As John tried to process what had just been said to him, he found himself staring between the two other people in his living room. Sherlock was sat in his chair, legs crossed and hands placed on the armrests. He looked quite calm; it seemed just waiting for his response to the insane. Molly was curled up on the sofa in that cat like position she seemed to favour so much. John hadn't seen her outfit before, nor had he really seen her with her hair down, it was a good look. She appeared to be perfectly content which seemed ridiculous given what she had just put forward. He turned back to look at Sherlock, one more look at Molly and then back to Sherlock again.
"If you have put her up to this Sherlock, I am going to make your life very difficult," he said, pointing an accusing finger at him. Sherlock looked shocked, though he knew fine well that it wasn't exactly a hard idea to come by. He was about to berate John, when Molly coughed so all attention could be turned to her.
"Actually, this was my idea," she said, uncurling herself so she could stretch her legs out in front of her. "We haven't really got anything else we can try."
"I'm sure we can come up with something better than you willingly getting yourself kidnapped and hoping we actually rescue you in time," he sighed, but he already knew the two of them were going to do this even if he didn't agree. It was probably better to go with along with it.
"It'll be fine," Molly responded with a smile. "I trust you both. And if it doesn't work entirely to plan, remember that I have access to a lot of sharp implements in the morgue and know where you both live."
"You've been spending far too much time with Sherlock," John said, smiling despite himself. Molly was certainly a lot more confident around them than she had been three weeks ago, but her devious streak had certainly appeared a lot more strongly the more time she spent with Sherlock. "Fine, we'll try this."
"Excellent," said Sherlock, jumping up from his seat. "Now how do I go about hiring a car for tomorrow evening?"
John reached across to where his laptop was sitting to one side and booted it up. It was only then that what Molly had said hit him. She trusted both of them and she trusted both of them with her own safety, her own life. Given the way Sherlock had treated her over the time they had known her, he was surprised that it had only taken three weeks for her to trust him that much. Then again, when on earth had she reached that level of trust in him too? It wasn't something he wanted to think about so much right now, how much this woman was relying on them, and just went back to trying to find about renting a car for their insane plan.
They had decided to wait until it was getting dark to implement their plan; they had decided that there was more chance of someone interfering in the daylight and therefore increasing the risk of Molly getting hurt. When they had eventually left, John insisted on sitting in the back of the car with Molly to explain to her the best way to deal with a hostage situation. She didn't ask why he would have such information; she could hazard a guess that he had been trained on this when he was in the army. Sherlock's hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke, it was obvious to him that this was one of those things John had actually experienced. John had never told him about being held hostage, it had never really occurred to him to ask. He was sure at some point he would end up bringing it up with him, but now was not the time.
They stopped the car a couple of streets away from Molly's house so that she could get out and walk the rest of the way. They would park just down from her house and wait before following the car to where the men were taking her. It took a few deep breaths before she could convince herself to get out of the car. John got out of the car too, it would be better to have two sets of eyes sitting in the front of the car. She went to walk away from him, but John grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back.
"Molly, you don't have to do this. We can turn back now and figure something else out. I just don't want to see you get hurt," his voice was earnest, a real fear in his eyes betraying that he thought something was going to go wrong.
"I told you, I trust you both. It's going to be fine," she said it with confidence. She really did believe her words, or at least she believed her first words. She trusted them, they would turn up, but there was still a chance something could happen before they got to her. Her stomach churned over the idea of walking into the lion's den, but she couldn't hide anymore.
John nodded and then, quite unexpectedly, pulled her into a tight hug. "We will be there," he said softly. "I swear to god, we will be there."
Molly pulled away from him, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn't figure out what she had done in life to deserve such good people wanting to help her. With that, she turned away and started to walk towards the ambush that awaited her at home. John watched her for a moment before quickly getting into the car. Sherlock started up the engine and drove away without a word. When they found themselves on Molly's road, they stopped just down the street from her house where the black car was still parked outside. With the engine and lights off, they just sat and waiting for Molly to walk up.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them as they watched the house.
"You care about her," said Sherlock, John almost jumping at the sudden noise in the dark silence.
"Yes," he responded. "Of course I do, she's a friend. Why, do you not care about her? I can't imagine you'd be here if you didn't care a little."
