Fic for dioscureantwins: Measurable Steps, 6/9

[holmesticemods]

It was early in the morning three days after Lestrade got shot when someone knocked on her bedroom door while she was reading a book, thanks to being unable to sleep well the night before. She'd been having a lot of trouble sleeping since that day, and was having nightmares that made her bolt upright in bed. She hated it and hoped they would stop soon but she doubted they would. She saved her place and set her book down on the nightstand nearest her before going to the door. She opened it and saw Sherlock standing there. “I called Lestrade this morning. He'd like visitors today. I thought you would like to see for yourself how he's doing.”

“I would love that,” she said with a warm smile.

Sherlock nodded. “Then we can go see him as soon as you're ready.”

“It won't take me more than a few minutes,” she replied. “I just need to change out of my pyjamas and into some actual clothing.” Then she paused. “How come you're dressed already? It's only...” She looked at her watch. “Eight sixteen.”

“I met with my brother at his home two hours ago,” he said. “It was the only time he was available today. He's concerned about this newest development and I went over everything I knew. He gave me more information on what Scotland Yard had learned as well, so I can begin to see if things make sense.”

“Did anything help?” she asked.

He nodded. “Because a policeman was the victim the Yard has rushed all of the results. The stain on the windowsill is an exact match to the lubricant stain on the box that held the second gift. M is a sniper, which will make narrowing down the pool of suspects easier.”

“So you do actually have suspects?” she asked, slightly surprised.

“There were members of the organization who are expert marksmen. I assumed none of them were in the upper echelon like the person I couldn't track down, but I think I was mistaken. If I can figure out if any of them would have enough power to keep the organization running and whether any of them are in London it would help, unless it's Moran.” He caught the confused look on Molly's face. “Moran is the premiere assassin of the organization. His name is said in reverent whisper when he's talked about. No one knows what he looks like, though. It's as though he's a ghost.”

“The M could be short for Moran,” she said.

“It could. It could also be short for Moriarty, if the man who died on the roof wasn't actually James Moriarty,” he said as he leaned against the door jamb. “As it stands, though, I am starting to seriously consider that Moran has more power than I thought. He might be the person I couldn't take down, which makes quite a bit of sense if that was Moriarty's plan: pick someone to head up the organization in your place who no one knows what he looks like so he can pretend to be you when you're gone. But that's only if that was really Moriarty who forced me to fall off the roof.”

“I really do think it was,” she said. “I mean, you said that you figured out that Moriarty killed that boy at the pool all those years ago, and that was how he became associated with you. I think he would be deranged enough to kill himself to make you dance to his tune, which you would have done if you'd jumped and died. He would have died knowing he was victorious. But I think even though he was deranged he was smart enough to have a back-up plan.”

“That is true,” he conceded. “But whoever is enacting this back-up plan is incompetent. It would have been one thing to simply leave the stain on the box. That was sloppy but left no real clues. But the fact that the chemical make-up of the lubricant is exactly the same and they're both handmade tells me quite a bit. It at least narrows down who M can be.”

“Well, I hope he isn't Moran,” she said. “I don't like the idea of being hunted by someone who's more or less a ghost. It's bad enough knowing someone means to do me harm. It's worse if it could be anyone.”

“I know,” he said. He was quiet for a moment after that. “I'll leave you to get dressed now.”

“Can we stop off at a florist first?” she asked. “I want to get him some flowers. Not roses, but something nice.”

“You'll never look at roses the same way again, will you?” he asked after a slight pause.

“I don't know. Possibly. But there are other types of flowers I like that aren't roses.”

“Such as?” he asked.

“I like lilies and orchids and amaryllises, and I like sunflowers when I can find them. I'm also fond of tulips and magnolias,” she said with a smile.

“I'll remember that,” he said with a nod. “And I'm assuming you'd want them in a vase?”

“Yes. No florist's boxes for me. I'll be quite happy if I never see another one of those again.” She paused. “Have you thought about seeing where M got them from? The boxes? Because weren't they all the exact same box?”

He nodded. “They were. And I hadn't thought of that, but I should have. There were no other types of flowers in the boxes, so he must have ordered the roses we received and then cut the buds off the stems wherever it was he put the gifts together at. And I imagine long stemmed black roses would be much harder to get. I can start by asking the closest florist for information.” He gave her a small grin. “I think you might have led me to a lead I can actually follow.”

“Then I'm glad I could help,” she said with a wider grin than before.

“I'll leave you to get dressed now,” he said, moving out of her doorway. Then he turned and left, and she shut the door behind him. She went to her clothing that was hanging up and picked out something to wear. Before she went to the sitting room she went into the washroom and quickly brushed her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. She debated doing her makeup quickly but decided against it. It wasn't as though she was trying to impress anyone. She left the washroom and made her way out to the sitting room, seeing Sherlock sitting in a chair, looking at his phone. She cleared her throat to get his attention and he looked up. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “I am. Is he still at the hospital?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “They kept him a few days but released him yesterday evening. They think the damage is minimal, so they decided he didn't need to stay any longer. He's been told to move about as little as possible, though, and he seemed annoyed by that.” He paused. “Or he could have been annoyed I had called him so early this morning. I'm not quite sure.”

