out and fell after you put a 22 through Moriarty's skull." He was anxiously checking her features for signs of shock or permanent damage and held her jaw tenderly when she tried to turn to see her handiwork. "Don't look Molly. I've got you." He whispered and he held her arm as she pulled herself upright.

She glanced at the broken form of James Moriarty anyway as Sherlock guided her towards the roof access door. She swallowed hard, knowing she had made a pretty powerful enemy, but as Sherlock kept a grip on her arm while texting furiously with his free hand she decided she would worry later. Anthea had just said she could have her reward.

He steered her towards the cab, and they passed the journey in silence. She sighed as they stopped outside 221b, and as she sank into a chair, she realised just how tired she was. The vast number of reincarnations had finally caught up to her, and the warmth from Anthea's hug was still burning merrily through her, settling across her chest and back. She felt exhausted all of a sudden.

"Why did you call James Adramelech?"

"There is a lot to explain Sherlock, but I cannot explain it now. I do not have the energy." She offered quietly and Sherlock fought internally to argue with her. Something deep within his gut told him to hold off, and keep quiet. He even offered her his bedroom to sleep in, as she seemed to be drifting off right in front of him. He all but carried her to bed as she stumbled towards the stairs, and as she stripped off her jumper, her top rode up to reveal a small pair of wings tattooed on her hip. He had never noticed this before; it was not part of his "Molly" file in his head.

He had started to back out of the room when he felt Molly's hand catch his arm. She halted him in his tracks, with an expression on her face that he couldn't quite name. He swallowed hard as she silently implored him to stay. Before he had always seen the concealed desperation and hopeless love in her eyes, but now he could see the exhaustion, and what he thought was contentment. It unnerved him.

She had just blown apart James Moriarty's skull and yet she was content with life. There wasn't a worry mark around her eyes, nor was her forehead creased in concern , instead she seemed at peace with herself. It was this expression that made Sherlock join her in bed, for some unfathomable reason that no amount of logic would later smooth over, he joined her beneath his sheets and watched her sleep, completely nonplussed at the day's turn of events.