A Vicious Motivator - Chapter Fifteen

[darnedchild]

Summary: Molly was happy with her life. She's got a job she loves, a nice flat, her cat, and she's even begun dating again (now that she's over her infatuation with Sherlock, mostly). Then Sherlock dragged her out for a few hours of dress up and undercover work, and everything started to go to hell in a hand-basket.

She agreed to accompany him to one more event, purely as a distraction; and in the process ended up with an unwanted house guest (Sherlock's ex Janine), the attentions of a vengeful stalker, and a return of those pesky feelings for Sherlock Holmes.

Rating: M (There will be smut in later chapters)
A/N - Written for the 2015 Sherlolly Big Bang. This mammoth fic is over 114k words and complete in seventeen chapters.

Chapter Fifteen

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

By the time she returned to her book the cocoa had grown cold. Rather than reheat it in the microwave or make herself a new mug entirely, she decided to take Sherlock's advice and head to bed.

Molly doubted she'd actually be able to sleep (she was far too keyed up for that), but it might help her relax a bit while she waited for him to come home.

Water chased the unwanted cocoa down the drain, and she took the time to rinse the mug out before leaving it in the sink to be dealt with in the morning. Her eyes lost focus as she watched little drops of water leak from the closed tap. The slow, rhythmic sound of droplets tapping against porcelain stilled her mind and she could think clearly for the first time since Sherlock dropped his bombshell.

Did Chapman really think there was anything he could do to make Janine take him back at this point? Sherlock was right, it would have to be a very elaborate plan indeed to manage that. The more she thought about it, the more out of character it seemed for the odious bully. She'd only been around him twice and that was more than enough for her to see that he wasn't brilliantly cunning (or even particularly bright). He had defaulted to vulgarities, threats, and his fists rather quickly on both occasions. She didn't have that much experience with intelligent criminals--although quite a bit more than the average gal on the street, surely--but it was painfully obvious that he wasn't an elaborate-plan-making sort of man.

One last water droplet formed at the tap. It fell and Molly gasped as everything snapped into place.

The uneasy feeling she'd had every time Sherlock talked about Chapman trying to abduct her came back tenfold. It had never made sense in her head. She'd almost had it all figured out before, when she and Sherlock were in Soter's taxi on the way home from dinner at the Chinese restaurant. Chapman hadn't come to her flat for her, he'd come for . . .

Sherlock.

She painfully gripped the edge of the sink until her nails turned white, and put the last pieces together.

Chapman had wanted Janine, but she turned to--How did Sherlock put it?--to another Alpha male. A smarter, stronger, better Alpha male. Sherlock wasn't just a threat to Chapman's relationship with Janine, he was a threat. Full stop.

And how would a manipulative man who thought with his dick and fists rather than his brain react to a threat?

He'd eliminated it.

There was no way Chapman could afford to let his rival (and that must be how he saw Sherlock) continue to walk around, a constant reminder of how he had lost. How he was inferior.

Molly realized Janine was about to become collateral damage in whatever this thing was between Chapman and Sherlock. She wasn't the end game anymore. She was the bait, just like Chapman had tried to do with Molly.

Sherlock was going to walk right into the trap because he wanted to believe Chapman was smarter than he appeared. He wanted a challenge, craved it, needed to prove that he could outsmart yet another above-average criminal. Sherlock was clearly giving Chapman too much credit. He'd gone to the cottage hoping to encounter a rapier of a man, but he was going to run straight into a blunt club.

There would be no clever trail of clues leading to a puzzle, with Janine and another boost to the consulting detective's already massive ego as a prize. Instead, there would be an angry man waiting to wage a physical battle, not one of the mind. As fit as he was, Sherlock was no match against a gunshot wound (as had been made perfectly clear already).

She told herself not to panic. Sherlock was extremely good at deductive reasoning. Surely he'd figure it out on his own.

Unless he misses it. He always misses something.

"Shite. He's going to get himself killed. Again. For real this time."

Molly hurried back into the sitting room where she'd left her phone to charge. She had to call and warn him; and when he laughed at her for telling him something he'd already known, she would happily feel a little silly for overreacting.

The call went straight to his bloody voicemail.

She paced around the room, tapping her mobile against her chin as she tried to sort through the incredibly small number of options available to her.

She could call Greg. He'd already made it clear that his hands were tied as far as official channels with the Yard were concerned, but she had no doubt that he'd come running to help if he thought Sherlock needed him. However, Sherlock was right; Greg wasn't part of the cloak and dagger crowd. There was every possibility that he'd go rushing in and things would go even further to hell.