“Possibly both,” she said with a soft chuckle. “What were you looking at on your mobile?”

“The nearest florist that would sell long stemmed black roses,” he said. “There are very few who carry them in the city where they don't have to special order them, so after you've seen Lestrade I thought we could visit the shops that carry them and see the boxes they come in. And if none of them have the matching boxes we'll expand our search to other florist shops to see if M was idiotic enough to use a credit card to order them. As I have discovered, very few of the shops will special order them without one.”

“Hopefully we can find the right one,” she said. “Anyway, all I have to do is put on my coat and I'm ready.”

“Then let's be off.” He stood up and stowed his phone in his pocket, and they made their way to where the coat rack was. They each took their coats and put them on before leaving. It was a very brisk day and Molly wrapped her coat tighter around herself as Sherlock hailed them a cab. They got in and Sherlock gave him the address of a florist who wasn't too far away from Baker Street. They both stayed quiet during the ride, and when they got to the florist shop Sherlock paid the driver and they got out. “I can cover the cost of the flowers, if you would like,” he said to her before they entered the shop.

“It's all right. Mycroft has had money deposited into my current account every time I would get my pay,” she said. “I'm getting more than my pay, actually. So I have money to cover this.”

“At least he's making sure you're taken care of,” he said with a nod as he opened the door to the florist's shop. They stepped inside and he saw two salespeople. “Hopefully they can each help one of us.”

“Hopefully,” she said with a nod. One of the two salespeople spotted them and came over, and once they realized they had two different needs the one who came over began to work with Molly to get a bouquet set up for Lestrade. That took longer than Sherlock's business, and in the end Molly had a bouquet of tiger lilies and red tulips in a simple vase. She paid for her purchase and they exited the shop, not speaking until they were inside another cab. “What did you find out?” she asked Sherlock once they were settled.

“There are three florists in town who sell long stemmed black roses without special ordering them, and one that allows special ordering with a cash payment up front,” he said. “The florist said the boxes we received sound as though they came from that particular florist.”

“So it's a dead end,” she said glumly.

“Perhaps not. Even without special ordering they don't always have them on hand at this time of year, though, and supposedly a cash payment still requires identification so they know who to set it aside for if they aren't having it delivered. If he was going to add more to it then chances are he picked it up himself, and if he didn't he might have had them delivered to the place he makes these gifts. So there are other possible leads.”

“Hopefully this lead will work out then,” she said.

“Hopefully. There is always the chance he used false identification, or did as he did with the latest delivery and got one of the homeless population to do it for him,” he replied. “If that's the case, though, I can put word out to my homeless network to keep an eye out for people making requests like that. I already asked a few of them to alert me for information regarding the delivery of the third gift. Mycroft said the person who delivered it was of no real use. He had been on drugs when he delivered the package and hadn't been paying attention to the person who asked him to do it.”

“I had hoped he could give information on who told him to do it,” she said.

“When someone is strung out on drugs all that matters is the next fix. You'll do whatever it takes to make that happen,” he said quietly.

She was silent for a moment. She had a question but she wasn't sure he would answer it. But she was quite curious so she decided to ask anyway. “Were you that way, when you were...?”

He nodded. “I was. It was a rather dark time. I did things I regretted in order to get my next fix. Nothing too horrible, but I hurt people and did things I shouldn't have, and I actually felt bad about some of it.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “But not all of it?”

“No, not all of it.” He was quiet for a minute after that. “I'd like to change the topic, if that's all right.”

She nodded. “That's fine.”

“When we're done with visiting Lestrade we'll go to the florist shop that might have the boxes we're looking for first and see if they do, and if they don't we'll go to the other ones.”

“Where is the shop located?” she asked.

“Near Scotland Yard,” he replied. “So close to Lestrade's home, but not too close. Hopefully this lead will pan out. I need something to work in my favour in all of this.”

“If it does, what will you do?”

“I'll alert Lestrade, because it affects him, and then I'll alert my brother and have him tell the appropriate people in Scotland Yard,” he said.

“Will the fact you've been the one going through the boxes make it hard to prosecute whoever is doing this?” she asked.

“The main point of prosecution is going to be about shooting Lestrade. Though I got the feeling when I told my brother my thoughts that it might be Moran who shot Lestrade that if he is caught and tried he will not survive long in the prison. He would be too much of a threat.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “That should upset me more than it does, I think,” she said finally.

He hesitated a moment, then reached over for her hand that was closest to him. “I'm sorry it doesn't,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing it. She lapsed into silence and he followed suit, but she didn't let go of his hand until they arrived at Lestrade's apartment complex. They got out after Sherlock paid the driver and made their way up. Sherlock led the way to an apartment on the fourth floor and then knocked on the door. It took a few minutes, but finally Lestrade opened the door. He was in a jumper and loose pants and he was leaning on a cane, but he had a smile on his face. “Hello, Greg,” she said with a smile of her own.

“Good to see you, Molly,” he replied, moving slightly so they could come in.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek before lifting up the flowers. “I got these for you, to brighten up the place.”