"She is the key to solving this case, that is why I am here," replied Sherlock, a strange feeling in his stomach at the realisation that wasn't entirely true. He had started to care about her, he was sure he would even class her as a friend. The idea of admitting that though, unless under extreme duress, was too much to think about. "She's heading to the door now."
John had so many things he wanted to say to Sherlock, how much he despised the idea that he really didn't feel anything towards Molly after spending that much time with her. Now was not the time for that though as Molly was indeed walking up to her front door. She halted when she pushed it open, noticing the broken lock and damage to the door. Hesitantly, she stepped inside.
In the car, the next few minutes felt like an eternity. They waited for Molly to come back out, a thousand worrying ideas filling their minds of what could be happening. John clenched his hand into a fist a few times without even realising what he was doing; he was ready to grab his gun and charge straight in there. Sherlock's hand hovered over the car keys ready to start the engine up and race up to the house. He had noticed John's hand, a sign of preparation for using his gun, which meant if they had to get up there fast he would be ready to jump straight out.
Eventually though, there was movement at the front door. One of the men came out first, a lumbering man with a shaved head who didn't even bother to look up and down the street. He just strode out towards the car. Molly came next, the other men right behind her. It seemed like her hands had been tied behind her back and a sudden flash of light made them realise the man was holding a knife, the point up against the small of her back. John balled both his hands up into fists now, fury overtaking him. Even Sherlock tensed up, having the danger actually placed before him so clearly making him suddenly angry. Molly was walked to the car, the back door opened and she was roughly pushed in. The door was slammed behind her before both men climbed into the front of the car.
As soon as the car had pulled away, Sherlock started up the engine and began to follow them. He had deliberately picked one of those small cars everyone seemed to drive around London. Nothing that would be seen as out of the ordinary as they followed a few cars behind. However after watching the way they had taken Molly to their car, Sherlock was fairly sure he could have followed right behind in an equally ostentatious looking 4x4 and they wouldn't have noticed. There was enough traffic though that they could put a few cars between them just to be totally sure they weren't noticed. Soon the car was starting to move away from central London and they continued to follow the car in silence. Eventually, the car turned into an industrial estate, which Sherlock responded to by driving past the entrance and turning down the street that ran alongside it. Pulling the car up to the kerb, he stopped and turned off the engine.
"Sherlock, they went into the estate, why haven't we followed?" asked John tensely.
"Because if we drive straight in after them, they will know we are following them. I thought you didn't want to put Molly at risk? We need to follow on foot." He responded, already preparing to get out of the car to start the hunt for the car.
"They could be anywhere in there, you want us to just search until we find the right one? By the time we find them, god knows what they could have done to her."
"Then we had better get on with it. These are not particularly subtle men, I'm sure we'll find them quickly."
"You had better be right," John said as she got out of the car. As Sherlock reached for the door handle to let himself out, he found himself hoping he was right this time too.
Molly's journey had not been a comfortable one. Once she'd been shoved into the car, she'd tried to sit up rather than lying awkwardly on her stomach. One of the men had responded to this by turning in his seat and pointing the knife in her face. It seemed she was to stay lying down for the journey. The two men spent much of the journey gloating about how happy their boss was going to be to see her and how she was going to solve all their problems. Now Molly felt sick. She couldn't remember why this had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Thoughts of what could happen filled her head, terrible images of what these men might do to her. She tried to get rid of them, but it was hard. In the end, she focused on the idea of John and Sherlock bursting in to rescue her like knights on their noble steeds.
When the car eventually pulled up and stopped, her heart seemed to stop too. The men got out and she found herself being dragged from the car feet first. When her stomach hit the edge of the seat, the men grabbed her arms and hauled her up to her feet. One let go and started to lock up the car while the other led her towards a door. It looked like she was on some industrial estate somewhere, not when she recognised though. She could only hope that the two of them had kept up with the car.
Inside the building, there were three more men waiting for them all standing near a chair. It looked like one of those cheap office chairs, with a metal frame and a lack of wheels. Something she could be restrained to, a voice in her head told her. That thought scared her, but she tried to keep her face as blank as possible. She tried to remember what Sherlock's face was like when he stared off into the distance, but that just made her think of those cheekbones, which wasn't useful. As she was brought before the other three men, one stepped forwards with a smile on his face. The boss she presumed.