Mycroft? Sherlock would never forgive her.

More importantly, Molly had no clue how to contact him quickly. If she had the time to waste she could try calling the number she used when she needed a ride somewhere. There was no guarantee the nameless man on the other end of the line would be able to contact Mycroft directly; but she knew that he could contact Soter who, in turn, spoke to Anthea on occasion. What Molly wouldn't do for Anthea's mobile number at the moment.

She cast a brief thought toward the surveillance people across the street that were supposed to be keeping an eye on 221B, but she couldn't remember if they worked for Sherlock or his brother. She had no clue which flat they were in or what they looked like. How much time would she lose trying to find them, and would they even know how to get in touch with Mycroft quickly enough to be of any use?

John was the obvious answer. He was used to sneaking about with Sherlock, and he had a gun (that no one was supposed to know about and yet everyone did). It was late, so she'd probably end up waking him and Mary, but it was important. Surely Mary would understand.

Molly froze with her thumb hovering over the call button on her contact list. She bit her lower lip as she considered what she was about to do, then scrolled a little further down the list and hit the button.

It rang several times before someone picked up. "Hullo?" a drowsy feminine voice finally answered.

"Mary? Oh thank God."

"Molly?" Mary's voice became clearer, more lucid. "What is it?"

She could hear John in the background, asking if something was wrong. "I need your help. Sherlock's in trouble."

There was the sound of the phone being passed over and then John started peppering her with questions, "What's he done? Is he hurt?"

"Probably not yet, but that's only because I doubt he's made it all the way out to Sussex." Molly started pacing again.

"What's he doing in Sussex?" John asked.

"Walking into a trap. But not the one he thinks he's walking into. A different one, that he's not prepared for."

For a long moment there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line, then John spoke again, "What?"

"I know, it's a little complicated and confusing, but trust me. He's either going to walk in on Janine and her exceptional cleavage or a rich thug who isn't nearly as smart as Sherlock wants to think he is."

"What?" John repeated. He was beginning to sound like a cranky parrot, and it was really starting to get on Molly's nerves.

Molly snapped, "Could you put Mary back on the phone?" Really, if she'd wanted to talk to John, she would have phoned his mobile in the first place, not Mary's.

"All right, luv. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on." Mary's tone was soothing and any other time Molly would probably have appreciated it, but now was not one of those times. She didn't want to be soothed, she wanted help.

"Janine's gone missing, and Sherlock thinks that arsehole who broke my toe with his ribs has her. He's gone to get her back, and I think he's about to make a bad mistake. Someone is going to get very, very hurt and I'm scared that it's going to be Sherlock." The more she talked about it, the more helpless Molly felt.

John and Mary had an urgent conversation which Molly couldn't quite hear, then Mary returned to the phone. "John's getting dressed right now. Do you know where he needs to go, or should he come by Sherlock's place first?"

"No!" Molly exhaled loudly in an attempt to control her frustration. "I mean, I didn't call for John. Although, you can bring him along if you want. But I called for you. I need you to do whatever it is you do and help Sherlock. You need to go rescue him, so he can rescue Janine."

Silence again, only this time it felt charged with something that made the hair on the back of Molly's neck stand up. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know the specifics, but I know there's more to you than you let on. I recognized it the day you kept me company while Sherlock and John went out to the Barrett estate. There's something dangerous about you, and you hide it most of the time which tells me you don't want people to see it. But I've spent enough time around the type of people that Sherlock tends to surround himself with to know, well, you're not simply John's wife. I mean, obviously, you are, but . . . Whatever you did or do, I need that. Sherlock needs it. Please." She was practically begging and she didn't care.

Mary didn't say anything for a long enough period of time that Molly began to doubt herself. Was she wrong? Had she let herself get carried away by her concern for Sherlock?

"Give me ten minutes to get someone to watch Bethany, and then we'll be on our way."

Molly sagged in relief and leaned against the arm of Sherlock's chair. "Thank you. Mary? Do you think you should bring John's gun?"

"We'll be there in thirty minutes. Be ready." Mary's voice was colder, more direct than Molly could ever remember hearing it before. It should have scared her, but she found it oddly reassuring as she ended the call.

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

The Watsons pulled up to the kerb thirty minutes later, almost to the second. Molly had been anxiously waiting for them on the pavement in front of 221B. John was driving, with Mary in the passenger seat, so Molly hurried into the back. She noted a small, dark duffel on the seat next to her, but didn't touch it.