“Those are very nice,” he said. “Much nicer than the rest of the flowers I'd gotten. Lots of roses, unfortunately. Can't help that they're the easiest thing to buy. I left most of them at the hospital to go to other patients. It still feels as though I've got too many vases, though.”

“It's better than the boxes,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he replied with a nod. “I think I'd like those on the table in front of the sofa instead of in the kitchen and dining room with the others. They're a much nicer display.”

“All right,” she said with a nod as she went more into his sitting room. Sherlock followed her, and Lestrade locked up behind them. When he joined them they got settled, her and Lestrade on the sofa and Sherlock in a chair facing them. She turned to Lestrade. “How are you?”

“I've been better, to be honest, but I'm quite lucky. I might have a few lingering problems, but nothing that will keep me from going back to my duties soon enough,” he said. “Which will be nice because I'm already going stir crazy.”

“I have information on the perpetrator of the crime,” Sherlock said. “The sniper is M, the person who has been sending Molly and I the gifts. I was informed the lubricant stain at the scene where he shot you has the exact same chemical makeup as the stain on the box.”

“Well, I'd assumed that much,” Lestrade said, leaning back in his seat. “No one else would have the need to shoot me like that. I don't have that many enemies of my own.”

“It leads me to believe that the person who shot you is Moran,” he replied. “Moran is an assassin whose primary method of execution was killing from a distance. He hasn't killed for a few years now, however, or at least as far as I can tell. The general notion is that once Moran has you as a target you're dead because Moran always kills his targets. If he is indeed the person who shot you, you are the first exception.”

“I've heard of Moran before,” Lestrade said, his eyes widening slightly. “There was a man who was arrested who begged us to keep him in jail. Said Moran was after him. He told us a lot of information about an unsolved crime. But he was killed on his way to prison. Sniper's bullet.”

“That sounds like the way he operates,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“Blimey,” he replied. “Pardon the very bad analogy, but I dodged a bullet.”

“I think if it had been a sterner warning you would be dead,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. “As it stands, I'm not entirely sure it's Moran. I've been digging into the list I have of snipers who are capable of doing what was done, on the off chance that M shared the formula for his gun cleaning supplies with others in the organization. So far most of them are currently elsewhere in the world, but I'm not done with the list yet.”

“Is your brother helping with that?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock nodded. “Good. Right now I think the fewer people we trust with all of this the better.”

“So you won't be telling Jarrod either?” Molly asked.

Lestrade shook his head. “I trust him with my life, but other than the public aftermath of Moriarty's game and everything Sherlock and his brother gave Scotland Yard to prove Sherlock's innocence he doesn't know anything specific about Moriarty and what he was about. I don't want to involve him any more than he already is, in case M gets any more ideas. He's got so much more to lose than I do.”

“It would be very bad if the world were to lose you, though,” Sherlock said.

“Thanks for the sentiment, Sherlock, but he's got a fiancée and an infant at home. If anything happens to him that would be worse than me being killed.” He looked over at Molly and gave her a reassuring look. “I still don't think I'm going to die, though. I think M proved his point with temporarily crippling me.”

“For now,” Sherlock said quietly. “As it stands, there was a fingerprint on one of the roses that was left in some of the lubricant. I can't have it processed, though, because you are not at Scotland Yard at the moment.”

Lestrade thought for a moment. “Do you get the feeling it was planted there?”

Sherlock nodded. “I do. And I think it was planted there because M knew by injuring you to that degree I would be unable to use you to process the evidence because I wouldn't trust anyone else to do it.”

“And I'll be out for at least six weeks,” Lestrade said with a sigh. “Can the evidence wait that long?”

“I did have a fingerprint kit at home. I lifted the fingerprint off the petal.”

“I'll see if I can get special permission to have it run for you, but right now my superiors want me to have absolutely nothing to do with any open cases, and they certainly don't want me to work on an off the books case,” he said. “I'm supposed to be doing nothing but recuperating.”

“The sooner you can find a way for me to have the fingerprint analyzed the better,” Sherlock replied.

“Why can't Mycroft pull strings?” Molly asked.

“Because Mycroft bullied Scotland Yard into clearing my name, and the people in charge resent him for it. He made them look foolish,” Sherlock said. “The only reason he knew about the stain matching is he has someone passing him information since M's gifts are the reason Lestrade was injured. He can get information but he can't throw his weight around. And as I said earlier, I wouldn't trust anyone without Lestrade vetting them first.”

“Gabriela is trustworthy,” Lestrade said. “But she's also by the book. The only reason she ran the stain on the box through analysis was because my superiors approved it. I don't see her doing that again for you without approval, even if I asked.”

“Whenever you are able to return, she is the one I would like to have process the evidence,” he said. Then he paused. “Scotland Yard seems to be ignoring the danger M poses. I noticed you had no one here keeping you safe.”

“Well, I think they think I can take care of myself. Which I can, to an extent. But I think there's more to it,” Lestrade said.

“Oh?” Molly asked.

“I think they know that my injury has to do with the off the books case that I'm working. Sherlock and Mycroft haven't let Scotland Yard officially work the case, so there are those higher up than me who think I deserved to be shot for my involvement.”