"You must be Molly Hooper," he said, a thick London accent and fake geniality making it sound almost ridiculous. "So nice to have you with us love, won't you have a seat?" Behind her, the knife cut through the cable tie at her wrists before she was spun around and forced into the chair. More cable ties were brought out and her wrists were now being strapped to the arms of the chair. She noted they did nothing to her legs, they clearly weren't expecting any kind of resistance. All four of the men who'd been looking for her were in the room now, but they all hung back to let their boss do the work.
"Now Molly, we need to get some information from you," he said with a smile.
"I don't know anything," responded Molly, shocked to find her voice quivered with fear.
"I wouldn't say that dear," he shook his head as he spoke, he hands clasped behind him. "You know something we really need to find out. A man was in your morgue a few weeks ago, name of Wilson Briggs. Ring a bell?"
Molly searched her memory, but she was terrible with names. Especially the name of a body she looked at over a month ago.
"He was a big guy, had a lot of tattoos. Nice big tattoo of an eagle across his chest."
Now that rang a bell. She nodded her head, eyes flicking past him to the closed door. Where were they?
"Good, we're getting somewhere. Hoped we would. I didn't really want to have to use this on you." As he spoke, he brought a knife round from behind his back so it was in front of her face. It wasn't like the one the man in the car had had, this one was bigger. She swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the vomit that was rising in her throat. "Those tattoos were important. One of his tattoos is going to tell us where to find our stuff. See, he hired us to do a few jobs with him and then he was keeping the gear somewhere secret till we were done. One more job to do and we would get our share. And what does he do? He ups and dies. So you need to start remembering those tattoos and tell us where our stuff is."
Molly just stared at him, her mind blank. All she could remember was that ugly eagle tattoo and how Sherlock had commented on it. That surprised her; she'd forgotten Sherlock and John had come to look at the body. They thought he was involved in something, but she couldn't remember what. Maybe it was to do with what these men wanted.
"Anything coming to mind there?" the man asked and Molly just stared at him.
"I don't remember anything about his tattoos," she said quietly.
"Oh dear," responded the man, lowering the knife to rest on her forearm. "Maybe you need a little incentive."
Molly couldn't help but scream when the knife was suddenly forced down and across her skin. She felt the warm blood on her skin, looking down she saw the slash went from her elbow to wrist. Not deep enough to do a lot of damage, but enough to hurt like hell.
"Now, let's go back to those tattoos."
Outside the building, John and Sherlock were admiring the black cars that certainly looked like what they were looking for when they heard the scream.
"Told you we'd find them," said Sherlock as John pulled his gun out and they both charged towards the door. Bursting through the stupidly unlocked door, they found five men staring at them all stood around Molly tied to a chair.
"The fuck?" said the man holding the knife while the other four ran at John and Sherlock, though they stopped when they saw John had a gun. The man walked around so he was behind Molly and pressed the knife to her throat. She could feel the blood on it drip onto her skin and tried hard not to swallow. "I'm guessing you're here for her."
"Yes," said John, gun pointed right at him. He didn't have a clear shot though; the man had crouched down and kept his head close to Molly's. It was too risky, but he kept the gun up. "Let her go."
"Not yet, haven't got what I want. Here, aren't you the great Sherlock Holmes?" he asked, suddenly puzzled as to why he had turned up.
Sherlock was trying to take it all in. Four men, each with knives he imagined though none had them out. The other man had taken the role as leader, hence the big knife. There was a cut on Molly's arm; the blood was dripping onto the floor beside the chair. She looked scared, but had definitely looked relieved when they'd arrived.
"Yes I am, now what do you want with Miss Hooper?" he asked, sounding just as unimpressed as he always did. John couldn't figure out how he could do that with the situation around them.
"She knows where some of our things are and we want them back," he replied.
"Remember the man with the eagle tattoo?" she asked Sherlock, the man pressing the knife a little tighter as she spoke. "Apparently he had the location of their stuff tattooed on him."
Molly was praying, which was a rare thing for her, that Sherlock would understand and knew what these men wanted. For a moment, there was no reaction, before Sherlock's eyes brightened.
"Yes, I remember him. And I know exactly where your things are. He had co-ordinates tattooed onto him."
The man with the knife grinned while Molly and John each tried to figure out how he had managed to do that.
"Good, give them to us," he said, nodding his head to the other men as they turned to look at him for reassurance.
