Holmes' Book Of One Shots

An Unfortunate Night To Return (Sherlolly)

         Her heart pounded in her chest. Sherlock Holmes was stood beside her, cramped against her in the dark wardrobe as they in. Jim Moriarty was back, that was no lie. Who was he after more, though? Sherlock Holmes… or Molly Hooper?

         Molly grasped Sherlock’s hand to calm her down; she had to control her breathing, they couldn’t risk being heard. Sherlock squeezed her hand once, hoping to help her achieve calmness, although he knew it was no use. Today was supposed to be amazing. First, some experimenting on donated corpses, dinner at Angelo’s, then back to Baker Street for. Now, they were hiding in a closet from a man believed to be dead. The fact that he had faked his death should have been a surprise to Sherlock and Molly, but seeing as Sherlock had faked his death as well and Molly helped him succeed in it, this was not new for them.

         Molly closed her eyes, and thought about how wonderful the evening had been. Silly, she thought, how a wonderful evening could be turned into a life or death situation in a matter of minutes.

         When Molly finally got her breathing under control, she pressed her ear against the door of the wardrobe. Sherlock let go of Molly’s hand and gently pushed the wardrobe door open a bit, and peeked out. The room was empty. He quietly stepped out, and when Molly tried to follow, he gently pushed her back in.

         “I have to be sure it’s safe, Molly.” He whispered to her.

         “I’ll be fine, Sherlock.” Molly whispered back.

         “No, you won’t. You think you will be, but you won’t. Molly, he could hurt you, or worse, kill you. Do you know what would happen to me if I lost you too?”

         “Sherlock, I can handle myself.”

         “That’s what John said too,” Sherlock looked her in the eyes. Molly could see the grief he was trying to hide over the recent loss of his best friend, John Watson. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and Molly could feel her eye beginning to spill over as well. “And look what happened to him. Moriarty used to kill just for the joy of the game, now he’s just trying to get to me. He hasn’t before, and that’s why he won’t stop this time. I won’t let anything happen to anyone else, Molly. I just can’t.”

         Molly grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him to her, crushing her lips against his. Some of her tears transferred to his cheeks as he returned the kiss, resting one of his hands on her jaw. After a few seconds he pulled away and wiped Molly’s tears from his cheek.

         “I love you.” Molly told him, her voice breaking.

         “I know.” Sherlock said. “Quite right too.” He closed the wardrobe door shut softly, separating himself from Molly. He turned, taking long, but quiet, steps to the door of his bedroom.

         Molly understood, really she did, but she wasn’t going to sit in the wardrobe for God knows how long while Sherlock was searching the flat for her psychopathic ex-boyfriend. Molly sighed, and opened the wardrobe door as quietly as she could. She stepped out and took soft steps to the door, putting her ear against it when she reached it. After a few minutes of silence, so she opened the door and peaked through it. She saw nothing, so she opened it all the way and stepped out.

         That was when the gun went off, and the floor started getting closer to her.

~        ~        ~        ~

        

         “Come on,” Sherlock begged. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t fun!”