“That's horrible!” Molly said, shocked. “No one deserves to be shot.”

“It's a bit different when you're a member of the police force,” he said with a shrug. “As it stands, there are a few other policemen who live in this complex who said they'd keep an eye out for any strange people. Plus they and other people in the complex are pushing for a doorman here, and they just might get it.”

“That's good,” Molly said.

“But also ineffectual for the current threat,” Sherlock pointed out.

“I know that, but it would make my neighbours feel better,” Lestrade replied. He looked over at them. “I'm probably keeping you two from running down leads to find out who's doing this. You should get going, I think.”

“Is that a hint you want peace and quiet?” Molly asked with a small smile.

“A bit, yeah,” Lestrade said with an answering grin. “But it's also true. I know I'd feel much better if this M character was off the streets, locked up somewhere. Or better yet, in the ground.”

“But you...” Molly said, her eyes wide.

“If M is really Moran there's always the chance he'll slip between our fingers,” Lestrade said. “If he's dead I'll feel safer.”

“I would too,” Sherlock said. “But I won't outright murder him.”

“No, you'll just let your brother do it,” Molly said quietly.

“Molly, Moran is more or less a ghost,” Sherlock said. “If it is Moran and we do catch him he'll find a way to escape punishment, just as Moriarty did. The only way any of us will be truly safe is if he's dead. Even you have to admit that.”

Molly was quiet in response. She understood the logical reasons everyone thought that, and while she could see their point the idea of murdering someone made her feel ill. But even she had to admit she'd feel safer if she knew he would never come after her again. “I suppose,” she said finally.

“I know you hate admitting that,” Lestrade said. “I'm sorry it's come to that point.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I hate this whole situation. I mean, aside from the good part that came out of it.”

“I think the good part is very good,” Lestrade said with a warm smile. “You and Sherlock seem to be happy with each other.”

“I think we're a good fit,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Or at least I hope we are.”

“We are,” Molly said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I think that's the only good to come out of all of this, though. Everything else is such a mess.”

“Hopefully soon it will be over,” Lestrade said. Then he stood and reached for his cane. “Let me let the two of you get back to business, then.”

“All right,” Sherlock said with a nod as he and Molly stood as well. They made their way to the door and Molly embraced Lestrade for a moment. When she pulled away Sherlock spoke again. “I'll call you with any updates. See if you can find a way to get the fingerprint analyzed.”

“I will,” Lestrade said. “You both take care. And Sherlock?”

“Yes?” he said as he opened the door.

“You keep her safe. I'll be quite cross if something happens to Molly.”

“I promise I will,” Sherlock said. He stepped outside and Molly followed, giving Lestrade a wave. They began to walk down the hallway as Lestrade shut the door behind him. Sherlock spoke only when they got to the lift. “I am sorry, you know.”

“I know,” she said, reaching over for his hand. He responded by threading his fingers between hers. “I just really hate it's gotten to that point. I mean, I know Moran has done horrible things, but it seems so...”

“Cold blooded?” Sherlock said.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“It is, but that's because it has to be,” he said. “Moran won't stop any other way. We'd always be in danger.” The lift doors opened and they stepped inside, still holding hands, and as the doors closed Sherlock pulled her closer to him. He let go of her hand and put his hands on her waist. “I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” he murmured.

“I just wish it didn't have to be that way,” she replied.

“I know.” She wrapped her arms around him and he held her close until the lift got to the ground floor. Then he let her go as the doors opened and they made their way out of the building. It had started to rain while they were visiting Lestrade so Molly pulled her jacket over her head in an effort to stay dry as Sherlock got them a cab. Once one pulled over and they got in she looked over at him, giving him a quizzical look. “What is it?” he asked.

“You didn't bother to try and keep dry,” she said.

“I'm used to rain and snow and intense heat and humidity now,” he said with a shrug.

“From all the traveling you had to do?” she asked.

He nodded. “I went all over the world to take care of the threat.”

“Were there any places you went to you'd like to go back to someday?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “Rome was quite interesting, as was Sicily. I found New York to be a place I wouldn't mind spending time in again. And I suppose New Orleans wasn't that bad either. The only place I really did any exploring, though, was Athens. I had time before I could do anything, and I'll admit the ruins intrigued me.”

“I'd love to go to any of those places,” she said. “The only place I've ever been outside of England is Scotland, and that was to visit distant relatives in a small village.”

He was quiet for a few moments, studying her. “Perhaps when this is over, if we're still in a relationship, we can go to other places you would like to see,” he said.

“I would love to,” she said with a wide smile.

“Then we can plan on that,” he said with a nod. He settled into his seat. “If this lead is successful I may go follow it up on my own. John should be awake by the time we're finished. I'll take you home and then go back out to see what I can find out.”

“I can go with you, you know,” she said.

“I suppose you could, but with the rain and no umbrella I thought you would prefer to stay indoors,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “I suppose you're right. That might be a good idea. But promise you'll call me if you learn anything, all right?”

“I will call you the minute I get any leads,” he said, nodding before looking away towards the window. “Aside from the danger you're in, are you happy?”

