Act 3)

Sherlock wandered down the hallway, knowing that Clyde Breckenridge and his girlfriend would be somewhere away from the rest of the party. From what he had gathered, Sherlock knew that Breckenridge had already murdered two men, coworkers of his, for their possessions, and had blamed it on suicide or an accident, setting it up so it looked believable. But Sherlock saw right through it. One man had bullet through his brain, and the other had been strangled by his pet snake. Each plan had a flaw or two in it, like the fact that there were two minuscule bite marks from the snake, right below the man's hairline. Almost impossible if he wasn't looking for it. But Sherlock knew that the snake had bit him before settling around the dead man's neck. The man had owned the snake for five years, and it had been perfectly harmless. Only some kind of thing angering the snake could have caused it to bite his master.

He also knew that his girlfriend, Kelsey Jones, a waitress, knew about these murders. She had just discovered them yesterday, Sherlock found out, and Clyde couldn't take any chances. He was going to kill her tonight, but when and where was still a bit fuzzy. He knew it would be away from the crowd, but it could happen at any time. Sherlock looked around for any sights or noises. They could be anywhere...

Suddenly, Sherlock felt a blow to the back of his head. He grunted and his hand rushed to the injury. He whipped around and saw a man with light, sandy hair dressed in a formal suit and holding a knife. The man held the knife up to Sherlock's face. "Come with me," the man growled. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"And why would I do that?" he asked.

"Because if you don't," the man smiled. "I'll stab you, right here and now." Sherlock sighed.

"Oh, no. Whatever shall I do?" Sherlock said sarcastically. "Like I've never heard that one before."

"Fine, then I'll cut the rope hanging the chandelier up in the loft, and it'll come crashing down on some of the most aristocratic and rich people in London," the man grinned. Sherlock was silent for a moment.

"Where is Kelsey Jones? You haven't already killed her?" Sherlock asked, and Clyde Breckenridge's eyebrows shot up.

"How do you know about Kelsey?" he hissed.

"Just take me to your leader," Sherlock said, crossing his arms. The man rolled his eyes like he was talking to an immature child, which half the time Sherlock did act a bit immature.

"Come with me," he said, prodding Sherlock's back with the knife so he walked and wouldn't try escaping. It's not like Sherlock was trying to get away, he was headed for the mass control center, the brain of the operation. Sherlock was quick to figure out that Breckenridge must not be the man behind the murders, he would have just killed him there. No, there must have been another person working as well. But why? They were just simple murders, carelessly committed just for the sake of stealing their valuables. Having more than one murderer would be very odd.

Breckenridge led Sherlock down the hall without being seen by the party-goers who were laughing just a hallway away. They arrived at a normal-looking door, and Breckenridge reached to open it with the knife still threateningly held to Sherlock's back. The door swung open and Breckenridge shoved Sherlock in. Keeping his balance coolly, Sherlock strolled in like everything was normal.

"So, who's the 'mastermind' behind this plot?" Sherlock asked the room, turning around in the darkness of the room. "I must say, I'm a bit disappointed. How many people does it take to carry out two murders?" Breckenridge shut the door and the whole room was engulfed in darkness.

"Mr. Holmes, what a pleasure having you here," purred a female's voice. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, though no one could see it.

"Mrs. Giovanni, I hardly suspected you. Kudos for that, but let's just cut to the chase. How are you involved in this business?" Sherlock replied.

"I'm their leading operator," she said back, her voice closer now.

"Yes, but what are you after? Two murders, each robbed for their valuables doesn't seem like any need for a lead operator, there's more," Sherlock prompted.

"Yes, there's more. You see, my husband's partner, Franklin Hitcher, had come across a large, precious stone. His family and him are gone vacationing for a whole month, and have entrusted the stone to one of their employees, but he wouldn't tell my husband who. A stone that large would be fabulous to get our hands on, so through trial and error we will find that stone," Mrs. Giovanni explained.

"So you held a party, inviting all the workers, even me. You'll lock the doors and kill everyone, then search for the stone. Problem is, it is most unlikely that they would carry the stone with them to the party. And even if they did, wouldn't it be suspicious if suddenly all the employees of Giovanni and Hitcher went missing? Not to mention that your husband is a respectable man, and something like this could ruin him, if word got out," Sherlock retorted back. Mrs. Giovanni was silent.

"Well... with a jewel like that, we wouldn't need to keep up the business!" she argued back.

"A stone as big as you make it sound would be highly advertised if lost. If you ever tried to sell it, people would be suspicious." Silence again. "Looks like your little plan isn't working out as lovely as you thought it might, huh?"