"Let her go," responded Sherlock. "Then you get your co-ordinates."
In that moment, Sherlock noted the change of expression in the man's face. An idea had come into his mind, and that worried him.
"How about we all go together? That way you have to tell the truth because if you don't she's gonna get hurt," he grabbed Molly's hair as he spoke, pulling her head back to expose her throat even more with the bloodied knife pressed to it.
"Fine," replied Sherlock, though John just looked at him aghast.
"Excellent. Your mate will have to hand over his gun though, can't be too careful. Then you two will travel with two of my men and we'll go with the other two." He moved the knife to cut the ties at Molly's wrists before pulling her hair up to make her stand. Now he stood right behind her, knife back at her throat.
"I will travel with you two and one of your men," Sherlock said, eyes cold. "John will travel with the other three."
"Oh god," the man laughed. "You really care that much about what happens to this dumb bitch? You must be going soft. Fine, but we better get your hands behind your back before we go. You're a tricky one."
Sherlock nodded and turned, placing his hands together behind his back. He flexed his fingers a little and Molly couldn't help but look. Then something began to dawn on her. Sherlock didn't have his long coat on and there was a strange looking bulge in the waistband of his trousers where his hands were. Looking up, she noted that two of the men were near him while the other two were heading towards John to disarm him. She looked at John who suddenly winked. Molly braced herself and waited for the chaos to begin.
As soon as one man laid his hand on Sherlock's arm, it all kicked off. Sherlock pulled a gun from his waistband and hit man across the face with the butt of it. The other man reached for his knife, but with a graceful spin, Sherlock was already hitting him across the face before he'd even realised it was coming. John was making quick work of the other two men, striking one across the head with his gun before punching the other one in the face. All four were on the ground in seconds and now Sherlock and John were pointing their guns at Molly and her captor. Molly noticed the sudden removal of the knife at her neck as the man's hand dropped down a little. Now was her chance. Her head darted forward and she bit his hand hard, making the knife drop to the ground with a clatter. Dropping her body down a little, she rammed her elbow back hard into his stomach before spinning round to knee him the groin. He went down with a wheezing cry of pain and clutched at his genitals. Molly looked down at him.
"I am not a dumb bitch," she shouted at him, which strangely made her feel a lot better. Turning back to face John and Sherlock, she found them still pointing guns at her and just staring at her. "You can put the guns down."
"Molly," said Sherlock, lowering his gun. "That was magnificent."
That made her blush.
"Now then," he continued. "We had better get these gentlemen tied up, call Lestrade and John should probably see to that wound on your arm."
Molly looked down at her bleeding arm and suddenly felt quite faint. She took a few wobbling steps and found her legs go from under her. She didn't hit the ground though, which was strange. Someone was holding her up; her vision was just full of purple though. Now she was being pulled up until she found herself looking at Sherlock. He actually looked worried as he tried to keep her standing up.
"Come on, let's get you sat down," he said softly, trying to move her backwards to the chair. She wasn't far from it though as he carefully lowered her down and crouched next to her. He looked at her arm and then up at her face again.
"You really do care," she said with a smile. Sherlock placed a hand over hers and squeezed it, trying to reassure her. He wanted to say he did, but he couldn't find those words. Not yet at least.
Lestrade had to admit it was one of the more interesting phone calls he'd received from John. Apparently he and Sherlock had found the members of a gang they'd been looking for who were responsible for a number of robberies across the city over the last few months. He still hadn't quite been prepared for the sight that greeted him when he's arrived at the building though. Near the door, four men lay either moaning or unconscious with their hands tied behind their backs with cable ties. John was stood over them, giving Lestrade a little smile and wave as he walked in. Further into the room, Sherlock was stood over another man who was sat looking very pissed off. Next to Sherlock, he was shocked to see Molly sitting on a chair with one arm bandaged up.
"What the hell?" he asked, not sure who to look at.
"Good of you to turn up at last," replied Sherlock with his usual scorn. "I have some co-ordinates for some of your subordinates to go and visit, I believe you will find all the stolen items there. Now if you don't mind this has been a very long night for the three of us. I'm sure you and your men can deal with these five."
"Hold on," sighed Lestrade, not ready to be brushed off quite so easily. "Would someone please tell me what happened here? Why do these men look like they've been attacked? Why is Molly here and why does she have a bandage on her arm?"