“I am, more or less,” she said. “I'm happy to be near my friends, and I'm happy to be dating you, even if we haven't done much as a couple.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down.

Her eyes widened slightly as she got the inadvertent second meaning of what she had said. “I just meant dates, Sherlock. Not anything more than that. I mean, eventually, maybe. If you're comfortable with the idea. But not now.”

“You shouldn't have to remain celibate to stay in a relationship with me,” he said.

She blushed slightly. “But if you aren't comfortable then that's fine,” she said, lowering her voice. “I mean, that's not what all relationships are about.”

“I might become comfortable with the idea,” he said, turning towards her. “It would just take time, I think. And staying close to you when I have the chance. It isn't something I find altogether loathsome, at the very least.”

“How close do you want to stay?” she asked.

“I'm not suggesting we go so far as to share a bed right now, but perhaps spending more time on the sofa watching films to start with. And I do actually like kissing you.”

“I like kissing you too,” she said with a smile. “Had you kissed anyone before you kissed me?”

He shook his head. “No, I hadn't.”

“Then you're quite the natural,” she replied. She moved her hand closer to his. “I'm glad you let me stay close to you. I like it when we're close.”

He reached over for it. “I'm surprised sometimes that I do, but I realized something while I was gone.”

“Oh?” she asked. “What was it you realized?”

“I would spend the rest of my life alone if I didn't make changes to how I was,” he said, playing with her fingers slightly. “I hadn't been quite ready to admit how I felt towards you until I was forced to, and even then I was worried you would reject me. But you didn't, and now I have hope that at least for a while I won't be alone.”

“I would like to be around for a long time, if you're willing,” she said.

“That would please me very much,” he said with a nod.

“Then that's what we'll plan on.” She gave him a wider smile and she saw him relax. No matter what else happened with the problem at hand she would make sure that this relationship between the two of them stayed as strong as it could, because she didn't want to hurt him just as much as she didn't want to be hurt herself. Hopefully things would work out for them.

---
Sadly they had gotten no leads from the florist shop. They had figured out which shop the black roses had come from, but it had been the one where you could pay cash for them. They had not sold any white or red roses in the boxes to the same man so Sherlock knew he was using members of the homeless population to procure the roses. Sherlock put word out to the members of his homeless network and then went back to figuring out which sniper in Moriarty's organization could have shot Lestrade. Within two weeks the leads began to dry up, however, and by a week after that there was absolutely nothing to go on at all. Molly could see Sherlock was getting more and more frustrated the longer it went that he couldn't move forward in his investigation. He was becoming short with everyone in the home at Baker Street and she was starting to lose her patience. Finally she'd decided she'd had enough. She practically shoved him down onto the sofa and glared at him as she crossed her arms. “Stop it,” she said.

“Stop what?” he said with a petulant pout. Oh, he was really going to try her patience today, she could tell.

“Stop growling and snapping at us. Stop acting like a child every time something doesn't work out. Stop being an absolute beast to live with. Just stop.”

He fixed her with an intense glare. “I didn't realize my behaviour was bothering you so much,” he said coldly.

“Don't you dare start a fight with me over this,” she said. “John and Mrs. Hudson might be used to this kind of behaviour but I'm not, and since we have to share this home I'm going to insist on being treated better or by God I'll give as good as I get.”

Whatever clever retort he was going to say died on his lips as he looked at her in shock. “What?” he asked, his tone one of complete surprise.

“I will treat you just as badly as you're treating me, Sherlock,” she said, glaring down at him. “And if it comes to that point you might as well consider our relationship finished because I won't be willing to wait until this passes to give you a second chance. I'm patient and understanding but I can only be pushed so far.”

“You would actually do that?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Sherlock, I would.” Her glare softened slightly as she sat next to him. “I want this to work. Not just our relationship but this living arrangement, temporary as it is. We all have to be here until the threat goes away and I don't want to be miserable while I'm here. And I'm fairly sure no one else, including you, wants to be miserable either.”

He was quiet long enough that she thought he was going to get angry again. But then he sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I'm sorry,” he said when he finally spoke. “I really didn't realize I was acting that horribly towards you. I suppose everyone feels that way?”

“Yes,” she said as she nodded. “I think they're used to it from before, though. But I'm not, or at least not this much. I only dealt with you when you're like that in small doses. Experiencing it on a daily basis for most of the day is incredibly draining and frustrating.”

“I'll work harder at not being that way,” he said.

“Good.” She gave him a smile at that point and got a slight grin in return. “So now that that's settled, what are your plans for the day?”

“Find out if my brother has made any progress on seeing if there's a way any of the assassins could have slipped into the country to shoot Lestrade, I suppose,” he said, leaning back into the sofa. “After that I'm not sure.” Then he looked over at her. “Is there anything you would like to do for the day?”

“I would like to go somewhere with you and do something not related to all of this,” she said, reaching over for his hand. “Just be somewhere that isn't here, doing something a couple would do.”

“I could agree to that,” he said with a nod. “What would you--” He got cut off by the sound of his mobile ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. “It's Mycroft.”

“That's never good,” she said, frowning.