Something suddenly grabbed hold of Sherlock's leg and he flinched, kicking to remove whatever it was. "May I ask who or what has my leg?" he asked, still kicking. But the hand stayed there. Sherlock felt something cold, now, like metal, attaching itself, and then heard a click. The hand let go, and Sherlock tried to move, but found he was attached to something.

The lights flashed on suddenly, and Sherlock winced a little at the sudden brightness. He took a quick survey around the room. It was just a normal bedroom, nothing fancy or odd about it. Mr. Giovanni was sitting on the bed, a pistol resting on his lap. Mrs. Giovanni was up, a murderous look upon her face that Sherlock had bashed her plan so quickly. Breckenridge was still by the door. And the fact that a woman with dark skin and Molly were linked up to a post of the bed by ball and chain around their ankles right next to Sherlock. They even had a handkerchief stuck in their mouths like traditional kidnaps. Sherlock nearly laughed.

"You're not going to ruin our plans tonight," Mrs. Giovanni growled. "So we're keeping you three chained up in here until we can properly dispose of you." Sherlock raised his hand like a child might in school. With a raised eyebrow, Mrs. Giovanni slowly called on him. "Yes... Mr. Holmes?"

"Quick question, if Mr. Hitcher will be gone for a month, how are you having the party here?" Sherlock asked.

"Mr. Hitcher trusts us enough to leave us with an extra house key, but not enough to tell us where the jewel is," Mrs. Giovanni frowned. "Any other questions?"

"Yes actually. I suspect that just going in and threatening these aristocrats and employees with guns isn't just your plan. Otherwise, word would get out from people, and why else would you not kill us right on the spot?" Sherlock asked.

Mrs. Giovanni cracked a smile. "You are a smart one, aren't you? Yes, after we get the jewel, we're going to bomb the house to the ground. That way, there's no snitches." The dark skinned woman got her hands free and pulled the cloth down around her mouth.

"Clyde! What are you doing? This isn't like you!" she cried out, tears glistening in her eyes. "This isn't like you!" Molly, her heart beating quickly ever since she had first been kidnapped, felt pity for the woman, Kelsey Jones, standing beside her. She looked over to Clyde, Kelsey's boyfriend. She thought she saw something in his eyes, but he had a cold, hard look on his face and didn't utter a word.

"Shut up, or I'll shoot you on the spot!" Mrs. Giovanni hissed. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Now, quiet, the lot of you, and good riddance." The three schemers exited the door with a loud slam, and the woman began crying.

Molly successfully untied her own hands and tore the tie around her mouth off. "Kelsey, it's going to be okay," she tried soothing, although her heart was telling her to start screaming and crying too.

"I don't even know you!" the lady screamed and collapsed into a pile. Molly felt like doing the same. Instead, she turned to Sherlock.

"A fine mess you've gotten us into," Sherlock said to Molly. A tear ran down her eye.

"We're going to die here," she whispered. "We're going to be blasted into smithereens, and there's nothing we can do about it!"

Sherlock sighed. "Well, there is always-"

"So many things I've never tried before, so many things I will never do..." Molly interrupted, glancing up to Sherlock. Did she dare? She was going to die anyways, it wasn't like she ever had a future or anything that could embarrass her anymore... Sherlock reached into his pocket, resting his hand on a small pick he kept with him so that he could pick the lock open and could escape and 'save the day'. It wasn't anything more heart-thudding than he'd ever done.

"I've got a pick here, so we can-" he began.

Molly didn't let him finish his sentence, and instead grabbed hold of the sides of his head, clinging on and onto his dark hair. She couldn't get on tiptoe, since she was already in heels, but brought Sherlock's head down a little bit and closed her eyes, shoving her lips right onto his.

Sherlock grunted in surprise, his eyes wide open as Molly all but attacked him. He felt Molly's hands grabbing onto his face, and to try and get away would be impossible. Truth be told, out of all the things Sherlock had done in his life, all his victories and losses, he had never actually kissed a girl before. This was a first for him, and he had never expected this place to be where it was done. But Molly's sudden clinging to him in desperation had shattered that. His eyes were wide open the whole time, in shock and the fact that he didn't know the staring wasn't polite, he'd never known that.

Molly, on the other hand, was having the best moment of her short life. She had kissed people before, what 31 year old young woman hadn't? But this, THIS was what she had waited for. She had known Sherlock by name for over a year, and every day had longed for this. She was going to die in a few minutes, but she had won. She could die happy, knowing she had just kissed Sherlock Holmes. The kiss wasn't too intimate, it was just a short, dry kiss that lasted about five seconds tops, even though it seemed like forever for them both.

