Author's note: Hi Everyone. This is my first fanfic, so please be gentle and enjoy. I have quite a bit of this written, so please R&R and if you like it, then I will post more.

Disclaimer: Please know that I don't own any of this. The world of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, BBC and, of course, Sir A. C. Doyle.

Molly knew she shouldn't have walked home alone that night. Out with some friends from uni, she had had so much fun tonight and, honestly, had gotten a little drunk...okay... a lot drunk, plus she forgot all her cash at home, so since her apartment was only a few blocks away, she decided to walk home instead of take a cab. She turned and said goodbye to her friends and headed home.

About two blocks away, Molly heard a rustling noise down a side street that she was walking by. Okay... it was more of an alley than a side street but who was counting? Feeling braver than most would suspect from her, she took a peek down the dark street way and saw a flash of grey fur between two trash bins. Then she heard the noise again, so she walked a little further down until she made it to a dead end.

About to turn back home, out from behind a trash bin jumped a grey cat. It looked up at her with the most brilliant green eyes and started to wind through her legs. Molly loved cats. She has one at home and on many of her sweaters. In fact, she even had a little tattoo that few know about of one and so she could easily tell that this wasn't just an alley cat but was someone's pet... someone's Toby.

She bent down to pet the cat and scratched it behind its ears. It began to purr and turned its face up towards her. 'Oh, someone's a pretty kitty, aren't they?' she said.

Suddenly, there was another sound behind her. 'Oh. Do you have a friend?' she asked. As she was about to get up to look behind her for the other cat, she felt a hand on her back... a very large, strong hand along with the steely cold outline of what could only be a gun. Molly jolted up and tried to scream but it got stuck in her throat.

'Look at this pretty young thing, Joey.' a deep husky voice snarled directly into her ear to his companion that Molly could hear a few feet away.

He lifted his other hand up to her ponytail and broke the clasp holding Molly's red hair back. Her hair fell around her shoulders. He - this horrible man who towered over her by at least a foot and had 100 pounds on her of what all seemed to be muscle based on the body he pressed against her - picked up a strand of hair and sniffed it.

'Moriarty never said how pretty she was and that she would smell so good.'

Molly could feel her heart beating a hundred miles a minute. She felt his hand leave her back and she turned to run but then it all went black.