He answered the phone and apparently Mycroft began speaking the minute he answered because Sherlock didn't say anything for a few minutes. Then he looked over at her and mouthed something she didn't understand. Finally he spoke. “I'll tell her,” he said before finally hanging up.

“You'll tell me what?” she asked.

“The trial you were supposed to testify at tomorrow has been postponed because someone reported to Scotland Yard that there would be a shooting if your trial took place. The implication was you were the target.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. That's horrible.”

“Mycroft thinks it's a ploy to keep you and I here, though,” he said. “And I agree. Mycroft is arranging for you and I to stay in one safe house and John and Mrs. Hudson to stay in another, in case the threat extends to all the residents of this home.”

“When are we leaving?” she asked.

“Within an hour. Because of the implied threat that other people would be harmed Mycroft is making sure Scotland Yard processes the evidence I collected off the last gift. He's treating it as a matter of national security and making sure they look at it the same way.”

“I'll start gathering my things, then,” she said. “Do you know where we're going?”

He shook his head. “No. All I know is it's far away from here.”

“How are you going to work on figuring out who's behind all this?” she asked curiously.

“We just have to leave it in Scotland Yard's hands, unfortunately,” he said, standing up. “Bring enough clothing to be there for some time. Even with this being given their highest priority it may still take time.” Then he paused. “Leave your mobile here. It's too dangerous to take it with us.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. She stood up as well, heading towards her bedroom as Sherlock went to tell Mrs. Hudson. She pulled out her luggage again and began packing as quickly as she could. The only non-clothing item she took was her jewelry box. She was fairly sure Mycroft would have made sure it was safe but she wanted it close. When she was done she took the luggage to the sitting room and waited for Sherlock. He came in ten minutes later carrying two bags. “Is that going to be enough clothing for you?” she asked.

“It's mostly the clothing I brought with me to your home and more I bought later,” he said. “Just in case I needed it.”

Her eyes widened a moment later as she got his implied meaning. “You thought something like this might happen.”

He nodded. “Even with the safeguards here it was a possibility that we wouldn't be safe enough.”

“How is Mrs. Hudson taking things?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Well enough. John is coming back from the clinic as we speak. He's taking it less well.”

“What about Greg? Is he going to be safe too?”

“He'll be going with them,” he replied. “Since John is a medical doctor that was deemed the best course of action.”

She nodded. “That makes sense.” Then she paused. “Who's collecting us?”

“Mycroft. Anthea is coming later for the others.” He moved closer to where she was sitting. “He should be here within moments. Right now keeping the two of us safe is his primary concern.”

“Well, I'm ready to leave when he gets here,” she said.

He nodded, then set his bags down next to her chair. “I had hoped it wouldn't come down to this,” he said. “I had hoped it would be safe enough here.”

“It's all right,” she said, reaching over for his hand and squeezing once he grasped it. “To be honest it's probably what should have been done from the start.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “Mycroft has a key so as soon as he comes in we'll leave.” They both settled in to wait and it was perhaps fifteen minutes later that the door opened. Both she and Sherlock tensed and he let go of her hand, edging over to the doorway. Then he relaxed. “It's Mycroft.”

“You're both ready?” Mycroft asked as he came into the sitting room.

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“Are you armed?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock gave him another nod. “Good. You are to take the car I came in and follow the coordinates programmed into the GPS. You will be driving to Manchester. Stop only if you absolutely must. The safe house is fully stocked, and if you need anything else call me and I will make sure it is delivered. No one will disturb you for the duration of your stay. Do not leave the property.” Then he paused. “On second thought, it might be best if you don't leave the home. When you arrive and are settled call me. I shouldn't have to tell you to tell absolutely no one where you are.”

“Those last instructions are quite unnecessary,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. “We aren't idiots.”

“Still.” He looked at Molly for a moment. “I will personally make sure that no harm comes to your cat. If you can get him into a carrier I will take him to my home until you're able to return.”

“Thank you,” she said with a nod.

Then Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. “There is a second gun in the glove compartment. That one is your preferred model. I suggest you show Molly how to use it, just in case. The residence is isolated enough that no one would be bothered if you practiced outside. But only leave the home to do that.”

Sherlock nodded. “Help me get these things in the car while Molly gets Toby.”

“All right,” Mycroft said. He took Molly's carry-on and largest suitcase while Sherlock took his own bags. She went into her bedroom and pulled the collapsed carrier out from underneath the bed. It took her a few minutes, but she managed to coax Toby into his carrier and then she took it out to the sitting room. She grabbed the handle of her smaller suitcase and left the home to go out to the waiting car. Sherlock took it from her before Molly went to sit in the passenger side seat. Once it was stowed Sherlock got into the driver's side seat. Mycroft tapped on the window and Sherlock lowered it. “Be safe, both of you.”

“We will,” he said. He rolled up the window as Mycroft stepped away from the car. Then he put the key in the ignition and started the car before glancing at the GPS. “We're in for a long drive. Thankfully it's not too late in the day. It should still be light when we arrive.”

“How long will it take?” she asked.

“Roughly three and a half hours.”

Molly nodded. “I'll let you concentrate on driving, then.”