"Where are we going?" John asked as he pulled back into the street.

"Do you know where Janine's cottage is?" Molly hadn't been able to find the address on the internet or anywhere on Sherlock's desk.

Mary nodded. "I do." She leaned over to put it into the car's Sat Nav and realized John was looking at her strangely. "She sent us a Christmas card. I had to send one back, didn't I?"

John continued to stare at his wife for longer than Molly thought was strictly safe considering they were still in the middle of city traffic. "Does she know about . . ."

"Oh, no. No, I don't think so." Mary gave him a hesitant smile, then glanced at Molly in the backseat. Her smile faded. When she spoke again, it was more of a command than a suggestion. "All right. Tell me what's going on. Everything you know, everything you think you know. Everything."

Molly started with Sherlock asking her to let Janine stay and why, her own run-ins with the cretin, the emails and texts to Janine, and finished up with Sherlock leaving for Sussex Downs. She told them why she thought he was in trouble and waited to see if they thought she was being foolish.

Mary nodded several times as Molly talked, her expression becoming more and more shuttered with each word. "We'll need to see the cottage, figure out what Sherlock's walked into, before we can come up with a plan." She turned to her husband. "How much longer?"

"Uh, another forty-five minutes."

Mary nodded again, although it appeared to Molly as if the other woman was distracted and hadn't really paid that much attention to John's answer. Molly settled back in the seat to wait. She didn't do well with waiting, not when she was anxious. She bit at her thumb nail and tried to come up with something to take her mind off her worry.

A couple of minutes passed in silence before Molly broke. "Military?"

"Hmm?" replied John without taking his eyes off the road.

She leaned forward as far as her seatbelt would allow and addressed Mary. "Where you military, like John?"

The couple shared a look, and then the other woman shook her head. "Not quite."

"Didn't really think so, but . . . well." Molly shrugged and picked at a worn spot on the knee of her jeans.

After another long patch of silence Mary turned to face the backseat again and asked, "Aren't you going to ask more questions?"

"Do you want me to?" Molly had been trying to respect Mary's privacy. It was obvious that whatever was going on with Mary wasn't something she wanted to share with all and sundry. Since Molly was selfishly exploiting that to get what she wanted, she figured the least she could do was keep her curiosity contained.

Mary tilted her head and looked at her as if she'd never seen Molly before. "I . . . No?"

"Then I won't." That seemed straight forward enough. Molly worried her lower lip between her teeth and fidgeted in her seat. Five minutes passed, possibly six, before she sighed and leaned forward again. "Sorry, I can't. I've got another one. Just . . . Was I right? Will you be able to help Sherlock, if he is in trouble like I think he is? Did I do the right thing in calling you? Both of you?"

Mary and John shared another look, and Molly envied them with their ability to communicate with just a glance.

She met John's eyes in the rearview mirror. "We can definitely try."

"Okay. Good." Molly nodded several times, mostly to reassure herself. "That's all I need, then."

"Really?" Mary continued to study her as if Molly were an oddity she'd never encountered before. "No more questions? No curiosity?"

A snort escaped Molly before she could stop it. "Trust me, I am full of curiosity. Practically vibrating with it. But since I met Sherlock I have seen so many things I'm not supposed to talk about. I've done things I'm not allowed to talk about. Bodies disappear from my morgue without a murmur of concern from my bosses because Someone gave an order. I've been hijacked to help Sherlock simply because he doesn't want to work with most of the other staff with lab access, and the things he does in there are probably not sanctioned by Barts. I've been introduced to the enigmatic Mycroft Holmes, and I've learned it's best if I don't ask too many questions around or about him. I've helped fake a man's death, and I still feel really bad about not being able to tell you about that, by the way."

John grunted in response. Molly decided to interpret that as a 'don't mention it'.

"Sherlock and John both trust and care for you, Mary, and that is . . . enough for me, right now. You have to understand that I long ago realized there are certain things I really do not Need to Know, and shouldn't even ask about. Especially if I want to be able to sleep at night."

Mary blinked several times, then settled back in her seat and made herself comfortable. "All right, I guess that's settled then."

"Yep."

Molly caught John looking at her in the rearview again. He lasted less than a second before he blurted out, "Seriously, though?"

His wife smacked him in the arm; not hard enough to cause the vehicle to jerk, but enough to earn an indignant 'oi' in response. "She said she's good. Move on."