Molly finally let go of Sherlock's face and unattached herself, breathing hard. She didn't dare look up at Sherlock, instead looking down at the floor, and thought her body might explode because her heart was beating so quickly. She breathed heavily and replayed the moment in her head. Oh, GOD, she had just kissed him! What would he think of her now? In fact, Sherlock was still stunned when she let go. He looked at her figure, breathing heavier than normal, but not nearly as much as Molly. Sherlock was for once in his life confused. He didn't like women, or men, for that matter. He was thirty-five years old and had barely ever given a second thought to romance. He only martial relationship was to his work, not to other human beings. But Molly... little, quiet Molly, had just worked up enough courage to kiss him. And Sherlock was confused, because he thought he might have liked it...

Nonetheless, he shook his head. There were more important matters at stake. "Well, like I was saying-"

"I love you!" Molly looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "I've waited so long to tell you that! We're going to die now, so I've got nothing to loose! I've loved you ever since I first talked to you, when you first came into St. Barts. I only started to date Jim because he was at least kind to me, but even that was an act! Plus, I might have wanted to make you jealous, but that wasn't the main goal at first! When he turned out to only use me to get to you, I was heartbroken! And ever since, my longing for you to even talk to me every day has gotten greater! Every time you speak to me, butterflies flutter in my stomach. I'm angry because now that you know, we're both going to be dead! When you asked me to be your fake wife, I knew something was going to happen! Something big! And it did, I worked up enough courage to kiss you, but it was all for nothing. I can also see that you've never had any real interest in me, my whole time I've just been wasting..." Molly trailed off.

Sherlock was silent, not knowing what to say to her confession. "Actually... I can pick the lock... we can get away from here," Sherlock said slowly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the lock pick. Molly's face grew very pale, very quickly.

"You mean.. we can get out?" she squeaked, realising she'd now have to live with the fact that she still had to work in the hospital, and even worse, had to see Sherlock on most days. She was going to die of embarrassment! "You mean we could've gotten out this whole time?"

"Yes, if you'd let me explain and had not... distracted the both of us," he said, bending down and picking his own lock. Molly almost felt like she'd rather stay here and get blasted than go back. His lock open, and he began working on Molly's.

"If I'd known, I wouldn't have..." Molly whispered, almost to herself. Sherlock smirked almost self consciously, and Molly didn't see it.

"Well, now I know, and you don't have to keep hinting it to me," Sherlock said, undoing her lock and started working on the other woman, Kelsey's. Molly stepped out of it and wobbled over to the door, legs still shaky after her daring display. Her lips still tingled, and she thought that at least she could treasure the moment for the rest of her life. In her old age, she could smile and remember that one time when she kissed Sherlock Holmes, even if she never saw him after tonight.

Sherlock finished up with Kelsey's lock and stood up. "Come on, get up," he said. The woman didn't move. "Miss Jones, you have to get up, this place is going to-"

"Leave me alone, I'd rather die!" Kelsey screeched. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. At least Molly wasn't like this girl, who would rather just stop fighting and die after breaking up with her boyfriend like that. Jim Moriarty was the most evil fiend, and when he disappeared suddenly, she had only been quiet for a few days. Sherlock supposed he didn't have the world's worst admirer. Sherlock stood up.

"If you change your mind, run as quickly as you can out the back door, which is down two hallways, to the left, and directly after the third door," Sherlock said, racing out of the room. "Come on, Molly." Molly's heart jumped a little bit, even though it was beating slower than ever. He wanted her to come along. Whether it was because he had actually started caring or only cared that he got a living human out of that room, she wasn't sure, but he still wanted her to come with him.

Molly followed him as they ran out the door and down the hallway. "What are you going to do?" she yelled as they ran, although running in her heels was a bit tough.

"I've always got a revolver on me, even in this ridiculous outfit," he called back. "I'll tell them to stop, or I'll shoot, simple as that."

"Will that actually work?" Molly asked as they turned a corner.

"I've been in much tighter situations, of course this will work," he said and stopped suddenly. Molly tried stopping, but shrieked as she lost her balance and slipped on her butt, no thanks to her heels. Blushing, she stood back up and looked at Sherlock. He wasn't looking at her, but Molly thought she might have seen a small smile on his face. Molly looked up to where he was looking, it was at the top of the grand staircase. There stood Mrs. Giovanni, calling down to the people.