“Thank you.” He pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. Molly looked out the window, watching the city go by. She got the sinking suspicion that it might be a long time until she got to come back to London. Soon enough the city was behind them but she stayed quiet as they drove. Eventually they made it to Manchester, and finally to the safe house. It was a two bedroom home at the edge of Rochdale. It was a fairly decent sized place, larger than her own home, and it appeared comfortable, though her first impression was that it would not be as comfortable as her own home or as much as the home at Baker Street had come to be.

They had brought in their belongings and put them in the rooms they decided to use. Sherlock had suggested having something to eat but she didn't have much of an appetite, so Sherlock made himself a meal as she stayed in the sitting room. There was a television there and bookcases full of different genres of books. She was picking random ones out and glancing at the covers while reading the backs of the interesting ones. She heard Sherlock come into the room but she didn't turn around. “There are a wide variety of books,” she said.

“Have you found anything that interests you?” he asked from behind her.

“A few things,” she said, gesturing to a small stack of books in front of the books still on the shelf. She pulled out a book by Amanda Quick and after she read the back of the book she set it on the pile. “Is the kitchen satisfactory?”

“Yes,” he said.

She turned to look at him. “It's going to be strange to be here without everyone else. I've gotten quite used to John and Mrs. Hudson being there.”

“It will make it easier for you when you go home, though, if it's just me with you,” he said quietly.

“I suppose,” she said, turning back to the bookshelf and picking up another book. This one was by David Eddings and it appeared to be part of a series of his she hadn't read yet, but since it was the second part and she hadn't seen the first one she put it back. “To be honest I've rather liked having the company. I've liked being around people and not being so solitary.”

“But you have friends,” he said, moving closer to her.

“I saw Greg maybe one or two times a week, if his schedule permitted,” she said after a moment. “Jarrod and Sally I saw maybe once every other week, and generally at the same time I saw Greg. John and Mrs. Hudson less than that. And among the people at the hospital I have a handful of acquaintances, none of whom have bothered to talk to me since this all started. So really, I've had a rather solitary life since you left.”

“You do have me now, though,” he pointed out.

“I do, and that makes me quite happy,” she said, turning to him again and giving him a smile. “I never thought in a million years you would fancy me, Other than all of this business and the difficulty living with you the last week or so I've been very happy with things.”

“I suppose with the investigation being out of my hands it will be easier to live with me,” he mused. “Or at the very least I hope it is.”

“Think of this as an extended vacation,” she said. “That's how I'm viewing it.”

“I suppose I could look at it that way,” he said thoughtfully. He stayed quiet after that and she turned back to the bookshelf again. He spoke a few minutes after that. “I was going to ask you to stay,” he said.

“Pardon?” she asked, looking at him with surprise on her face.

“When this was all over I was going to suggest you not go back home,” He stepped closer to her. “I've grown to like the idea of actually sharing a residence with you.”

“So you don't want me to go home?” she asked, giving him all her attention.

He nodded. “No, I don't. I know I haven't been pleasant the last week or so, but you being there has been something that helped, I suppose. I know I'm normally much worse. And I know that the home at Baker Street is my home, not yours, but I had hoped that it could be a place you'd consider living after this was over.”

“That's a bit fast, though,” she pointed out. “I mean, granted, we have been living together for the last few months, but we haven't been dating the entire time.”

He hung his head slightly. “I'm doing this all wrong. I shouldn't have told you that I wanted you to stay.”

She hesitated a moment, then moved as close as she could, cupping his cheek with her hand. He looked up at her intently. “Let's see how we do when all of this is finished, all right? It could be days or it could be weeks that we're here. If we don't want to kill each other by the time we get home then I'll consider it. Because even though it seems fast I've gotten quite used to having you close. But I want you to also consider living with me at my home, if we decide to continue to reside in the same place. There are pros and cons to both places.”

He nodded slowly. “All right,” he said. Then he moved his hands to pull her closer. “We haven't been particularly close this last week.”

“Well, you were not being all that pleasant of a person,” she said with a smile. “I was avoiding you.”

“I would like to begin to make that up to you,” he said.

“I will have to consider just how I want you to make it up to me,” she said with a chuckle. “But you can start by giving me a very nice kiss.”

“I don't have a problem with doing that,” he said before leaning in. Their lips were just about to meet when his mobile rang. He groaned as he let her go. “If this is my brother again I may kill him.”

“Answer it. I'm not going anywhere,” she said, stepping away from him and turning her attention back to the books. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and answered it, moving away from her to have his conversation. After a moment she gathered it was John who was calling. Sherlock talked with him for about five minutes before he hung up. “Well?” she asked.

“They're in Leeds,” he said. “John has already decided that he prefers living with Greg than me. Says he's much more considerate. I told him it's only been a few hours and he should at least give it a few days.”

Molly laughed. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I prefer living with you. Not that I don't like John, but the time when it was just the two of us was rather nice. It was only this last week or so I regretted meeting you.”

“I don't want it to get to that point again,” he said in a more serious tone.

“I think you'll work doubly hard to make sure it doesn't,” she said. She nodded towards the stack of books she'd selected. “Let me take these to my room and then we can see what we feel like doing for the rest of the evening.”