They sounded so much like an old, bickering married couple, it made her feel as if everything was normal for a few seconds. "If it would help you feel better, John, there are probably loads of things I've been cleared to know about that I couldn't tell you, even if you asked."

"That's . . . not as reassuring as you might think."

Molly shrugged. "I tried."

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Scared did not begin to cover how Molly felt as she peered through the cottage window one more time. Terrified came close, but still fell short.

John had insisted on parking a good distance down the road from the small cottage to keep Chapman from hearing the car. It had taken several minutes to silently scurry across the garden, duffel bag in tow, and around the perimeter of the house until they found what they were looking for. John and Mary both agreed that rushing headlong into the cottage without assessing the situation first would be disastrous.

In the end, they found the people they had been looking for gathered together in a bedroom. Chapman was plainly visible through the delicate lace curtains, holding court in the middle of the room as he trained a gun on Sherlock who was seated on a chair near the bed.

Janine was tied to that same bed with several colourful scarves and ribbons, barely covered in the delicate lace nightie Molly recognized from the photo on Sherlock's phone. She strained against her bonds and spewed venomous insults at Chapman. "You piece of shite! Untie me or so help me God I will-"

The gun menacingly swung toward the bed. "You'll what, pet?"

She surged upward as far as the restraints would let her. "I'll cut off your d-"

"Enough!" Sherlock's drew everyone's attention, including Chapman's. "Shut up, woman." The consulting detective shook his head, seemingly attempting to commiserate with their captor. "Was she like that with you, too? Always yap yap yapping, like a small annoying dog."

"Oh, smart man," Mary whispered. "He's trying to keep the ex's attention focused on him and off Janine. If that guy is as unstable as you think, he might shoot her if she irritates him enough."

"But Sherlock's irritating, doesn't that increase the risk of him getting shot?" Molly worried out loud.

Mary ignored the question and indicated that they needed to move away from the window so they could talk. "Are you sure you want to do this? John can do it instead, can't you?" She may have been addressing her husband, but Mary's gaze never wavered from Molly.

"Yep. It might be better if I did, actually," John offered.

Molly knew he was trying to do the right thing and keep her out of harm's way, but that wasn't the plan Mary had originally suggested. "You said he would be more likely to react the way you needed him to if I was the distraction, because he already knew me."

"That's what I said, and I stand by it." The hard expression Mary had been wearing since they left the car softened briefly. "But that does not mean you need to be the one to do it, Molly. If you can't be one hundred percent certain that you can go through with this, you need to stay here and let John take your place. Do you understand?"

Could she do it?

Another burst of angry expletives cut off suddenly. Whatever was going on in that bedroom wasn't going to get any better while she stood around outside dithering. Molly nodded sharply. "Let's go."

Mary studied her for a moment longer, then turned and headed around the front of the cottage. She kneeled in front of the door, duffle bag on the ground beside her. John aimed a small torch at the lock so she could see it better. It seemed like the longest ten seconds of Molly's life, waiting for the nearly silent click of the lock disengaging. Mary stood and tossed her lock picking tools into the open duffle before pulling out a handgun. They waited as Mary loaded and double checked her weapon, then she carefully led the way through the mostly dark cottage.

The three of them hesitated in the shadows outside the partially open bedroom door. Molly could hear Sherlock talking inside. "This is getting dull, Chapman. Could you speed things up and get to the point of all of this . . . melodrama."

"Don't rush me, you impatient pissant," Chapman snarled. There was silence for a moment, then Chapman tsked several times. "I know what you're trying to do, Holmes, and it won't work. I've got very specific plans for you two, and I won't let you antagonize me into ruining them."

Molly wiped her damp palms against her jeans and took several calming breaths as she waited for Mary's signal.

"It's nothing fancy, not like what you're used to, I imagine. But it should do. A bit of a classic, actually. A sexy rendezvous gone wrong. You two met up for a little kinky fun and things got out of hand. Holmes here is going to strangle you, pet, and then hang himself in remorse."

"No, I don't think I will," Sherlock replied as if he were casually turning down the offer of coffee and dessert after a heavy meal.

"That's where the gun comes in, I'm afraid. It won't be as elegant, but it will do in a pinch. New angle. You are a lover spurned by your former girlfriend. You've come to convince her to take you back; and when that doesn't work, you shoot her and then yourself. The world will think you're a jealous pervert who murdered your sometimes lover and couldn't handle the guilt." Chapman sounded so pleased with himself, it was disgusting. "As the current boyfriend I will, of course, be appropriately devastated when I hear the news."

Mary held up several fingers and slowly began to count down from three.