"These men wanted the location of the items they helped steal; they thought Molly had the location as the man who hired them had it tattooed on his body and she was the one who examined the body when he died. They kidnapped her and attempted to extort the information from her using a knife. Then all the men fell down of their own accord."
John had to laugh at that, only Sherlock could say all of that with such a straight face.
"They also broke into Molly's home, so you may want to get some men round there. Though that was over three weeks ago."
"Wait," Lestrade said looking confused again. "If they broke in three weeks ago, why have they only just got Molly?"
"I've been living with Sherlock and John, they intercepted me and made sure I didn't go home," Molly replied, a little annoyed that everyone kept talking about her like she wasn't there. She stood up, a little shakily, and looked at Lestrade. "Can we do this tomorrow, I really want to sleep?"
Lestrade looked at her and saw how pale she looked. He also noted how Sherlock had reached a hand towards her when she'd started to stand up, ready to support her. That was a turn up for the books.
"Sure, we'll take some statements tomorrow. Now where will I find you all?"
"221b Baker Street of course," said Sherlock happily, now striding towards them and the exit. Molly followed behind, John moving towards her to make sure she was okay. After he'd walked out the door though, Sherlock ducked his head back in to look at the other two. "Shall we get some food on the way home?"
"I would really like some Chinese food," replied Molly with a smile, while John nodded.
"Excellent," smiled Sherlock as the two of them finally reached the door. Lestrade found himself moving to stare through the doorway as the three of them walked off together. He had absolutely no idea what had happened, part of him was sure he didn't want to know, but it appeared that something very interesting had gone on these past few weeks.
Lestrade arrived at Baker Street the next morning not knowing entirely what he was going to find. It was true that Molly's home had been broken into, there were now people there examining everything. It was the idea that she had spent nearly a month living with Sherlock Holmes and not gone crazy that was worrying him. As he climbed up the stairs, he was shocked to find a scene of perfect domestic harmony to greet him. Molly and John were sat together on the sofa while Sherlock sat in his usual chair. The television was on and it appeared they were all watching it.
"Not interrupting am I?" he asked, trying to figure out if he'd walked into some alternate universe as he'd walked up the stairs. The television was turned off and they all turned to look at him, which made him feel very uneasy. Now he was sure he was walking into a trap.
It took a few hours to get statements from everyone, Sherlock liked to interrupt every few minutes. He just glared at them all when they each proclaimed that the men just happened to fall down at the same time, they had no idea what could have caused any marks or injuries on them. In the end he just accepted it all and decided he'd try to figure it all out later.
"Now Molly, because we need to examine your house as some of those men apparently decided to live there while waiting for you, you're not going to be able to go home for a few days. Do you want to organise a hotel or anything?" Lestrade said it with a glance at Sherlock that clearly showed his concern over leaving her here with him any longer.
"She'll be fine here for a few more days," responded John. "I mean, unless you want to go to a hotel?"
"I'm fine here," she said, smiling at Lestrade. "Guess I'll need to organise sorting out my front door when you're done though."
"Don't worry about that," said Sherlock. "We can sort that out."
Both Molly and John noticed he was twirling a credit card between his fingers and had a smirk on his face. That was all it took for the two of them to burst out into hysterical laughter. Even Sherlock started laughing too. Lestrade looked at them and started to wonder if the events of last night were having some delayed effect on them. Or perhaps, they'd all just gone mad.
Finally, after a month living with Sherlock and John, Molly was going home. The house had been cleaned up and front door replaced. At last, she could sleep in her own bed and stop feeling bad for making John sleep on the sofa. Her packing was being done at a slow pace, they'd had to go and buy a suitcase before she could start. The occasional twinge of pain from her arm didn't help either, it was healing well according to John but it was still sore. As she packed, she found herself trying to process everything that had happened over the past few weeks. She didn't really feel like the same person anymore. Somehow, having to spend a month dealing with Sherlock had made her remember that she wasn't a timid little mouse. It had brought out her confidence again, and made her realise her crush on him was quite ridiculous. Molly had to admit, she had never imagined kneeing him in the groin was going to do such much good for her.