“All right,” he said with a nod. She went over and picked up the stack of books and carried them to her room. She set them on the nightstand and then opened the jewelry box, which was next to the books. She opened it and looked over at the jewelry, occasionally picking up a piece and fingering it. She didn't realize it had been more than a few minutes when she heard a knock at the door. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, setting the ring she'd had in her hand down. “I am. I was just reliving some memories, that's all.”

“That jewelry is important to you,” he said, coming into the room more.

“Yes. It's all jewelry handed down through my family,” she said. She picked the ring she'd just set down back up again, showing it to him. It was a large square cut ruby ring with two smaller square cut diamonds accenting it. “This was the engagement ring that my grandmother gave to my father to propose to my mother with. It had been hers first. My grandfather said she lit a fire in him and that was why it was a ruby ring, to show that fire.”

He took it from her palm and examined it. “Does it fit you?” he asked.

“It's just a tiny bit too big,” she said. “I think I might wear it on a chain rather than get it resized. I don't want to run the risk of it being ruined beyond repair.”

He set it down to the side of her box and picked up a double strand of black pearls. “Are these real?” he asked.

“Yes. My great-grandmother got them from the duchess she was a ladies maid for. They had been a parting gift when my great-grandmother left to get married to my great-grandfather. I've never had the opportunity to wear them myself. I don't ever go anywhere nice enough.” She watched him set those aside as well, and she picked up a tennis bracelet with opals and diamonds. “This is the only piece of jewelry that wasn't passed down to me. Before my father died he had this made for me as a graduation gift. He gave it to me before I went to medical school and I used to wear it every day, at least until I started working with patients and it began getting in the way. It was my way to remember him.”

“Why opals, though?” he asked.

“My birthday is in October,” she said. “Opals are my birthstone.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. He looked in the box and then picked up another ring. This one had a large garnet and was surrounded by a circle of diamonds. “This looks like it could fit your ring finger.”

“It does,” she said, taking the ring from him and slipping it onto her hand. “Garnet was my mother's birthstone. This was the ring my father gave my mother on their first year anniversary. Quite a few of the pieces in the box were anniversary gifts from my father to my mother. I gave some of them to other family members when she passed but I kept my favorites.”

“Is there one piece you love more than the others?” he asked.

She nodded and then went through the box before holding up a man's wedding ring. She continued to dig for a moment before she pulled up a smaller wedding band. “These were the rings my parents wore. When my father died my mother wore his ring around her neck until she got ill. I wore both of them around mine until my chain broke a few months ago. I decided at that point it would be best to keep them in the jewelry box rather than risk losing them. They're irreplaceable.”

He picked her father's ring up off of her palm and studied it. “I sometimes wonder what my parents might leave to me whenever it is that they die.”

“Is your family sentimental?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said. “I may get books and manuscripts and things that are of interest to me, but I wouldn't get anything like this. I don't believe my mother owns any jewelry other than her wedding bands and a locket she never takes off. Those will probably go to Mycroft.”

“He might not want them,” she said.

“If they're left to him I doubt he'll give them to me,” he said, putting the ring back on her palm. She took the rings and set them back in the box. “Though I do think my mother was absolutely pleased about you. If we are together for a time she may leave them to me, if she thinks we're serious enough about each other to potentially have children.”

“I gather I get to meet her when all of this is over?” she asked, giving him a smile.

“She did imply she'd like that to happen sooner rather than later,” he said with a slight grin. “She understood why it couldn't when we spoke about it last, but once this is all over if we're still in a relationship I think she would very much like to meet you.”

“I'd like to meet her as well, I think. And your father, too.”

“Do you see us being together a long time?” he asked, looking at her.

She nodded slowly. “As I said earlier, I never thought you would fancy me. Ever. I thought it would be a completely one-sided attraction on my part, and I had accepted that, more or less. The fact you actually did was the one bright spot in all of this. I want to make this work, at least as long as you want to make it work.”

“I think I would like you around for quite a while,” he said.

“Then I'll do my best to stay around until we tire of each other,” she said, turning away to close the lid of her jewelry box. When she was done she turned to face him more. “I think John's phone call interrupted something I was looking forward to.”

He reached over for her and pulled her closer. He moved his hands to her waist and absently ran one hand up and down. “I don't mind being close to you. I've never felt this way with anyone else before,” he said.

“Even the woman you cared for before?” she asked, looking up at him.

He nodded. “Yes. I feel comfortable when I'm with you. Even though I admired her I never felt comfortable with her. You've wormed your way into my life very well.”

“As long as you want me here then I think that's a good thing,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. He slid his hands around to the small of her back. “Because I'm very happy you're a part of my life.”

“I could be better, though,” he said.

“You could, but that's all right. I could too,” she said with a smile. “We'll work on it as we go.”

“Good,” he said before leaning in to kiss her. She kissed him back and lost herself in the kiss, and for a brief moment she had no worries, no fears. For a brief moment all was right with her world, and she was going to latch onto that feeling and try her damndest not to let it go. That was probably going to be the only way she survived this with her sanity intact.