"No one will believe that," Sherlock scoffed. "Since I reappeared the media has been bending over backward to kiss my arse. Haven't you heard? People love me. I've got fan bloody clubs."

"It is amazing how the corpse of a pretty girl can turn public opinion. Murder/suicide scandals are very popular right now. Your name should be smeared across the papers by tomorrow."

Mary's fingers ticked down to one.

Molly walked into the bedroom with her head held high, looking far more confident than she felt. "It would serve the arseholes right."

Chapman's head whipped around, his mouth open in a way that would have made her laugh if he didn't have a gun pointed at Sherlock's head. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

She ignored him and glanced at Sherlock. For a split-second he appeared to be utterly panic stricken at the sight of her, then his expression morphed into something closer to cool disdain. Molly continued to complain to Chapman. "I've seen the texts between the two of them. For a self-described genius, he's an idiot. He assumed I wouldn't find out that he's been seeing--no, fucking--Janine the entire time he's had her hidden away. He told me they were split up. Kept saying he needed to leave for a case, but I knew--I knew--he was coming here to see his bit of stuff on the side."

Her gaze flicked toward Janine on the bed, and she realized Chapman had shoved the end of another scarf into her mouth. No wonder the other woman had stopped yelling.

The gun wavered slightly, but Chapman kept it aimed at Sherlock. Molly needed to get that gun pointed somewhere else or Mary wouldn't be able to pull off her part of the plan. She took a step back, widening the distance between herself and the others, trying to continue to draw Chapman's attention toward her and away from Sherlock.

"I suppose I got that wrong, didn't I? I'm the bit of stuff, since I was a back-up to your preferred shag," she spit the words at Sherlock, then continued to speak to Chapman. "Tosser thought he was pulling the wool over my eyes, telling me he had to visit a friend tonight." Molly casually took another few steps back so that she could lean against Janine's dresser. "Don't let me stop you. They both deserve it. Can I watch you do it?"

Chapman grinned. The gun lowered a bit as he turned his head to watch her. "I knew you were feisty, but this . . . You're a blood thirsty little thing, aren't you?"

"I've got a temper." Molly flicked her gaze toward his broken nose and then she smiled maliciously. "But you already knew that. How is the nose, by the way?"

Chapman's grin immediately disappeared and he bared his teeth at her. The gun swung in her direction, which was exactly what she'd been hoping for. As Molly dropped to the floor (desperately hoping that she was fast enough, and that Chapman had a horrible aim in case she wasn't), she heard Sherlock bellow, "No!"

Her palms hit the hardwood flooring first, the impact made her teeth snap together. A deafening bang made her ears ring. She could see Sherlock launching himself off the chair toward Chapman, even as the other man screamed in a combination of rage and pain. The gun fell from Chapman's useless hand as a red stain blossomed high on the sleeve of his expensive shirt. Molly suspected the humerus might have been hit by the bullet--if not fractured--judging from the way Chapman's scream turned into a high pitched squeal when Sherlock knocked him to the ground.

It took her several valuable seconds to scramble off the floor and launch herself at the two men. Chapman continued to try to put up a good fight even with a bullet hole in his arm, probably fuelled by adrenaline and anger. Unfortunately for Chapman, Sherlock had just as much rage, the advantage of leverage, and a lack of a gunshot wound on his side. Molly tried to pull Sherlock off the other man, but it was as if she wasn't even there for all the good it did.

Sherlock threw another punch, hitting Chapman in squarely in the jaw. The injured man's head banged against the floor and he went limp.

Suddenly there was another pair of hands and arms trying to yank Sherlock away. John managed to do what she couldn't; he pulled Sherlock free and wrapped him up in a bear hug to keep him from continuing to pummel the unconscious man.

Molly dropped to her knees at Chapman's side. A quick check confirmed there was an exit wound but no exposed bone. She awkwardly applied pressure to staunch the blood flow. "John! We need to hurry!"

Sherlock continued to strain against his friend's hold. John tried to calm him, "She's fine, and he's out. Stand down, man. Damn it, Molly, tell him you're not hurt!"

"I'm fine, not a scratch, I swear," Molly replied as reassuringly as she could, which wasn't as much as she had hoped. "Please, Sherlock."

He stilled when she said his name. Sherlock nodded once, sharply, and John tentatively released him.

While Molly continued to tend to Chapman, John pulled a pair of gloves out of his jacket pocket. He picked up the dropped gun and gestured at Chapman. "Help me lift him."

Sherlock frowned. "Why?"