"IF ANY ONE OF YOU HAS IT, IT WOULD BE IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO HAND IT OVER RIGHT NOW," she yelled down to the confused audience. Sherlock rolled his eyes. This was one of the worst operations he'd seen put into action before.

"Molly, call the cops. This is hardly even worth my looking into. They've already explained everything, and their plan is horrible. The police should be able to handle it," he said. Molly nodded, whipping out her phone and dialing 999.

"Yes, 999? We've got a situation at the Hitcher... you already know? Wonderful, thank you! Goodbye!" Molly said, clicking the phone off. "They're already on their way." Right after she said that, Sherlock heard sirens approaching and smiled.

"Worst plan ever," he smiled, as Mrs. Giovanni's face turned white and she stopped yelling.

"RUN!" she shrieked to her husband and Clyde, ready to cut the rope holding the chandelier up. They frantically started running, but the sirens grew closer, and the police burst in. Sherlock smiled and leaned against the wall.

"Well, that was more uneventful than I imagined," he said, crossing his arms. Molly watched the police come in and easily catch the three, who were only armed with a gun and knife, but didn't use them. "Have you heard about the Prime Minister? Apparently, his cat just had kittens. All of London is talking about it." The night was the most eventful in her life, the most, and he thought nothing of it. Was the fact she had kissed him uneventful too? Her heart sank deeper. She had only confessed all of this because she thought it was her last moments with him, but she now realised she'd have to live with the consequence that he really didn't care about her.

Molly walked away from Sherlock without a goodbye, and just walked out of the door to the mansion, only hesitating once before picking up their picture from the table. There were screaming sirens and police cars pulling up everywhere, and just running past her. Molly didn't care. She just walked away from the scene until she got close enough to the open road that she could call a cab. She didn't want to think anymore tonight. She just wanted to go home.

Sherlock went back up the stairs at 221 Baker Street, and looked at the clock. 12:32 AM. John should be back by now. "John?" he called out. "Are you home?"

"In the kitchen," John called out. Sherlock walked in and saw him in pajama pants and bunny slippers. He smirked.

"Nice slippers."

"So how was your 'case'?" he asked, brewing a cup of tea. Sherlock leaned against the counter.

"The case was pretty unexciting. Had the cops take over. I don't doubt you'll see it on the news. No deaths tonight," Sherlock said. "And... Molly kissed me."

John turned around instantly with raised eyebrows and an open mouth. "You're kidding!"

Sherlock shook his head. "We were locked up with another hostage, and I had my pick, so I could easily get us out. Molly panicked, she thought we were going to die, so... she confessed a few things and attacked my face."

John sighed. "That one's definitely pulled out of a romance movie." Sherlock smirked.

"You would know."

John frowned. "It was Sarah's turn to pick out a movie, who was I to say no to her?"

"Of course..." Sherlock said. "Well, I'm going to retire for the night. See you in the morning, John." Sherlock began to walk back to his room, but John called to him.

"Wait," he said, popping his head out of the kitchen. "Sherlock, what are you going to do about Molly?"

"I'll sleep on it." he answered almost instantly. "I'll come up with something." He walked to his room and didn't even bother turning the lights on. He just took off his jacket and shoes and flopped onto his bed. Before his head hit his pillow, Sherlock grabbed his phone out of his jacket. He opened it and started writing a new message, but hesitated for a moment.

Molly's kiss... it was different. Something had changed in him. Was it possible that he might actually like her? He regretfully admitted to himself that he had liked the kiss, it was different from anything he knew. And after all, he was unemployed from any case at the moment. Why not put this time up to experiment? He'd never experimented with love before.

After a moment, he finally typed out his message and hit send.

Molly had wiped her face clean of any makeup and had already changed into her comforting, cottony pajamas. She smelled like peppermint tea, because that was what she had make as soon as she had gotten home. Pauline had been asleep, so she was as quiet as possible. It wasn't that hard, since she wasn't in a very talkative mood.

She was about to hop into bed when her phone began singing on her nightstand. YO, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I WANT, WHAT I REALLY, REALLY WANT. SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT WHAT YOU REALLY, REALLY- Molly raced over to her loud phone and opened the text, hoping she didn't wake up the whole neighborhood.

Coffee tomorrow, 8:30? -SH

Molly smiled a little to herself. Was it possible that he might actually like her back? It was at least worth another shot.

That sounds wonderful :) -MH

Molly hit send, turned her phone on vibrate, and laid down in her bed, smiling. She had a feeling things might be different from now on. A good kind of different, for sure.


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