Behind her, the door opened quietly. She turned to see who it was, expecting either John or Lestrade. It seemed Lestrade had now appointed himself as her guardian, ready to escort her home and away from the mad house as he had described it. Instead, she found that it was Sherlock. He closed the door behind him and she heard the click as he locked it before he turned to stand in front of the door. A strange silence settled in the room. Molly was sure that having a man walk into her room, lock the door and block the exit was something she should worry about. She looked at him and their eyes met. That strange hold his eyes had had on her before was gone now, she could easily look away. Instead, she tried to read his body language. He seemed nervous, as though something wasn't quite right.
"Molly," he began at last, before swallowing hard. "As this is your last day here, I wanted to tell you something."
"You needed to lock me in here to do that?" she asked. "People will talk you know."
Sherlock smiled at that, now a little more at ease. He was about to say words he found it hard to say to people and had rarely ever said to anyone.
"Molly, I'm sorry."
Molly couldn't help herself and just stared at him with her mouth wide open. Sherlock Holmes had just apologised to her for only the second time in her life, clearly the world was about to end.
"I know I have often said some cruel and hurtful things to you, but I see now that I underestimated you and your character. You are a wonderful person Molly; I just wish you could understand that sometimes."
He wasn't expecting the hug. She practically flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. With no idea how to react, he just stood there while she hugged him, which was perfectly fine by Molly.
"You know Sherlock," she said as she stepped back. "You can be very nice, I just don't think you realise you can do it. You're a good friend you know?"
Sherlock just smiled awkwardly at her. Then he unlocked the door and opened it quietly but stopped when he heard his name being said outside. Molly heard her name too and came to stand next to him.
"It must be a trick, that can't exist," John was talking, sounding completely shocked. "What...when did that happen? I mean, they kissed?"
"I think John found that picture," said Molly quietly to Sherlock.
"I know," they heard Lestrade exclaim. "There was me thinking that man didn't even know one end of a woman from another."
That made Sherlock seethe a little, he hated that everyone liked to mock him over that. The remembrance of Irene and the nickname Moriarty had given him stung deep.
"We should perform another experiment," said Molly, which made Sherlock turn around. There was that mischievous gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked with an equally devious smirk.
In the living room John and Lestrade continued to just stare at the picture of Sherlock and Molly kissing. They were trying desperately to figure out it had been faked because there was no way it could be real. They wanted to ask Sherlock, but it appeared he'd gone out somewhere. They were so busy talking, that Molly's sudden cry didn't register at first. When they heard her again, they rushed towards her room. Pushing the door open, they both stood and stared.
Molly was stood against the wall of the room while Sherlock kissed her neck. He was shirtless and her top had been discarded too. One of her hands was in his hair while the other gripped at his belt. Sherlock had one hand on the top her arm, the other was tucked under the waistband of her exposed underwear where her open jeans had slipped down. Sherlock's kissing on her neck made her moan, her eyes closed and head thrown back. Her eyes opened and she saw the two men in the doorway out of the corner of her eye.
"Shit!" she exclaimed loudly, pushing Sherlock away from her. Sherlock looked confusedly at her before turning to see what she was looking at. His eyes went wide at the sight of the two men. Lestrade and John could barely comprehend what they were seeing. Maybe that picture wasn't a fake after all.
Without a word, the two men just stepped back and practically fell over each other to get away. They left the door wide open as they scurried away and it wasn't long before they heard the front door slam. That was all it took for Molly to double over laughing and even Sherlock had to laugh at the reactions too.
"Well, it's going to be an interesting few days," said Molly when she finally managed to stop laughing. "You'll have to let me know what results you get from John."
"Of course," he responded with a smile, picking up jus shirt from the floor and putting it back on. Molly did the same, as well as having to fasten her jeans back up.
"I'd best finish packing," she said with a sigh, so Sherlock went to leave. "Oh Sherlock, I've got some data for you now." He turned round to look at her inquisitively. "I have no idea how you know, but you know exactly where to kiss a woman to turn her on. And I would still most definitely sleep with you."
All Sherlock could do was smile back at her before finally leaving her to finish packing. As he walked down the corridor and up the stairs to his room, he found himself considering Molly Hooper. No longer the scared, naive mouse he had first met, it turned she was actually a fiery, brave and deeply mischievous woman. While he couldn't quite bring himself to say the word friend about her, he still hadn't said that about John, he could imagine a fairly perfect title for her right now: partner in crime.