"Really? You're going to argue with me right now?"

Sherlock grimaced, but he bent down to help John lift the unconscious man.

"Hold him up," John ordered as he wrapped Chapman's fingers around the gun. He pointed it toward the wall above the chair Sherlock had been sitting in. "Cover your ears, Molly." Once she did, he squeezed off two shots, then passed the gun to Sherlock. "Don't lose that."

Chapman groaned without fully waking.

John pulled a second gun out of his pocket and shoved it into Chapman's other hand, making sure to get the arseholes finger prints all over it. He offered the gun to Sherlock. "Be helpful and go outside to summon the police a few times, would you?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then took the gun with a nod. "Of course, gunshot residue. Very thorough." He dumped Chapman's dead weight on John (who staggered and then none too gently lowered Janine's ex to the ground) before disappearing through the bedroom door.

Molly hurried to the bed and pulled the gag out of Janine's mouth. "I'm so sorry it took so long. Just give me a second and I'll get you untied, I promise."

Janine rotated and flexed her newly freed wrist. She jerked her head toward Chapman, who was still out cold. "Is he going to live?"

John nodded as he ripped the sleeve off of the other man's shirt to get a better look at the damage. "Unfortunately, he will. Molly, I'm going to need a tourniquet."

"On it." Molly tossed several of the scarves at him.

Two gunshots split the air outside and Molly jumped. She looked to John, wondering if she should be worried, and he merely shook his head. Molly's hands trembled as she finished untying Janine. Now that the worst was over--the part that could have gone pear-shaped and so easily turned deadly--her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. She felt shaky and sick to her stomach, and knew there was a small chance that she was going to throw up.

Sherlock reappeared. Once he verified that Chapman was still incapacitated, Sherlock put both guns on top of the dresser. "Molly?"

"Still fine, promise." His expression softened just a bit when she spoke.

"The local constabulary should be on the way." Sherlock crossed the room, stepping over Chapman's body, and offered his hand to help Janine off the bed. "Are you all right?"

"I will be." She wrapped her arms around her torso and looked around the room. "Going to have to replace everything in here. Fix the holes in the wall."

Molly suspected the other woman was in shock. Janine was far too calm considering everything that had happened. Molly understood the feeling.

"Would you feel better if you put on a dressing gown or something? Maybe splashed some water on your face?" Sherlock asked.

Janine tore her gaze away from Chapman and focused on Sherlock. Her eyes cleared and she drew a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, I would." She skirted around the man on the floor and hurried through the bedroom door.

Sherlock put his arm around Molly's waist and pulled her close. She dropped her forehead against his chest and snaked her arms under his coat, needing his body heat to warm her. Over the top of her head she could hear him speaking to John. "Are you done?"

Molly turned slightly so that she could see the doctor as he finished double checking the field dressing he'd given Chapman's wound. He stood and pulled his gloves off, tucking them into his pockets. "Yeah. He's stable, although that's going to hurt a hell of a lot once he comes to."

"Good." Sherlock's arms tightened around her for a moment. She could feel his chest vibrate under her cheek as he continued to talk to John. "You should probably leave. Your ride is waiting."

John looked a little nervous as he stood up. "About that-"

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Sherlock replied, "Haven't seen you all day."

She nodded in agreement. "I took a cab. I heard my friend was back in the country and wanted to come by for a visit. Imagine my horror when I walked in on that arse holding Sherlock and Janine at gunpoint. Everything was a bit of a blur after that."

"What about Janine?" John asked, turning a worried eye toward the bedroom door.

"I haven't seen you since I left for Japan." She stepped the rest of the way into the room, and finished wrapping herself in a warm flannel bathrobe. "I'm not sure why you don't want the cops to know you were here, but I'm not really going to question it at this point, am I?"

He smiled, clearly grateful that Sherlock and Janine were on board so easily. "Right. Someone give me a call if Sherlock needs to make bail, then?"

Both women nodded and Sherlock called out to John before he could make it out the door. "Later on you and I are going to talk about why you thought it was a good idea to bring Molly here."

"Other way around, mate. She brought me." John nodded to Molly and Janine, then disappeared down the hall.

Sherlock lifted Molly's chin so he could see her properly. "Then I suppose that talk will be between you and I, won't it?"

Molly swallowed hard and hugged him tighter. "I'm not going to apologize."

"So," Janine interrupted Sherlock before he could start to lecture Molly. "Someone want to let me know what I'm supposed to tell the police?"



Part 1 / Part 16